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Text saved Price's cutouts and vac-forms' vacancy by filling them with the aerosolized thought preceding it, dispersion to fill the empty packaging, naming the very thing Price's objects were at that moment doing. As the joke become boring Price again preceded the malaise attaching to it a novel with the critique already in hand explaining - in Price's elegantly mechanical prose - that Price had become a deterministic automaton in highly codified and symbolic trade-show of art where the good could be synthesized and produced like any other commodity as long as one understood the game that Price could all too knowingly lay out very well in the very-non-fiction auto-narrative look back on his then ripening career producing the good, highly collectible objects that looked just vacant enough to be salable all too clear to the viewers of this exhibition and those thoughts already thought for you, again the title to hang about you, Fuck Seth Price.
