It’s about the lamp. There is no light on. I put a red blob where the advertising action is supposed to be somewhere near the middle because advertisers and super smart people in advertising (and that would include you and me, he said), have researched addiction, sex, obfuscation, identity, and what piece of this ass you will pay for. This time. They are immoral homo sapiens. There are billions of them in every crack and crevice. Some live inside active volcanos and they eat magma. No one likes them, but here we are. The landed gentry, and they have been the landed gentry for three centuries. It’s about the lamp. There is no light on. I find it utterly asexual. I am far more focused on why do I want the light off. People have a burr up the butt of about whether they like (I did a Twitter Survey which was about all I knew to do). They do not give a fuck about the light. You might not even see it, but the numbers say it was the hands. And why you have so many hands. So you would have to work for what you want. What is it you want from photography. All of photography is a lie. A covenant of the past.

In every art form I can think of, art was there before there was a there, there. Goya. Picasso and/or Africa. French caves. Hollywood. It’s been a naked mud-fight. I love naked mud-fights. What’s very funny to me are the number of straight cowboys will wrestle naked in the mud tub with some other guy like him. Everyone needs therapy. Free therapy for everyone. Pups at the gate. Pups at the gate.

All art is deep into the covenant with the past. How much of the past. All art.

The past says: leave the symbols of us, and we did exactly that. We did not invent pornography. It teaches, too, the children who see it (who says they are stupid) that we are filled with shame and especially women, as humiliated objects, reminds me of 1950’s television lied to me, and not only was Superman not real, he killed himself and it was never talked about ever after did you know Superman do it we always wondered how hope could be so lied about. My parents fights were so out of control, I kept my safety bag, which was stuff I thought I could survive with as I ran through alleyways. There were my All-American friends. It began in high school, they could not face going back in there – and they got in their cars and blew their brains out. Out in the parking lot filled with kids. No one said: Guns. You would have been put away and medicated especially as you drooled at Family Christmas in our drool chair just shoot me.

Another ritual that was a lie, and that is what we do, we lie, we lied through our fucking teeth. We lie to everyone and everyone lies to us. Chimps know advertising. We The-Advertising-Lie is the coin of the state and the state came with very big coin, twenty-four-seven, seven days a week, cascading into space even all space itself is falling away into the ghastly cosmic toilet of out space hit the go button and they whine that it was a trap door. Do the physics. I lie they lie we all lie just to get us a vehicle through the day. Have a good day. 

We depend on ritual. That is what we have even when we refuse to listen. Most porn is ritual. It isn’t real, anymore than Christmas is real, and let’s face it right here right now all of us are lying about who and what we really are and have but here we can buy a new identity right-here-right – I only have one idea why. I am seriously autistic, so giving you the slide show in my brain I try to abide by the rules with wrestling and the dinosaurs. I am a dinosaur. I admit it. Don’t throw me into prison, please. How religious are you. I do not know religion, there is no god, just deal with it, I do not want to know other dinosaurs. Are you a Kangaroo. No. I told you, we are not the Kangaroos. We are the dinosaurs. We are carnivorous and we do not want to know who we really are or what we look like. Oh, but bacteria. Bacteria at the gate. Bacteria at the gate. You are not bacteria because if you were bacteria, what kind of bacteria would you be. But the mindfests inside you evolve almost colloquially, and that, too, is the main event to a diaspora already in progress because you belittle with the Politik of slightest revenge. Everyone runs to their huts and they remember. Everyone eats their own young.

Lucy was never lost. Why would it be illogical to look at the possibility of Lucy as being a part of Africa that was besought by outsider migration of short people. Again, we are beset as mammals with what we feed on. When you have nothing to feed on – and this is where I think language comes from, there were numerous short people throwing stones.  

Lucy was a Little Person who was a different species known as The Little People being fucked in the ass screaming how we like it, but the Politik is the survival of sex. Is often a slavery of bacteria that live off other bacteria. Bacteria do it routinely. Other bacteria have to go. Stuff happens when in Chaco it gets hot. There was nothing to eat and when there is nothing to eat, there was fast food. In Baton Rouge. Where all cultures come from. I have visions. I write them. I listen to stories and and I tell them and I lie, I lie to their face, I tell them, that the stories, legends, Dragonmasters, Wonder Woman, are never really all that helpful, I so do wonder about what the bigger wars and the genocides, and all the cholera, and the blood, look at all the shit you let your children see, how does a kid survive, how does a warrior culture apologize. The colonial epic is with us, still. They call it a culture war. I call it A No More Babies Law Set In Concrete, No More Babies. Then, you have babies. They have no answers. China disappears overnight, And you have no answers. But the physics are the same. The Dinosaurs would have disappeared because small rodents could reproduce faster than eggs could hatch. The last time we existed in this very same place, this exact spot as space spots go, was when the place of the rodents who were surviving, the numbers were not good for it, disease would arrive quickly, the question being what is all this mixing and tricksing and vixing. The only place in human existence was life in the sewers of Rome, the blue light, a little lower, please.

I can still do it faster than your eggs could head for China on a wine boat. Entropy is older that Lucy or her bones. Whose bones do you know whose bones standing upright whose bones will be seen as someone’s driveway. Some folks are saying it’s mammals back to the holes again. That cannot last. Even if you had the numbers, the tech is still the tech. They call it a culture war. As far as I can tell from this, that my report back to my superiors has been filed. It’s a culture war not because it’s a culture war, it’s a war about sex, greed, power, sex with porn stars, and these people don’t even shop on their own for cigarettes. Small rodents are about all we have left to go back to. The dinosaurs are dying by the dozen. We are much cheaper now than we were then. Sometimes a lamp is just a lamp. Until it’s not. It could even be the photographer who is wearing the lamp. I have avoided tearing off some scabs or the writing of it. What I was doing was writing the porn the stars acted in. It stretches as far back as avoiding starvation if I could do it. It paid the rent. That was a lot for me. I am one of the lucky ones. I can mask quite well. For hours. And then, I need to breathe. We are having a withering heat wave and no rain in site. The trees are paying a price. It’s real. We’ve lost our government. We’ve lost our rights. They even own the Freedom Fighter Traitors.

Who are being released by courts who have had enough of this and they want the power back that actually ended in 1873. What happens when dinosaurs have a barbecue of us. This is textbook stuff people. They are all planning for riots in the fall. Anyway you look at it, it’s totally designed by a choreographer. This times, heads will roll. Some people need to go now. You don’t need all your stuff, drive to Alaska. We are all going to die in our school bus anyway. In fact, history repeats and repeats and repeats itself a lot. I put a red blob in the middle. It is my little red blob red blob. You have to laugh at the reality of reality even as immorality and the Ten Commanders shock us, if those crazy people with the caves in Idaho are correct, all it would do is kindle forest fires and the forest is tired.