Art: Guy Peellaert/Kristian Hoffman.
Artist, actress, rock ‘n’ roller and pop culture surrealist Ann Magnuson has written an open letter so brilliant in execution and so fucking true (Antonin Artaud is cheering in his grave) that it may shame open letter writers into burning their keyboards and reducing their deafening inconsequential tweets to an occasional emergency chirp.
Ann posted this on her Facebook page, a site from which she had once been banished for acts of artistic subversion and celebration.
Open Letter to an Open Letter,
Seriously? What the FUUUUUCK? You stare at me with your blank page staring back at me like some milky white ass flaps twerking for dollars on the agitated propaganda machine crying out for attention while masquerading your plea for help as a publicity stunt; a call to arms, to legs, beckoning to what is panting between those latex clad gams, those powerful pussy pants that can be sold for so many pieces of silver, gold and Bitcoins on the open market and defiling our father’s house of prayer? Don’t be fooled! It’s a losing game! You think I’m going to fill up your empty void with self-righteous, self-promoting texting drivel, so much jaw-breaking jibber jabber, using this platform for a hectoring lecturing dickity dock to empower the pussy over the cock when all we’re really looking for is more ‘hits’, more eyeballs rolling in the back of heads and onto websites to move more product? Give me a fuckin’ break with your ‘look at me I know the score, I’ve been around the block Good Woman of motherfuckin’ Setzuan waiting all Godot-like for a royalty check that never shows because some industry spunk mogul spent it on a yacht in Anguilla’ BULLSHIT! Because if I even hear one lame-ass vocoder note of that siren song, I’ll fall for it and start trying to win at a losers game, getting my act together and taking it on the road, screwin’ my head on right and no one is gonna tell me it ain’t while running as fast as I can WHILE YOU continue to TAUNT with more whitespace to fill! This is a vortex THAT CAN NEVER BE FILLED; that oozing, gaping GOD SHAPED HOLE aching to be crammed full of cold hard plasmatic cash because it’s not like the old daze when we could use paper and a simple yellow No. 2 pencil and begin and end a good bowel movement of a punk rock riot grrl rant with a couple of well crafted paragraphs. Nooooooo! Now it’s all about fuckin’ word count and bullshit font size and patriarchal borders and shadings and template-tipped bullets and mind-numbing page numbering! Those ever-continuing pages that require the never-ending numbers; numbers that stretch beyond the edges of the known universe, beyond human comprehension, waaaay past the event horizon to drive us star raving mad! And the hashtags! For the sweet love of Jesus, The HASHTAGS! #fuckyouall NOOOOO, these days we don’t have time to sit at a simple wooden desk with our McGuffy Reader minding our P’s and Q’s, we have to PROSTITUTE OURSELVES on computers and iPhones and Humpty Dumpty Mumblety-peg Gadget Thingamajigs being thought up every day by Evil Game Changers in order to trick us into endless ‘upgrades’ and all the while we continue to be faced with one huge, theocratic mullah of a blank document that just goes on and on and on and on AND ON until the 12th of motherfuckin’ NEVER! No matter what I say, no matter how much I type, no matter how fast I spew my vitriol, projectile-vomit, no matter how well I craft this well justified bile that NEEDS TO BE SAID I am still faced with having to do MORE. MORE! MORE! MORE!!!! All because of YOU, you Damnable Open Letter! You who will endlessly taunt me with more empty and infinite GODDAMN white space!!!! This is why NO WOMAN can win at this game! Face the TRUTH: We’re being used. Sucked into the tar baby vacuum, used as pawns in the Entertainment Game, being jerked over by The Man in our vain attempt to WRITE OUR OWN SCRIPT. We think this is a way to TAKE BACK OUR POWER? EPIC FAIL! It’s all USELESS USELESS USELESS! So much cannon fodder grist for the mill like the sands through the hourglass these are the lies of our lives! Face the facts drones: There is always more to give, more to say, more to feed the insatiable beast, the one that weaves a deceitful web with our Facebook threads, our Tweetie Pie chicken shit cuneiform, our high horse hieroglyphics, our open wound expressionistic Esperanto; these walking shadow boxing matches full of sound and fury signifying not a heck of a lot when you get right down to it cuz all we are is dust in the wind. If - as our mother goddess role model Yoko Ono astutely sang- Woman is N*gger of the World, then You - YOU insidious Open Letter, are the White Supremacist Albino Dictator of The Internet and I say FIE! FIE ON THEE AND YOUR DEMON SPAWN!
With immense respect,