Angie

Here lie the words to seduce you into liking me, wanting me, inviting me to your next party, your life, your world, because mine seems like a scene you want to be in. Here lie the words I contrived and wrote out on a table where meals aren’t shared, places aren’t set, face to face conversations aren’t had, a temple to the temporal because I’m too busy living my enviable on-life. The pendulum swings from tears to fixed grins, until I let the hypnotic motion fool me into feeling less. A safety inthenet of quantity. More ephemeral friends, more vacuous comments, more sycophantic reflections which evaporate with my unremembered dreams. I forget what’s real. Add add add. Now I’ve forgotten what I’d forgotten. If you ask I’ll say I wrote the words out at 4am on the back of a cigarette pack at a party in Stoke Newington. I’ll list my influences to include only obscure contemporaries and cool classics that seep from my knowledge archives but not my experience, though my carefully selected photographs paint a different story. A sliding show of me as socialite, musician, artist, party-goer, scene-knower. In vintage, retro, Americana. Mexicana. Parodana. My online co-dependency of culture, sex and lifestyle. The motivation’s obvious but the method more so. And I’m searching for a new way of presenting it to you, my own twist that will at least attempt to convince you it’s original. But which path hasn’t been trodden? Which stone hasn’t been upturned? Which drum hasn't been beaten, which alternate hasn’t been appropriated? Which angle hasn't been covered, which box hasn’t been thought out of? The world doesn’t need another cover, it doesn’t even need a new song. There’s an undiscovered catalogue of yesteryear’s songs that said it better. Will your pastiche-medley-montage leave a mark or come out in the next 30oC wash? Question the marks or come join my intoxicated mind on the dancefloor of life, put in a request to the DJ, how would you like to be represented? Re-invented? Take that cartwheel melody, perfect in form and function, and complicate it with your 21st century memory in the name of modernity. We know it all already. Catch me as I berate the scene stealers, chastise me for being one, and remind me of all that we’ve forgotten.

Yes, here the words lie.