it had to happen. One day we wonder why human beings are at the center of everything, why do we pass our lives to watch each other, to decipher, to make a fuss of us, for us, with us or against us, polishing mirrors reflecting mirrors to infinity. One day it is off and everything seems ridiculous. Who cares? This fucking Sistine Chapel would have no more value than the blue of the fleet, but puisqu'encore once it is us ... God as we love ... We deceive. And as facing an array of contemporary art is incomprehensible to most of our mental frameworks lack the most basic harmony, critics and fans try to give value to each piece as she did , by itself, no, must now transorfmer art by asking a truth once and for all: the artist should give itself the value of his painting. Now I'd like to see written "this painting is wonderful" paintings on the most horrible and most incomprehensible that populate museums. Wings pompous interpretations and imbitable, soaring the importance we give ourselves in the eyes of others, the soaring artist and that remains the object. That exists only nature.
It's like electronic music, techno purest and most trash: the thing and not the verb, not really recognized authors, only the pulse. Pulsation in a world elsewhere.
Be absolutely not human.
Finally, a message against the so-called sulfur writers passionate about the "under 16" will not believe your taboos that you interpret yourself as such, the "taboos" are inventions made to speak of. Young people, children adapt to the world that we built for them, they did not realize the extent of any possible of what might otherwise be, or not, and their limits own desires. Out of respect and because we do not care about your fantasies, do not talk about consent and, as with your works you expose your own life (a mirror more), it is not necessary to invest the existence of these young people.
Shit then there's sick fantasies of others. Keep!
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