Saturday, June 28, 2008

Sleeper cells will awaken in no time.

Saturday, June 14, 2008


Am I assembling an army?

Surrender your creativity and use authority to prosper, New Orleans.

Tuesday, June 03, 2008


A muffled mumble.

An inconsequential layer that will soon be removed or incorporated into my gray wonderland of sobriety, authority, and permanence.

This individual is now an ally of mine, though I imagine it was unintentional. This represents an artist's letter of resignation.

Sunday, June 01, 2008


My art is to be considered "in progress," pending the lasting disintegration of creativity in New Orleans which I consider to be my ultimate masterpiece. Above you see the mindless blather of one of my many opponents. It is an ultimate irony. I seek to destroy creativity and this displeases other artists that still cling to an unrealistic, lazy, and counterproductive vision. These other artists believe that New Orleans represents some mythical beast of democracy and freedom. My artwork attempts to slay this monster while artists from the other side works pathetically toward "participation" or some other naive gasp. My work angers these other artists so they lash out.

The irony is that their flailing attempts to derail my work only destroys their own creativity. They play right into my hands, you see. The "artist" who painted the "piece" above is actually a former artist. You see, I have killed this one. This person has become so outraged by my vision for productivity that he or she has ceased their own creativity. This person is now merely a critic of my work - and an inarticulate one.

This former artist has died a sad death. Where there was once a misguided and wrongheaded vision for disorderly grassroots creativity, there remains only a desperate and reactionary plea against the hastily arriving days of sober productivity.

Full blown creativity has been reduced to a reaction against my own productivity.

How many other former artists have been decapitated by my campaign? How many other former artists are now jealously chasing me around town desperately trying to fling their corpses onto the caboose of my freight train?