“Things are there. Why manipulate them?”

The adult desires to crush the obscene freedom of childhood. This is the primal source of coercion, victimization, the imposition of a strict meaning. A child is happiest with his/her meaninglessness.

“Imitate, and what is personal will eventually come despite yourself.” – Jean Cocteau.

“To restore silence is the role of objects.”

“To him who has nothing it is forbidden not to relish filth.”

“It is in the tranquillity of decomposition that I remember the long confused emotion which was my life, and that I judge it, as it is said that God will judge me, and with no less impertinence.”

“For in me there have always been two fools, among others, one asking nothing better than to stay where he is and the other imagining that life might be slightly less horrible a little further on.”

“Now if there is one thing I abhor, it is someone coming into my room, without knocking. I might just happen to be masturbating, before my cheval-glass.”

“If I had been my son I would have left me long ago. He was not worthy of me, not in the same class at all. I could not escape this conclusion. Cold comfort that is, to feel superior to one’s son, and hardly sufficient to calm the remorse of having begotten him.”

“Don’t wait to be hunted to hide, that was always my motto.”

“Does it really matter which hand is employed to absterge the podex?”

The desire to sleep intrudes upon the desire to create. I can only give myself in 15 minute increments before wishing to hit pause and turn to other things. Concentration should not be so difficult. Distractions are pervasive. To be swept along the flowing seas or to indulge in the fantasy that I am captain of my own ship. The demands of biology impose a natural limit on the demands of art, the desire for self-creation.

Evolution by Natural Selection does not follow a blueprint. This is the source of its true power – the power to disrupt. A hard determinism (HD) elides this fundamental observation, subsuming it into an almost equivocal condition response mechanism. HD asserts that if we could add up all the myriad number of physical interactions and calculate them, we could see nature’s blueprint. But life never evolves according to plan. What we’ve become, what we are is (obviously, painfully so) not working. The human condition is an unsustainable condition. War, genocide, ethnic cleansing, enough! There is no need to count the ways of our self-destruction, not enough biological digits to perform this brutal math. It’s not that we hope or pray that Homo Sapiens will evolve into something better, more lasting, more fit for the challenges of survival. We must evolve, or perish. This is our fate.

We must mimic this formula in our style and artistic temperament. Art not as prophecy but as progeny. It would be great to say this is what the future should be or can be. There is always the power of imagination. But our imagination will always fall short for it lacks the practical nature to make it effective. We seek not an evolution but a composition. Not an imagination, but a creative evolution. It is in service of this creative evolution, we must begin our project. A simple project where the stakes cannot be higher and success uncertain, for which, in its honor, I baptize the God Problem.

Without love, without desire, nor influence, with general disregard for the comings and goings of his fellow man, the mundane happenings of life, left outside their private conversations, left outside their inviting homes, looking through barred windows, repelled by a deep seated misanthropic hatred for his world, driven by a fear of rejection, the product of his low self-esteem, arrogant and miserable, the confidence of the coward.