I was helping my little brother
Where the fuck does jack come from
That’s basically what math is like for the rest of your life.
I love how the answer is at the bottom of the page. And how is any kid suppose to know how many stickers Jack has? Does Tani and Jen give Jack their stickers? I wish I was Jack. My friends never give me stickers.You’re all missing the point. This isn’t math. Rather it’s metaphysics, or the existence of our being. Theoretically speaking, Jack isn’t a person. Jack exists in all of us. We are Jack. Jack is all of us. Every single one of us. In each inept part of our being, our existence, Jack lives. Forgotten and ignored, yet he exists in our never ending subconscious. The question, rather, is how many stickers do we all have?
I am Jack’s twenty-three unsolicited stickers.
The limit of stickers does not exist.
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In 1996, Tracey Emin lived in a locked room in a gallery for fourteen days, with nothing but a lot of empty canvases and art materials, in an attempt to reconcile herself with paintings. Viewed through a series of wide-angle lenses embedded in the walls, Emin could be watched, stark naked, shaking off her painting demons. Starting by making images like the artists she really admired (i.e. Egon Schiele, Edvard Munch, Yves Klein), Emin’s two-week art-therapy session resulted in a massive outpouring of autobiographical images, and the discovery of a style all her own. The room was extracted in its entirety, and now exists as an installation work.
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Holy shit the Coachella lineup is amazing this year. Soo uhh..somebody thats going please take me with you!
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