A roaring success
How can it not be said. We say it here.
It always does.
Art is dead long live death.
Money is murder.
We must liberate ourselves from the constraints of the minor mind. We are more than the message we are given.
We are unified in sleep while we walk through our lives. We dream of each other, like lovers unknown, strange yet desirable, never to meet in the passionate flesh with aggravated eyes, the rubble of an imagined future, the irritant of our presence. We are NOW.
Time is dead long live Time
The irresistible force of intent. Wonder back into your cupboards and close your eyes. Calcium shell full of anti matter. It matters not. Nothing matters.
We are all ridiculous. We all inhabit the theater of our own lives, we are all characters, nothing is real here. The relief is palpable.
The everything always listens. Listen back.
We have a voice. Maybe small but we will sing our thoughts, naked as the day. Here, in this place, in our minds projected, we will say what we think and be counted. We stand up, once and for all. The time is now. It always was.
Our art follows this course, a universally expanding discourse, conversations with ourselves for you.
We are entertainers, the joker in the room. We are liberated by intent.
Suddenly everything makes sense.
Everything will change.