THE FOLD

TMR

Frank Vandenbroucke

I took it differently to most of the others, I mean to anybody else, I ever spoke to on the vulgar fucking subject. There is one thing I don’t know and he knows, and it remains, that's two legs on the same plane knees tucked in, scooting, hollering down, being 17 and taking the piss out of what the older guys can do and having your name, the one you casually drop as you peel off the fucking wheel and go to mother's old home made... potato dumplings bacon?? You virtually admitted to eating virtually nothing when you weren't racing and bashing in sheets of aluminium when you were at school, your morality was there for, for bullshit, there are your eyes, which you give to everybody, then there's what behind them and that's yours, had them since you were 11 or 12 as far as I can remember, when you started bleaching your hair, the most disappointing fuckers are those that stray from the ambitions we had then.

Our rampaging twenties. Yeahh very funny and where were you then? Busting your arse busting my arse it doesn’t really matter frankly I don’t give a shit about you never did if you’re going to speak I want the language to have just eked out of a moment in history otherwise shut the fuck up, to have been spat out like a fleck of gruel stuck in your throat as you threw yourself on the floor - when you threw your bike down you looked like a girl and your legs like the doughy ones of an embarrassed teenager - knowing only that you’d either lost or won and that the crowd was roaring. If you don’t speak then don’t ever bother again.

As we rampaged through that decade.

I don’t give a rat’s arse about what anybody else said about you frankly I think it’s some sick joke that they still talk that way when all I can think of is that you knew something none of us knew and for this I feel a little shitter, a little more deadened than the usual because what a roaring rollercoaster you would have been to be alive, and me too, we would have left the others for dead in your huge sorrows I know, drink me under the table pal, if only, haha, if only then I had the time to savour it the next day. Haha you know you know you know? What do the other's know their behaviour is a clear indication of their wide-spanning and bland painful ignorance, come on.

-LPM

JPD

EVERYONE I HAVE EVER SLEPT WITH /2008

1	Damien Hirst
2	Larry Gagosian
3	Kathy Halbreich
4	Nicholas Serota
5	Iwan Wirth
6	Jay Jopling
7	David Zwirner
8	Francois Pinault
9	Jasper Johns
10	Eli Broad
11	Jeff Koons
12	Steven Cohen
13	Daniel Birnbaum
14	Charles Saatchi
15	Brett Gorvy [& Amy Cappellazzo in 2006]
16	Tobias Meyer [& Cheyenne Westphal in 2006]
17	Marian Goodman
18	Gerhard Richter
19	Richard Prince
20	Dominique Levy and Robert Mnuchin
21	Michael Govan
22	Marc Glimcher
23	Annette Schönholzer, Marc Spiegler
24	Alfred Paquement
25	Amanda Sharp & Matthew Slotover
26	Barbara Gladstone
27	Matthew Marks
28	Takashi Murakami
29	Agnes Gund
30	Sheikh Mohammed bin Zayed al Nahyan
31	Dakis Joannou
32	Bernard Arnault
33	Richard Serra
34	Sadie Coles
35	Hans Ulrich Obrist [& Julia Peyton-Jones in 2007]
36	Donna De Salvo
37	Simon de Pury
38	Don and Mera Rubell
39	Ann Philbin
40	Paul Schimmel
41	The Cisneros [Patricia Phelps de Cisneros in 2007]
42	Michael Ringier
43	The Mugrabis
44	Chris Kennedy
45	Bruce Nauman
46	Cy Twombly
47	Ai WeiWei
48	Timothy Blum & Jeffrey Poe
49	Andreas Gursky
50	Olafur Eliasson
51	Harry Blain & Graham Southern
52	Jeff Wall
53	Peter Doig
54	Roman Abramovich & Daria Zhukova
55	Bruno Brunnet, Nicole Hackert & Philipp Haverkampf
56	Marlene Dumas
57	Gavin Brown
58	Victoria Miro
59	Mitchell Rales
60	Yvon Lambert
61	Mike Kelley
62	Paul McCarthy
63	Banksy
64	Emmanuel Perrotin
65	William Acquavella
66	Lucian Freud
67	Victor Pinchuk
68	Maurizio Cattelan
69	Cai Guo Qiang
70	Maureen Paley
71	Roberta Smith
72	Peter Schjeldahl
73	Thelma Golden
74	Ralph Rugoff
75	Robert Gober
76	Iwona Blazwick
77	Richard Armstrong
78	Massimiliano Gioni
79	Jerry Saltz
80	Reena Spaulings/Bernadette Corporation
81	Louise Bourgeois
82	Cindy Sherman
83	Okwui Enwezor
84	Jeanne Greenberg Rohatyn
85	Shaun Caley Regen
86	Liam Gillick
87	Miuccia Prada
88	John Baldessari
89	Francesca von Habsburg
90	Christian Boros
91	Nicholas Logsdail
92	Subodh Gupta
93	The Long March Project
94	Paula Cooper
95	Peter Nagy
96	Casey Reas
97	Anita & Poju Zabludowicz
98	Guy & Myriam Ullens
99 100	Laurent Le Bon
	Thomas Kinkade /TMR

Sunday Pt 2

Sunday morning slide off the grey concrete floor of the apartment as stark as the morning I am dazed and always fucking I’m on the very precipice of abandoning all this stinking nostalgia, the land, the sky, the night, all the time, if I just tremble a little more oh god sugar spills on the table as I tried to put it in my cup coffee after coffee, it’s a hot warm bullet and all I can think about is the suicide, when will I be dead again; there is nobody else in this piss-stinking city (haha and the piss-stinking city was below me that night, the heat off pink bricks wafting up). Morning, fog, or whatever you call it, mist just steam, in London where you never know what time it is, night-time, tunnels. Go away what do you mean do you mean out into the countryside?

Out in the countryside where the morning couldn’t be starker and I stand in it and I wear a white jumper and the vague sunrise is my halo, my hand sways along the horizon, the ocean is not far off and I hear its waves. Being fucked on my back with my head out of the tent looking at the beads of moisture on the grass as if I were a microscope. There are only two big emotions in love and they are confused. Last night I saw the dew form and now I am seeing it vanish again. Too late, this morning should have dragged on forever because I would have lived in it, but it slides by the window, the shadows of my plants, the dried teabag and I barely know what it is to be alive.

-LPM

You See It?

Orange Ribena...

When i think of you i walk a little taller, i almost float...

Now dont misunderstand and start putting words where they're not... I dont mean that i have butterflies in my stomach, that i see flowers blossoming at every turn, that i think the sun is always shining and the birds chirping, this aint disney, you should remember that...

I have a picture in my mind and its this i want you to see...

You see it?

When i think of you i walk a little taller, i almost float...

TH

Haha

SINGLE LIFE

This Latina chick with dick likes to indulge in auto-eroticism with a big mirror as a main accessory. How does she do it? Well, it’s pretty simple. She gets off on the idea that other people are watching while she wretles with her one-eyed serpent, and then she gets doubly aroused with her own image doing that.








/TMR

When you're facing death...

Whiskey...

Bushmills, 16years...

When you decide to be something, you can be it... But, noone's gonna give it to you, you have to take it...

How i feel? HOW I FEEL? There are no half measures, there's no room for compromise, I need a steady hand and a cool nerve, an unflinching resolve, it's something still shrouded, something that's still evolving, something that could disappear in a whisper.  I've got no time for doubt, I've not been where I'm going, but I'm gonna get there...

I'm the best friend I have on the face of this earth, I dont mind going it alone, coz when you're facing death, what else is there...

TH

Sunday

We didn’t get the best books (And New York… was like that… mirrors, upside down, lines, the kids, nothing to imagine but what you see what a life, and New York was like that. Not like London) no way because the cunts wouldn’t dare try, go on stay up in Hammersmith you stinkin outsider, that’s your London. And it’s dull isn’t it I’d rather die than be up there. And all the stinkin stupid kids did the same thing, went to the same places, picked up the politics, it had made me sick, this isn’t the place for outsiders as they know it, it’s for them as we know it and have known it, since before. The word Hackney should have sent a shiver right down your spine and you could have lived in the marshes, watched the water steaming, woken up off your bed, not seen a single person, gone to the cafe, walked over the little bridge, round the corner, ignored everybody, stomped on idealism and those kids arseholes careerist pieces of shit who didn’t do it right who tied a knot in your stomach and it stayed wrenched as you cried around this bleak shithole, your whole aspiration echoing off the time of day and the LONDON, you crying, as empty as the sound of somebody on the other end of your mobile phone, where are you I’m in LONDON WALKING ROUND BY MYSELF. But the early morning unforgettable, but again and again, you needn’t ever stop talking about this youth, and even held the hand of a girl as you did it, fine, whatever exacerbated your melancholy and nostalgia you were born with it you believed then, in your trembling little baby’s fist, change your accent don’t you dare hold onto your difference, remember it all fifteen years ago, and laugh don’t forget to laugh but not because it’s funny, walk the streets, take everything for granted, the shit etc. don’t believe in change never did, the word hackney sends a shiver down my spine and Roman road and the Victoria park up there, my dirty bicycle, my dreams, they don’t belong to history as they knew it or ever conceived of it big titted arseholes, journalists fuckers, but the fog and the morning and early onset of melancholy, sure you age but we wouldn’t notice it, or ever make anything of it to you, dinner and alcohol, even love, I’m not against it. Ghosts mutters music the shit. The shit the accent the perfect shoes the kids exactly like you that you never met, thank god, they minded their own business even if you were never into the same music fuck it it was your kind of thing too, and if I had em I’d vouch a million pounds to say they were just like me though we never met and they’ve got pride but you doubt it good write the books about something else you’ve got no idea about this Africa, we never wanted to be exceptional in their eyes, just the old cobbled fucking gangways, the fog, or whatever you call it steaming off the canals.

-LPM

THE EUROPEAN GRADUATE SCHOOL

Scholars all over the west have no fear. There they sit laughing, they’re grand!








TMR

Junk food-menu delirium

But what a city!.. Sleazy streets, sleazy memorial plaques. And tourists sleazing over sleazy old Matisse. Fountains erect in the name of sleaze, sleazy attics where students candle-light suppers and sleaze all over the Pont Neuf, jingling your pockets, hooting from balconies - rust bending under the weight of sleaze, up your nostrils and melting into your fingertips. At night the Eiffel Tower sprays glittering jizz for sixty seconds every sixty minutes, while school children huff and puff all over in different veins. The sun rises over the Sacred, freshly-baked Heart, the city makes the mating rattle. There are a hundred Polaroid feathers on a wall somewhere which stylists are ruffling, gently stroking, the individuals falling away one by one until only the most fixed stares, or most nonchalant glances, or severe cheekbones or only eyes which are an absinthe-green, skin that would crack beneath a dessert spoon, mouths which form the letter O or the word Tropic, all these irregularities combine a fifteen faces, faces which are imposed to define an age, the PRESENT age, which you have never seen but in which you recognise an idealised version of yourself: Sorry! the most beautiful thing in this city is when it's Paris.
-JPD

The Bicycle Business

What is this the know-it-all’s guide to framebuilding you don’t know shit.  Straight off the bat… nah nah nah nah,/ Nah nah don’t worry about that I’ll lay it straight down the line you don’t even mention the word culture what the hell you know or nostalgia or style or waves and where the damn drawings?  Aristocrats were always dying of nostalgia.  You know that?  You probably don’t even damn know that.  Keeling over stiff and dead.   You in a position to begin your discussion from this fact?  Romantic losers always nostalgic, phewww dropping down out off the radar.  I have all the drawings here.  In business you have to consider four things: culture, style, nostalgia and China or Taiwan (volume).  Make a frame that understands all that fuckface, haha, make a frame…  feeling, intuition… haha they don’t mean a thing here, in this jungle, they won’t get you anywhere you need a clear diagram which understands history, how many times do I have to say it?  Nobody is going to give a rat’s arse about your aching nostalgia served up on a plate like that and the same goes for your stinking scepticism etc.  A clear diagram illustrating the operative mechanisms of history, how many times do I have to say it

-LPM

CURATION WAS GOING TO BE A PROBLEM...

/TMR

You know, you just know!!

bourbon...

JTS Brown...

anything can be great, anything can be great, i don't care, bricklaying can be great, if a guy knows, if he knows what he's doin' an' why and he can make it come off, like when im goin' n' i'm really goin', like... i feel like a jockey must feel, he's sitting on that horse, all that speed, all that power underneath him, he's coming into the stretch, the pressure's on him, and he knows, he just feels, when to let it go and how much, coz he's got everything working for him, timing, touch, it's a great feelin', BOY it's a real great feelin', when you're right and you know you're right, there's no better feelin'

all i need, it's all i need, bruised ego, bruised knuckles, it's all i need, it all adds to a character, a character that keeps score real simple, positive 'n' negative, i just need a moment, one moment every day, and i'm right there, on top of that horse, and i feel it, 'n' i know, i just know, and i can grimace the through the layer cake...

Thanks
FEF
  

TH

I've always believed in myself

Opened a bottle of good €2 wine and I'm here just shooting the breeze with myself haha there's just no time these days is there, just to sit down and savour it all, pissing all over everybody else down there? Haha Shit if this wine isn't good - Cazzo se non é buono questo vino. Huh? Haha... A moment of reflection as it seems the world roars across the horizon for another evening in my flat or on the balcony sniffing wondering in terror why winter hasn't come yet, because when it hits I'm gone. Fucking arseholes. No. Haha. Un altro bicchier' di vino. This one's for all my friends with whom I wouldn't know what the hell to do.

-LPM