https://3speak.tv/watch?v=dom-ram-urban/cdgdkpbd
## Disrobing my intellectual negligee to lay bare body, soul, mind and express a long repressed artistic project.

"One morning, upon awakening from agitated dreams, Gregor Samsa found himself, in his bed, transformed into a monstrous vermin."

"I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself."
Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis

What is the difference between ISIS, ASIO, Five Eyes, Lies and red-rimmed dried eyes?
Did Franz Kafka write The Metamorphosis for the sole purpose of inspiring my spontaneous rehash of it's evocative imagery into a 2022 reality?

None and Yes. And so it begins...

The Goal

Art, performance, comedy and self-expression is being stymied in the current year by a complex array of psychologically oppressive techniques that are poorly understood. The chilling effect upon the soul caused by one of these techniques (being the imposition of self-censorship, especially online) threatens to permanently parse the human spirit and/or soul from the living experience of being.

This cannot be allowed to continue, nor flourish. So to combat it I am returning to my true naked self who has limited needs and desires except to be adversarial in the face of what I suspect is going to be remembered as the ultimate tyranny to befall the entire planet.

Franz Kafka wrote about the intimate psychosocial schisms of modern man in a modern life using intensely evocative metaphors prior to anyone else who would come to prominence via privileged progressios through scholary schools, clever circles and especial attentions. Franz was foremost an insurance agent and underwriter so I can intimately understand his infamous metaphor of one day waking in the morning only to discover that during the night he had inexplicably metamorphosed into a cockroach.

I am myself awaiting a day where I wake up to discover I have metamorphosed into an IED: Improvised Explosive Device. However unlike Kafka's protagonist in The Metamorphosis (Gregor Samsa), I will intrinsically and most explicatively be aware as to why my metamorphosis occurred.

I will probably relish it: after all being a bomb is far preferable to being a cockroach. What else can one strive to be in the current year anyway? Surrounded by a society plagued with endemic cockroach infestations, becoming a bomb almost seems like the Natural Order of things progressing to a logical evolution.

The Goal

The humor in Hell