Koff Manifesto (1978)


The Artists. They abandon the world on your doorstep. They show you the things you live among so you may know yourself. They cough in your face. They spit by your elbow. The artists. They leave their garbage in your hallway. They throw their hearts in front of the train. Disease is love transformed. They are high. They spit in your silent museums. They hurl their souls in your direction like a stone through polished glass. They die in your landscape. They mess up your banquets. You can’t turn away. The artists.

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