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i feel like chicken tonight value, value, value mention it and the dog is gonna yap yap yap when in the territory of the value topic, yep, we’re always in the park with religion there will always be a weight the value of something it’s worth etc. we’re are in the park by the bandstand the graffiti artist is gently caressing the breasts of his 12 year old girlfriend value judgements, yep, yep they can only be invented and yes we have to inherit them our thoughts can only circulate in them breathe in them but the task is always to get out always to escape reconfigure our neural paths talk about traditional values and the church is not far away and even the atheists have their pathetic little code of ethics kill all the woolly liberal guardian readers value value value why why why god god god as representational creatures we like to invent such things will we ever catch these graffiti vandals? we will photograph their tags and keep them in a big reference book cross reference and cross reference we are detectives we will refine our narratives and then they will be put in big folders in big books on big shelves and in the year 9595? well, the human species will probably be something else gone, dust or somewhere else on another planet universal human rights? blah blah blah the melons are two for one you can refine all the historical narratives you like trace all the edges with your fine nanometric felt tip pens politics is just a waste of time time is not linear yes, i know we’ve said it all before but just think about it it’s not difficult there’s no great mystery here you are not who you think you are or what you are yep, no-one knows why there was a big bang and never will unless god reveals himself and he never will because he can’t be seen to be hanging out with the chickens 2oo,ooo years ago the first anatomically modern human had a shit yep, and we don’t need to go much further or much deeper we can survive without processing complex thoughts, these days and when the tv’s on the blink then what? go to sainsbury’s and buy a ready meal for sake layla, one ready meal is never gonna be enough you can go any where you like as long as walk down an aisle a predetermined path look its kafka’s mouse pushing the trolly alas, i am at the last aisle there in the corner stands the checkout that i must run into but do we have to that last chicken? what you like as long as its on the shelf we like it, it makes us laugh like morons traditional values? this is what we’ve always done or just not done or why? because why-because ad infinitum the why is the because you know what your great granddad did for a living where he came from so, what? what about your 1o, ooo year old ancestor what did he do to pass the time don’t waste my time with your self-mythologizing what does it mean to be able to make a choice? i wouldn’t you if you were the last chicken in sainsbury’s but then, all of a sudden, we want to emancipate the human race free it from what? close your eyes now and dream

the clore gallery escape in some ways i suppose the clore gallery escaped or turned itself inside out or slipped out of its skin something was on the move maybe it was the ghost of sterling creeping quietly towards the river thames there it is again we catch it with our eyes as it moves it sees us and stops as if by standing still it won't be seen its stop is forever we stare at the second hand and look up to see what we have: brightly coloured boxes and lampposts thrown together objects have sprung up, sprouted from the sculpture court where have they come from? we know that they have come from the land of the clore they have slid and slipped under the door they have dripped into the outside they have escaped into the garden maybe they dug a tunnel from a sterling dream but headed for the surface too early they take a confused look around. they thought they would at least be on the other side of the road digging tunnels is such hard work we catch them as they rest now they stand quietly, loosely spread the boxes group together, they hang around in gangs the lampposts stand alone their friends are still trapped inside they cling to its walls they wait by the stairs hoping that their turn will come sound erupts from the flower beds and the exterior walls of the clore have also come alive images flicker a young girl called annlee is trying to tell us a story maybe it is the same tragic story that flickers across the turner canvases staring out of this window i'm captive a prisoner of these wooden floors i stand in an angular bay window i'm trapped in the castle tower the window provides me with a frame, a stage set, a scene we have a landscape framed by sterling's green boxed window a group of people has gathered in the courtyard maybe annlee has asked them to come out, tempted them. Invited them to a party in the courtyard it's a school group a teacher stops to light his cigarette. he pauses to read the information board, adding the final touches to his speech. the pupils wait; he lifts his arms and begins, "annlee you proposes!"i watch as he gesticulates i can't hear him he's trapped in a bell jar and the falling sun has sucked out the air it doesn't seem to matter on this cold november afternoon it's a silent film it's a cold november afternoon he doesn't talk for long his students soon break up art is important to them but not as important as being warm finally the sun sets a glorious autumn sunset thr is liquid gold turner himself seems desperate to escape the whole clore gallery is melting the buildings are a backdrop in pink the rive

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