Title. Diddly Squat. Lisboa. 2–4 Av. de Lisboa, Macau
Around Puntopia triviality matters. Superficiality is the night and day standard. Glitz n glamour is the golden yardstick. But in the grand scheme of things, it all means diddly squat. You see, punters drawn to the trivial pursuit of finding material happiness on the spin of a wheel, those betting on the golden ratio, hedging their losses with ever larger bets, hoping the Fibonacci will save their ass, often end up crouching in a dark corner.
There, shielded from the bright lights, they adopt the shit squat position, attempting to find solace in the shadows. While their smart phones flicker back at them a negative bank balance, they try make sense of their folly. A virtual ledger that had been ranging green positive for the past 30 days, certainly just after their pay day, now emits a dull red glow, like a crypto-currency trading chart just after a pump and dump. When takers have fucked the makers. Those chasing long green candles get long red dildos. The greed index can be measured by the length of a wick up or down. Back down to zero liquidity. Rekt.
So there they are, squatting. Out of sight, sucking on a cig, staring at the screen, shitting themselves. All for diddly squat.
Written by Richard Mark Dobson / The RMD Gallery
The Existential Artist. “The Vibe is the Narrative, the Narrative is the Vibe”