crazy how symbiopsychotaxiplasm still holds up, i find something new in every viewing, it never exhausts its experimental quality
slam frank. excruciating watch. tragically unfunny, nauseatingly self-satisfied with its 2012 shane dawson anti-woke 1.0 humor, cattle audience cackling for the Nth time over NB ADHD joke. worst of all - utterly inoffensive
like a toddler farting, yelling ‘fuck’ to get a reaction
starts off strong, anti-literary unflourished, like an Araki character’s dazed voiceover but older. sprawls on to familiar iceberg navigating ‘fag lore’, ends strong again w snark, sex and post-aids
retains strength. not in allure, but in conviction, which is much more arresting
absent wayne’s hyper prose, mccormack’s shit-glam, guibert’s poetics, but also different from the memoir or diary or supersex like tradition of anglophone homosexualia.
class figures strong - a blessing
not so much refreshing as satisfying. didn’t know how much i needed this









