In solidarity with the WEF protesters in NY I unleashed a carload of these things folded into globes into downtown Koreatown, Los Angeles. I send into the haze of the Los Angeles smog paper-light that have always been aloft. Recently, with an eye towards staking my claim on the vast networks I already control. - These globes are taken from a design by Buckminster Fuller, a man who understood the rationalization of production

I scaled up these images using Photoshop and then printed them out on my HP DeskJet printer. On the backs of these globes I announced to the world my ownership over it. This is now no longer public space! This is my realm, Like the regulation of my body, everything that occurs within is sacred, if something is wrong I’ll go to the doctor. I can call in the antiseptic troops to fuck shit up

As a stroke of genius, there must be other important documents that already exist as common knowledge that I can launch. I’m looking for downloadable websites about such abstract notions of frontier justice and raw power stumbling for respectability. I’m talking about biological codes and smiles. I’m claiming it all. It is all out their on the web!

Scanning over Los Angeles, the postmodern city is an oft repeated phrase. Where industrial power still stands, it is in pitiable places like Vernon or the Jimmy Dean Meatpacking plant on Alameda. These places have been hit by the fractal flappings of corporate wings… environmental racism, bad pay and shitty working conditions.

So instead of aiming at the sad remains of affective machinery, I have decided to target what I can’t control…things that are already endlessly aloft. Sci-fi theory geeks call a related idea the “Noosphere.” I’m calling it the no-sphere, the realm of pointless interactivity and unassailable consequences. Because of this tactic, I ask, “Is a shadow on the Hollywood hills an unknown act of terrorism by the Brazilian Peasants clearing the Rainforest for their gassy cows?”

Of course not. But if poetry has any place in political rhetoric, then a catapult that launches the sky into being by the military might of its broadcast-ability, then my boys are doing good by me. Perhaps then, by entirely ignoring every issue with the vigor of a prophet, someone else will shoot me to fill in the gap of reality.

All power to all people.

to them helpful catz and dogz/

and bunnies, and kittens, and rocks, and leaves, and starfish, and banana peals, and plaid pants too.