Fornication. Kali-Fornication. The essence of our time. The goddess of destruction really loves to fuck the world, I sometimes think. I should protest. I should do good. Be Father Teresa, as all the save-the-climate adverts and good-world people want me to.
But I am a fucking hypocrite. I have been trained at school to obey bourgeois rules. I have been doing their science. I have been trading their bonds and shares. I have been good at school. I am a trained professional with a career.I even did my PhD.
Not quite what you would expect from an artist. Not the revolutionary Che you waited for. Rather, a strange-world being with a peculiar mission. Spaceman, confined to the fornicating world. So I became one of them to take cover. Still I would not be absorbed by it. The symbols of protest are ridiculously petty. Wearing sneakers with a suit. No more prostrating before weasels just to make another deal. Vividly loving discrimination. Following your conscience, your fucking ever-whispering conscience, that's the hardest part.
But when I stand upon the on the bridge of my giant Forest-Boat and look down upon it from the top of the mast, I see the hatred crumble, and, after a while, peace instils itself in my heart. This is when I leave the fornicating world. This is when I am nothing, when I just am. When the open skies talk to me in the golden-veiled afternoon light. When I am back on the island, amidst the radiating intensity of the southern light and its extreme shining colours. It is then that I am truly happy despite the melancholy that confines me.
Computers and machines help me doing these works. They are as active in making the final pictures as I am, and were they alive, they would have to co-sign with me. But they aren't, and so the bloody fame is all mine. The world is unjust.
You are at ease to like or not like these pictures. But don't let the hypocrites tell you what they are. Find out yourself. Obey nothing and no-one but your own conscience. Be wild. Be ever-questioning.