Caspar Heinemann
Shared Personal Gnosis
8 June—8 July 2017
ALMANAC, London
191 Southwark Park Road
SE16 3TX, London
For all images:
Courtesy of the artist and ALMANAC, London/Turin
All photos by Oskar Proctor.
‘Dessert is the best time.’ – Larry Mitchell, The Faggots & Their Friends Between
Revolutions
cognitive behavioural therapy to encourage positive
thinking feels as unreal as gay conversion therapy oh forget that i said that
it’s actually going great thanks for asking at least i am clinging onto the
last scraps of politicised foliage knotweed response able body politic i can
grasp the refracted glitter of the nettle it is spring it is warm it is a
terrible country we are in your hair smells perfect like sweat i am burning for
vegetable-based hopeful breakfasts i can’t wrap my soul around the discursive
snow globe anymore i am just building many crushable things and decorating them
so so well translucent the world is literal drag and hard enough that the self
congeals in the edges whilst presenting as ubiquitous but it’s actually green
light gardening beetroots purple prose sweet potatoes honeysuckle bonfire disco
balls in the orchard everything is fine sounds fake but ok historical attempts
at transdimensional escape routes patchouli chasers and repetitive wind chimes
against the structural flaw in the geodesic dome the yellow green purple
rotated pentagon no jobs for no workers and just us now trying to try to try
the way that’s not a way there is no dry land nobody knows what the inside of
the moon looks like it is spring it is warm it doesn’t need to be anything else
thinking feels as unreal as gay conversion therapy oh forget that i said that
it’s actually going great thanks for asking at least i am clinging onto the
last scraps of politicised foliage knotweed response able body politic i can
grasp the refracted glitter of the nettle it is spring it is warm it is a
terrible country we are in your hair smells perfect like sweat i am burning for
vegetable-based hopeful breakfasts i can’t wrap my soul around the discursive
snow globe anymore i am just building many crushable things and decorating them
so so well translucent the world is literal drag and hard enough that the self
congeals in the edges whilst presenting as ubiquitous but it’s actually green
light gardening beetroots purple prose sweet potatoes honeysuckle bonfire disco
balls in the orchard everything is fine sounds fake but ok historical attempts
at transdimensional escape routes patchouli chasers and repetitive wind chimes
against the structural flaw in the geodesic dome the yellow green purple
rotated pentagon no jobs for no workers and just us now trying to try to try
the way that’s not a way there is no dry land nobody knows what the inside of
the moon looks like it is spring it is warm it doesn’t need to be anything else