January 15, 2005
A Season in Hell
Once, if I remember well, I held Utopian Aspirations for the role of the artist on the world stage, I saw America transformed through revolutionary artistic thought, inspired by the avant-garde, Government revised, through techniques of media and virtualization... my life was a feast in which True Freedom was found through the power of imagination, where all was opened beyond what is, to what can be... I transcended Bureaucracies, I dissolved the distinction between what is real and what is not, I declared myself ein Berliner Kunstler, I created new worlds, and I indulged in collective toasts.
One evening, I found myself crushed by reality. The Bureaucracy I conceived turned against me, it caved in on itself, it gave in to the pressures of Authority... it conjured Ed Ruscha, high on the throne of Beauty, master of the Word, the Everyday: to replace me.
And I found this bitter. I became disillusioned. I plunged into despair and self-pity. I raged. In my darkest hour, the disappointment of unfulfilled expectations left me empty, drained, and I cursed them all.
I then armed myself against justice, and declared, "Where Art can contribute to the Perpetual Fight against Authoritarianism, I shall confront the Powers that be." I announced I would "see the artistic process through... whatever its outcome."
I hacked the Website and made it my own. I dissolved all Control. Politicians! Your Deceit, Your Tyranny, Your Hate, to you had the Department been entrusted! You, who glorify those anachronisms that would bring us to the End, to emptiness: as we brace ourselves for the Ceremonial Inauguration of Fear... I bid Adieu... welcome, to A Season in Hell.
January 23, 2005
Reportage From the Aesthetic Edge
And while waiting a few small infamies in arrears, I heretofore engage in the reportage of the everyday life in the nation's capital... the power center of the World. I seek to transform this space and its machinations... its fantasies, its deceptions. What I would not dare as the Secretary, I no longer hesitate as the Secretary-at-Large, following the artistic process and the narrative thread wherever it may lead.
Onward and downward. Please join me for these next four years, I guarantee it will be quite a ride... never a dull moment... as we descend far from reality... you who love the absence of the instructive or descriptive faculty in an artist, for you let me upload these few, hideous pages from my notebook on the aesthetic edge.
Posted by the Secretary-at-Large at 09:12 PM >>>
October 31, 2007
The Last Days of Mankind
The answer is here, the echo of my blood-haunted madness. And no longer does anything resound to me out of of ruined creation except this one sound, out of which millions who are dying accuse me of still being alive, I who had eyes to to see the world, and whose stare struck it in such a fashion that it came as I saw it. If heaven was just in letting this come about, then it was unjust in not have annihilated me. Have I deserved this fulfillment of my deathly fear of life? What's looming there, invading all my nights? Why was I not given the physical strength to smash the sin of this planet with one ax blow? Why was I not given the mental power to force an outcry out of desecrated mankind? Why is my shout of protest not stronger than this tinny command that has dominion over the souls of a whole globe.
I preserve documents for a time that will no longer comprehend them or will be so far removed from today that it will say I was a forger. But no, the time to say that will not come. For such time will not be. I have written a tragedy, whose perishing hero is mankind, whose tragic conflict, the conflict between the world and nature, has a fatal ending. Alas, because this drama has no actor other than all mankind, it has no audience.
Posted by the Secretary-at-Large at 11:06 AM >>>