Online discourse is obsessed with emotion and subjectivity, the tiny precise gradients of affect. Endless essays on anger (ours: valid, justified, full of moral urgency) (theirs: invalid, brutal, festering with hatred), shock, outrage, upset, trauma, and hurt. It's a very impressive show, but it's a distraction, a piece of performance art. The real function is to frantically cover up the fact that most of the time, most of us feel nothing at all. Screens burn holes through our brains and shrivel our genitals. You sit alone in a room. You look for things to upset you.
The person who types "lol" is never actually laughing; the person who types I'M SCREAMING is silently dabbing at a screen. In the same way, the person who is perpetually shocked and outraged and brimming with righteous fury is almost always lying to themselves. They're as affectless as the rest of us: play-acting, downloading synthetic emotions, and then passing them on.
Anyway, we were thinking that now is a good time to have someone paint some murals to liven up some of our blank walls. We've got a number of good spots for it: the walls on the balcony, next to and across from coat check; the lounge wall behind the DJ booth; the wall under the stairs where the satellite bar used to be; the green room; the restrooms; the pizza hallway; and maybe others I haven't thought of. We don't have anything very specific in mind, but we do have a lot of blank space.
Do you paint big murals? Let's talk. This is a paying gig.
We were going to paint the boarded-up pizza window to look like a floppy disk, but then someone put this George Floyd stencil on it, so, that can stay.