Freddy Moorman knows I’m back from the dead and zipped up tight and safe in a strong body and despite the fact I look different he can tell it’s me. He refers to my rebirth as my “new infancy.” It’s his fine artist’s mind comes up with things like that. Before I died I was mad at him for being the immoral bastard he is, aestheticizing destruction. He got a grant from Guggenheim for a piece he did called “Frak Off!” where he argues frakking is the new American Abstract Expressionism, the wild and free gesture, and the “canvass” is all that subterranean rock. For him this is readymade art … like Marcel Duchamp did … just point to something and claim it as your own. So according to several art departments in several major universities inside and ourside the USA, Fred’s current body of work consists of all the frakking sites all over the world where natural gas is being extracted. “Breaking the earth’s bones and sucking out the marrow for short-term profit.” Those were my words when I was still called Martin Jones. Now in my new skin Owert things differently. A terrible awakening to horrific truths. Yeah, Fred’s profiting off evil but the evil’s gonna happen anyway. The devil dangles his genitals on your forehead and promises big rewards if you just switch your conscience off for a good long while. Fred has recently bought a big house for his wife and growing family. The devil lives there with all nine of them. It is a sweet life. For now, for now. Meanwhile, Fred’s mapping his next readymade project: the giant swirling mess of plastic trash floating in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. He calls this “The Eighth Continent.” Awarded a million dollars to hire people to provide him with satellite photos of trash floating in the Pacific Ocean. Paid $140,000 for the images, pocketed the rest. This is us, now. This is who we are. We the privileged ones are vampires and the world is ours to devour and discard. Suck the life out of everything and let others write poor cousin Maya’s obituary. Fred twirls a meatball on a fork at a dinner party on the Upper West Side. I am there at his side. Laughing because I understand things about life and death and universe that none of the other guests could even begin to comprehend. It is March 11, 2014, the day the New York Times announces that the United States senate approves a bill whose authors hope will reduce sexual assault in the US military.
© Brett Davidson, 2014