ANDREW LESLIE HOOKER – The Sin King

Entr’acte

(Editor’s note: this is not a review. In 2014, Andrew was kind enough to involve yours truly in this project via written contribution, which is exactly what you’re going to read here. I tried to mentally set myself “inside” the morphing images with the music in my ears. The whole text was written almost instinctively, with just a bit of afterward editing.  Don’t try too hard to understand the hidden meanings; they’re too personal, although someone may find connection points with the unsolved conflicts defining their own realities. If anything, get yourself a copy of the DVD through the above link – it’s a limited edition of 200 copies – and set aside a couple of hours for a thorough, and strictly solitary immersion. Also, please read the director’s notes for a more complete approach to this opus).

Theoretically blasphemous, his behaviors dictated by an innate inability to comprehend.
The monarch of evildoing, perhaps a former innocent creature descending into despair,
entirely aware of having chosen a wrong route but incapable of a decisive move towards
resurgence. Consequences that must remain unchallenged, otherwise it’s hell – way before
the real hell is finally reached.

An ear-deceiving poker-faced orchestra keeps gesturing, leaving the disconsolate
congregations totally clueless. The last to perish, they’ll die as blessed performers to the
very end: brave substitute officers of a vessel that was not conceived for reposeful cruises,
but still floats in a vibrating ocean of vigilance.

Life is an oasis of fraudulence for feckless noise-makers in the desert of susurrant
timelessness; the false attempt of unhousing an ego can transform a once-noble aspiration
into a dreadful incubus.

Black and white fluidity turning into scathing combustion. Frothy waters contaminated by
parasites changing the attitude of the unfortunates who drink. A stupor whose rules
correspond to a single dogma: remove the truth. Those who believed themselves geniuses
reveal their crack-brained side to get mentally and morally obliterated. The multitudes
who used to conform to the swayer’s unwiseness will soon collide with an unforgiving
verity.

The rudimentary ugliness of humankind: no gods or semi-gods to save someone from
drowning in the quicksand of ordinariness. Flaccid flesh, idiotic jokes, convulsive eating,
laughter for no apparent reason. The smell of uncouth desperation emerging from the
saddening scene. HAZE OF THE FACULTIES, veiling the significance of a presumed
balance that is not there and never will be.

Having merely won a battle, one thinks of ruling in the war of nerves. But the ungenerous
soul of acceptance is not going to allow more than that fleeting glimpse of illusion.
Changes of perceptive depth bash hard on individual security; hidden behind the
fictitious place’s hypothesis, you’re suddenly awakened by the arsonist handling the
frequencies and the colors you had refused to hear and behold at the outset.

A disfigured face comprising hundreds of little replicas of that incongruous expression.
Personification of the incapability of keeping a promise – born unclouded, transformed
into receptacles of tensions, vicious entities deprived of any feeling whatsoever. Deluded
by the hope of personal meaningfulness, addressees of something that cannot be taught.

Trying to achieve a simultaneousness of intuition, resonance and controlled fear.

Words mean nothing, paintings are overly difficult to complete: the ever-present
malfunctioning mind of the self-loving herdsman kills the artlessness of what’s always
been there from the beginning. There is a filter between instant understanding and
creative act – the maggoty brain wants to win every time.

The spirit’s motility corrupted by private contortion. We can’t even scream in anger for the
worst type of crime.

Decaying thoughts, disintegrating borders. The lone realization – that of our own
ignorance. Choirs mutating tones to adapt to a new harmonic condition where there’s no
resolution, just endlessness of emotional disruption in sempiternal tears. Joy or sorrow –
it’s exactly the same.

Inexplicably fallen to Earth with no role, irrecoverably oblivious to the PURPOSE,
destroying our own BEINGNESS, forsaken by the AEONIAN HUM.

Unequivocally conscious of what we have managed to dilapidate, we’re left contemplating
madness. Too late for the U-turn.

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