Introduction

What is this?

Short avant-garde texts.

Experimental, conceptual.

Not quite poetry, no way a novel.

….

Others refer to compositions as briefs.

Also known as western dissident art.

Only five briefs are published.

Regularly, new briefs replace old.

….

If this grabs your attention.

Contact Ed Strong for more.

Trade enquiries welcome.

ed.strong[at]gmx.com or @mustbed

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Enterprise

How many worths make it while?

I’d feel awful if you said I was dull by comparison.
It means you’ve missed my role in life.

I’m here to sharpen perception. But not as myself.

You don’t expect me to be, do you?
As head of artificial insemination. []

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Default Setting

The writer Andrew Simpson committed suicide on January 25th last year. His wife, Catherine, came home to find that he’d hanged himself in the garage of their house, in Shaftesbury, Dorset.

For many months, Simpson had been in a deep depression. This is an extract from an interview with The Avant-Gardist a month before he died:

    Everything in my own experience supports my deep belief that I’m the absolute centre of the universe. The realest, most vivid and important person in existence.

    We rarely think about this sort of natural, basic self-centredness because it’s so socially repulsive. But it’s pretty much the same for all of us. It’s our default setting, hard-wired into our boards at birth.

    Think about it. There’s no experience I’ve had in which I’m not the absolute centre. The world as I experience it is there in front of me, on my TV or my computer screen.

    Other people’s thoughts and feelings have to be communicated to me somehow, but my own are so immediate, urgent, real.

    I’m deeply absorbed in myself. I see and interpret everything through this lens of self. To be absorbed by it. []

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Pass the Text

The bourgeois text. Chaos costs too much. Stay linear and logical. Above all, anecdotal. We don’t expect much passion. It’s feeble, self-centred, superfluous and vain.

I’m only watching my favourite video again, aren’t I? The one where the postscript artist demolishes previous texts.

You know what I mean, don’t you? I’m painting my portrait, proving my point. Can you read me? Beyond comprehension. []

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Camp Idol

Does this label sell a design? Am I deceiving you?

You’ve joined this course because you want to be seen with it. Don’t you long to drop me in conversation?

The gob stops at parties.

“What’re you in?”

“Sopism, actually. I’m trying to reach a state of purpose”.

“Who’re you under?”

The camp idol himself. Here, he comes. Feel the palpitation? It’s me again. It must be all that mental exertion. []

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Really?

The Theory of Existence

Am I the only person who exists or who has ever existed?

Are other people figments of my imagination?

Is there no universe outside myself?

Did the universe begin when I began?

Will the universe end when I end?

Is all I think I am? []

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