@ Corey Presha
That smile in your eyes that I have wished to control, if only by a little measure at a time hides a wound within me, within you
By Brad Feuerhelm, ASX, February 2015
That smile in your eyes that I have wished to control, if only by a little measure at a time hides a wound within me, within you. I am not alone scavenging the image you have presented to me on this interconnected and hostile world where we display ourselves openly for others to abscond with our likeness. I feel a heat rising from below when I look at you. I have no understanding of who you are, but I desire your image in my catalogue of false nostalgias and incompetent yearnings for our unity. I sit back and look into your eyes, reach for this heat. I feel truly in love when I reach out to touch your plasma-self. I think about what we are and I hold the picture of you and 99 other women I can easily fall in love with through the images I collect. In a way, the iconoclasm of self that pervades is disheartening when I think about it. I decidedly render my own image each time I take you or another one for my generic filing. We will talk of love and the deep web and the genuine need of ownership on this flagship of desire.
Corey Presha’s “100 Girls I don’t know” crosses the bridge of uncertainty in the flotsam and jetsam of bodies thrown into the gear of the global apparatus. These Cam girls lay flat and the subsequent male desire for their image is an idolized marauding pursuit in the age of pseudo-transparency of the feeble web. We see people we want to own, if only by image and project our catalogue of desires onto their faces. We Store them on a hard drive rarely to return to their newly engraved image in favor of the next…victim. We start remembering bits of their life and begin to assemble them into a misshapen puzzle that we wish to compliment our own lives with. The outcome of which is incongruent at best, but it does not leave room to discuss the psychosis that forms atop our new pleasure ground. I can own these people a bit at a time and since you have volunteered your image to me and countless other swine, I feel at home with taking a bit of you for my re-purposing. I really do love you here if only by an image or minute at a time. To say I am becoming disconnected is not a total lie, but it is also not a total truth. I include you and 99 other women in an authorship rife for simple needs and you are disposable. Yet, you are loved and I am the truly disposable.
@ Corey Presha
In this miasma of data gathered, we are lovers melding into the wires of an ether our bodies will never touch.
We have arrived in a world of disconnected inter-connectedness. We no longer need each other the way our parents or their parents needed each other. All I need now is the idea that I know and love you. I need not even touch your face, hear your breath on my ear to fall for you. A new mania of technology beckons me forward into the failure of what my emotions could have been. The parody of which is that, I can spend an eternity here with you even after my physical self is no longer a vessel to carry my desires. We can dance forever in this room. I can engage with you for future generations to see if they choose to. We will always exist here, now. We need not be buried in the same country together. We need never raise a glass to each other’s lips on the new frontier of satisfaction. In this miasma of data gathered, we are lovers melding into the wires of an ether our bodies will never touch.
100 Girls I don’t Know
(All rights reserved. Text @ Brad Feuerhelm. Images @ Corey Presha.)