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leftist culture is always an out of touch interior and an ugly guy in conceptual trousers saying words with eleven google results. the whole function has the energy of a luxury furniture showroom undergoing a disciplinary investigation. exposed plywood, punitive lighting, one chair designed to make sitting down feel politically embarrassing, some trust fund cryptid in orthopedic siege equipment explaining that enjoying things without a theoretical framework is basically fascism. you need to be very fucking strange to look at this postgraduate containment zone and think holy shit we are so back, the masses are going to fuck with this. bro the masses are trying to buy groceries. you are having a six month institutional beef over whether a sound installation reproduced the landlord gaze. absolute weapons grade seminarbrain. every sentence is a compulsory software update for a conversation nobody wanted to have. every outfit looks like it was awarded funding. every object in the room has an artist statement longer than its warranty. mf will call football bread and circuses then spend four hours watching somebody drag a microphone across a wet tile in solidarity with the concept of refusal. apparently the revolution requires a very specific kind of shelving. apparently liberation looks like a room where asking for a normal beer permanently damages your reputation. the proletariat has once again failed the vibe check administered by a man whose trousers require a curator. just an infinite prestige economy of mutually accredited yap merchants laundering personal taste into moral authority, getting catastrophically high on the idea that being impossible to understand means being impossible to refute. nobody is allowed to say the exhibition sucks until they have completed the exhibition sucks reading group. nobody is allowed to leave without acknowledging the spatial politics of the exit. at some point the entire project became making sure the wrong people feel uncomfortable at the book launch. congratulations comrades you have reinvented the country club for people who look like they lost a custody battle over a synthesizer