writing — SeahorseLiberationArmy.fr a band aa poet a photographer, a group and in singular, a duo and just one, Last Student of Jean Luc Godard, President of the Defunked San Francisco Art Institute, Final Art Director of American Apparel, Harwell Hamilton Harris Fellowship Parkway, Actor Composer Director of underground Impersario of Mushroom International. Great Great Great Grand Nephew of Franz Sheubert, Conceptual Artist Arik Seidenglanz

Art isn't just painting, drawing, or making films. It’s the framework we use to interpret and communicate the world around us. Language itself is a system of visual representation, a series of mental pictures that create the narratives defining our existence. We string together these images, a film in our minds, to tell stories that connect us as humans. This need to narrate our existence sets us apart, allowing us to weave the bigger story of humanity through the smaller stories we share.

Speaking is a form of semiotics, the use of signs and symbols as a form of communication. Within this framework, we transmit thoughts and ideas, creating a mental picture in the listener's mind. Thus, speaking becomes a form of art. My role, as a semiotician, is to navigate these conceptual frameworks, using language and misdirection like a magician to guide your attention towards what I consider art.

Art, by definition, is unique and original, concepts that are legally distinct from the everyday meanings. It’s about being separate from other works, originating from the mind, and brought into reality through thought and expression.
Unplanned Journeys and Psychedelic Realizations
At 19, I left for the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, but not before a detour through Woody Creek, Colorado, a place steeped in the legacy of Hunter S. Thompson. The Paul Perry biography had ignited something in me, a need to understand the world through a different lens. I stood at a crossroads, staring at a house with a giant middle finger painted on its roof, a symbol of defiance, rebellion.

Prague was another unexpected journey, a study abroad program that my parents reluctantly funded. I found myself in a wine cellar, 10 floors underground, spinning around endless stairs, surrounded by skinheads and hashish dealers. I witnessed a spill of acid on a table, and without hesitation, I slurped it up with a straw. What followed was a six-day trip that felt like ten years, a profound transformation that erased and yet vividly preserved my childhood memories.

This erasure, this ego death, changed me. The past became a story, distant yet clear. I emerged different, no longer needing to prove myself, forever altered by the experience. It taught me to work harder for my art, to commit fully, even if it meant struggling financially. Art became my relentless pursuit, a journey deeper into the human psyche, the neural pathways illuminated by psychedelics and hard truths.
The Semiotician's Journey
Riding a bicycle through Golden Gate Park on acid, listening to Daft Punk's "Homework," I found transcendence. This exercise, this melding of music, movement, and psychedelics, revealed deeper truths about myself. It was a journey into the neural realm, where I became Seidenglanz, the silky, shiny golden thread, the prince of my own story.

Art is more than a physical act; it’s the conceptual framework of language. Language is a system of pictorial representation, a visual film in our minds that creates stories of human connection. It allows us to narrate our existence, to feel human. This process is semiotics—a transmission of thought through storytelling.

As a semiotician, I use conceptual frameworks to nuance linguistics, directing your attention through misdirection and other magician-like qualities towards what I believe is art. Art, as defined legally, is unique and original, concepts that transcend common definitions, rooted in thought and brought into reality through expression.
Embodying the Sweaty Sinners
In the midst of sweaty sin and chaotic beauty, I stand, embodying Joan Didion’s precision and Slavoj Žižek’s intensity. This is not just a story; it’s an experience. My speech, raw and unfiltered, flows like a relentless river, carving its path through the landscape of your mind. I don’t tell you what to see; I show you. The words paint pictures, the images move, and in this dance of language and thought, art comes alive. This is my journey, my truth, and through it, I invite you to find yours.

It all boils down to choices, to the way I interpret signs and signifiers, how I shape them, what I reference. It’s about connecting you to history. I'm trying to be didactic when I'm not allowed to be. The global subconscious is the real dictator, the Godhead. Yet, here I am, pushing my opinion on you, wrestling with my own reflection, wondering if I can do something else, be something else.

Life should be about being a Renaissance Man or woman , embracing imperfection while causing distinct change. I used to think it was about spending time with my family and wife, whom I cared about deeply. But losing that part of my life left me seeking hedonistic pleasure, until someone can show me there’s more to life than the love I lost. I’m open, listening, trying to find it again.

Burroughs was running from demons, writing with desperation, trying to escape. I’m here, navigating the same chaos, pushing against the constraints, seeking truth in the mess of it all..

Cats of
the Court

Starting with the French revolution do you have the conglomerate group of the of the three families of the aristocrats essentially I believe to make up the ruling party of people the people of France and in the brotherhood for eternity and and whatever the other third one was and they are not the king right and the king wants them all to come together to his court to basically help him pay his debt right his debt is big he wants to put his books in order right so they all come and not with the intention of that because they know that the three rolling parties here is the Krusty want to power back because it and Dave Diarista credit essentially because they're the they're essentially cakes like you know the religious power and the Art power of iconographic's signs and signifiers and terret down and make it the peoples revolution right so the aristocrats realize they have to partner with the people in Saudi they go to the tennis court on the side of the kings palace because he won't let them in he won't let them in because he realize that they figured out if they got together they had more power than him right so they get on the side of the court and they have a stay sitting or standing or a ecu that essentially takes place on the tennis court where they refuse to go anywhere and it's more famous than any American painting of any kind about any revolution anywhere ever and on the tennis court is where the French revolution basically takes place and we are basically done with the Monarca CorePower of France no more king it's the people and that's all we get the beginnings of government in France right so it is through the destruction of the symbols and signifiers of the religious art the iconoclast bring themselves to power the iconocl who use the destruction of art to shape the democracy that we now live in. Cats on tennis courts breaking games match love game set match love love sprinting across like a ball boy tearing through the crowd cross the bleachers and across peoples labs to 20,000 people defy the cats one wish not to laugh at him as he runs across the court but that's the same cat on the catwalk at a fashion show has no problem just laying down in the middle and showings pussy to everyoneStarting with the French revolution do you have the conglomerate group of the of the three families of the aristocrats essentially I believe to make up the ruling party of people the people of France and in the brotherhood for eternity and and whatever the other third one was and they are not the king right and the king wants them all to come together to his court to basically help him pay his debt right his debt is big he wants to put his books in order right so they all come and not with the intention of that because they know that the three rolling parties here is the Krusty want to power back because it and Dave Diarista credit essentially because they're the they're essentially cakes like you know the religious power and the Art power of iconographic's signs and signifiers and terret down and make it the peoples revolution right so the aristocrats realize they have to partner with the people in Saudi they go to the tennis court on the side of the kings palace because he won't let them in he won't let them in because he realize that they figured out if they got together they had more power than him right so they get on the side of the court and they have a stay sitting or standing or a ecu that essentially takes place on the tennis court where they refuse to go anywhere and it's more famous than any American painting of any kind about any revolution anywhere ever and on the tennis court is where the French revolution basically takes place and we are basically done with the Monarca CorePower of France no more king it's the people and that's all we get the beginnings of government in France right so it is through the destruction of the symbols and signifiers of the religious art the iconoclast bring themselves to power the iconocl who use the destruction of art to shape the democracy that we now live in. Cats on tennis courts breaking games match love game set match love love sprinting across like a ball boy tearing through the crowd cross the bleachers and across peoples labs to 20,000 people defy the cats one wish not to laugh at him as he runs across the court but that's the same cat on the catwalk at a fashion show has no problem just laying down in the middle and showings pussy to everyone

The Conception

"Art does not reproduce the visible; rather, it makes visible." – Paul Klee

Arik: The world of graphic design portfolio trends is evolving. Paper presentations seem alive, coming off the wall or curling off the page.

Godard: Like an unfolding film, paper defies flatness. Interactive designs, the illusion of movement—echoes of a world where reality bends at the edges, inviting the viewer into its tactile embrace.

Victoire de Castellane: Yes, the paper becomes a living, vibrant actor. Imagine textures, curves, like the jewelry I create, each detail a bold statement. Beauty lies in movement, in interaction.

Arik: Can you name more meta graphic design presentation methods considered cool and iterative on the global recession?

Godard: In hyperreality, digital portfolios become interactive labyrinths of clickable prototypes and virtual reality experiences. Each layer reflects minimalism with maximum impact. Storytelling through design, augmented by augmented reality, transforms data visualization into an eco-conscious narrative—a meta-commentary on our collective journey through economic recessions and cultural shifts.

Victoire: Yes, and let’s not forget sustainability. Eco-friendly materials in graphic design are not just a trend but a necessity. It’s like creating precious jewelry from recycled materials, each piece a story of transformation.

Arik: Describe the use of some form of page curl documentation in a branding station's final presentation.

Godard: The curling page is the Hegelian twist in the narrative, a revelation of the brand's evolution in dialectical tension. It synthesizes old and new, guiding the viewer's gaze through layers of brand identity, each curl a narrative turn, a revelation of depth and strategy.

Victoire: It’s a visual ballet, each movement calculated yet appearing natural, spontaneous. The curling page invites deeper engagement, a desire to discover what lies behind.

Arik: Have you ever heard of a paper ink splat?

Godard: Yes, the ink splat is a controlled explosion, an act of random creation disrupting the pristine surface of the page. Each splat is a microcosm of unpredictability, a punk rock of graphic design, adding texture, depth, and raw energy of spontaneity.

Victoire: That’s the essence of art, isn’t it? Leaving a part of chaos, the unexpected, like a touch of madness in a perfectly controlled creation.

Part Two: The Experimentation

"There is no point in having sharp images when you've fuzzy ideas." – Jean-Luc Godard

Arik: I'm talking about stationery and paper representation documentation tricks.

Godard: Pop-up elements emerge like visions from a fever dream, integrated QR codes like digital hallucinogens leading to other realms. Creative folds and thermochromic inks dance on handmade paper canvases, each fold and color change a testament to the tactile, the visceral, the real.

Victoire: Exactly, and every fold, every texture must invite touch, exploration. Like in my creations, where each piece of jewelry hides a surprise, an invitation to discover more deeply.

Arik: Describe the use of some form of page curl documentation in a branding station's final presentation.

Godard: The curling page is the Hegelian twist in the narrative, a revelation of the brand's evolution in dialectical tension. It synthesizes old and new, guiding the viewer's gaze through layers of brand identity, each curl a narrative turn, a revelation of depth and strategy.

Victoire: It’s a visual ballet, each movement calculated yet appearing natural, spontaneous. The curling page invites deeper engagement, a desire to discover what lies behind.

Arik: Have you ever heard of a paper ink splat?

Victoire: That’s the essence of art, isn’t it? Leaving a part of chaos, the unexpected, like a touch of madness in a perfectly controlled creation.

Part Three: The Realization

"To be is to be perceived." – George Berkeley, often cited by Godard

Arik: So if the splats are from a paper cutting template so all the splats are the same and you also with the paper ones let one edge sit in high concentrate watercolor ink, what happens?

Godard: The uniformity of shapes becomes a canvas for the capillary dance of ink. Each splat absorbs the watercolor, creating gradients of intensity. The deformation as it dries adds an unexpected third dimension, making each piece a unique interaction of color, texture, and form.

Victoire: It’s the alchemy of art, where the predictable meets the unexpected, each gradient a story of interaction between the artist and the material.

Arik: So then if your wife and you just bought Missoni fabric from International House of Silks and Woolens and 1 denim and you had stitched a Flintstones Chanel suit skirt like Pebble should have and your wife with consent falls asleep knowing you're going to put the splat on her to document the paper art, what is the connotation of the splats if placed in precarious places like one on a nipple and the negative space full sheets over her face in black construction paper but you can see her eye at the splat, what does this convey and she's dressed like Pebbles in a Chanel Flintstone outfit, the suit jacket is without a shirt and semi-short safari in the white denim, please critique ad nauseam.

Godard: This scene is a radical juxtaposition of haute couture and raw expression. The Missoni fabric and Chanel Flintstones ensemble symbolize a collision of the refined and the primal. The splats on intimate areas and the black construction paper over the face, revealing only the eye, play with themes of exposure and concealment, intimacy and anonymity. It is a visual and conceptual dialogue on vulnerability, identity, and gaze.

Victoire: A bold vision, where fashion becomes a language of the soul, each detail a symbol of the duality between the visible and the invisible, the personal and the universal.

Part Four: The Exhibition

"Every work of art is an uncommitted crime." – Theodor W. Adorno

Arik: This I portrayed sleeping under a grand piano in the studio where all of our dreaming and sleeping is done and we were currently using this baby grand for a funny conceptual art piece called "gloryhole on middle C" and we had some concerns about bad actors or anonymous speech being portrayed via adult talk chat rooms being associated, but the scene of the splat shows a bird's eye view.

Godard: The grand piano as a backdrop adds a layer of elegance and historical weight, sharply contrasting with the raw intimacy of the scene below. The bird's eye view invites a voyeuristic gaze, but the context of sleep and dreaming imbues it with a sense of innocence and subconscious exploration. The "gloryhole on middle C" concept injects humor and irreverence, prompting the viewer to reconsider preconceived notions of art, music, and intimacy.

Victoire: It’s a play of perspectives, where each element tells a different story depending on the angle of view. Art becomes a labyrinth of meanings, a journey through the visible and the invisible.

Artist Statement and Educational Perspective

This dialogue serves as a testament to our commitment to staying true to our principles, walking the line of justice and integrity. We hope this conversation and our artistic endeavors inspire others to explore the intersections of art, education, and technology.

In this reimagined dialogue, Arik is seen as both the creator and the inquirer, deeply involved in the process and exploring the boundaries of art with the help of Godard and Victoire. The narrative maintains a dynamic interplay between French and English, high theory and practical application, ultimately showcasing a fusion of intellectual rigor and radical aesthetics.

The Last Work of Jean-Luc Godard: A Cinematic Essay in Three Acts

In the roaring twenties and thirties, the avant-garde burst forth, like a stein filled to the brim, earthen and substantial, offering a new blend, a semi-sweet white wine of societal critique and artistic revolution. The steen, much like the thinkers of the time, stood distinct—each grape a story, each bottle a novel. The grapevine of thought twined and climbed, its tendrils reaching into the consciousness of a world ripe for change.

Act One: The Conception

"Art does not reproduce the visible; rather, it makes visible." – Paul Klee

Arik: The world of graphic design portfolio trends is evolving. Paper presentations seem alive, coming off the wall or curling off the page.

Godard: Like an unfolding film, paper defies flatness. Interactive designs, the illusion of movement—echoes of a world where reality bends at the edges, inviting the viewer into its tactile embrace.

Victoire de Castellane: Yes, the paper becomes a living, vibrant actor. Imagine textures, curves, like the jewelry I create, each detail a bold statement. Beauty lies in movement, in interaction.

Arik: Can you name more meta graphic design presentation methods considered cool and iterative on the global recession?

"There is no point in having sharp images when you've fuzzy ideas." – Jean-Luc Godard

Arik: I'm talking about stationery and paper representation documentation tricks.

Godard: Pop-up elements emerge like visions from a fever dream, integrated QR codes like digital hallucinogens leading to other realms. Creative folds and thermochromic inks dance on handmade paper canvases, each fold and color change a testament to the tactile, the visceral, the real.

Victoire: That’s the essence of art, isn’t it? Leaving a part of chaos, the unexpected, like a touch of madness in a perfectly controlled creation.

Act Three: The Realization

"To be is to be perceived." – George Berkeley, often cited by Godard

Arik: So if the splats are from a paper cutting template so all the splats are the same and you also with the paper ones let one edge sit in high concentrate watercolor ink, what happens?

Godard: The uniformity of shapes becomes a canvas for the capillary dance of ink. Each splat absorbs the watercolor, creating gradients of intensity. The deformation as it dries adds an unexpected third dimension, making each piece a unique interaction of color, texture, and form.

Godard: This scene is a radical juxtaposition of haute couture and raw expression. The Missoni fabric and Chanel Flintstones ensemble symbolize a collision of the refined and the primal. The splats on intimate areas and the black construction paper over the face, revealing only the eye, play with themes of exposure and concealment, intimacy and anonymity. It is a visual and conceptual dialogue on vulnerability, identity, and gaze.

Victoire: A bold vision, where fashion becomes a language of the soul, each detail a symbol of the duality between the visible and the invisible, the personal and the universal.

Part Four: The Exhibition

"Every work of art is an uncommitted crime." – Theodor W. Adorno

Arik: This I portrayed sleeping under a grand piano in the studio where all of our dreaming and sleeping is done and we were currently using this baby grand for a funny conceptual art piece called "gloryhole on middle C" and we had some concerns about bad actors or anonymous speech being portrayed via adult talk chat rooms being associated, but the scene of the splat shows a bird's eye view.

Godard: The grand piano as a backdrop adds a layer of elegance and historical weight, sharply contrasting with the raw intimacy of the scene below. The bird's eye view invites a voyeuristic gaze, but the context of sleep and dreaming imbues it with a sense of innocence and subconscious exploration. The "gloryhole on middle C" concept injects humor and irreverence, prompting the viewer to reconsider preconceived notions of art, music, and intimacy.

Artist Statement and Educational Perspective

This dialogue serves as a testament to our commitment to staying true to our principles, walking the line of justice and integrity. We hope this conversation and our artistic endeavors inspire others to explore the intersections of art, education, and technology.

In this reimagined dialogue, Arik is seen as both the creator and the inquirer, deeply involved in the process and exploring the boundaries of art with the help of Godard and Victoire. The narrative maintains a dynamic interplay between French and English, high theory and practical application, ultimately showcasing a fusion of intellectual rigor and radical aesthetics.

The Trading Post of Modern Saints

In the heart of San Francisco, where the winds could whip from 40 to 80 degrees in a single day, we carved out our existence in the forgotten corners of the city. This was our trading post, our weather station, our poem store. Elishba and I, modern-day nomads, had become urban legends, labeled by a nun in the Archdiocese of the Catholic Church Magazine as the new St. Christophers. Crazy, considering we were homeless.

We had found ourselves running this makeshift sanctuary, a place where the desperate and the hopeful came to trade stories, goods, and a bit of warmth. Amidst the chaos of city life, we created a bubble of relative stability, a fragile haven against the relentless winds of misfortune.

Our days were dictated by the rhythms of the city and the erratic weather. The mornings could be brutally cold, with the fog rolling in like a heavy blanket, and by afternoon, the sun could scorch your skin. We adapted, layering our clothes like armor, ready to shed or add as the temperature swung wildly.

Despite our circumstances, we found joy in the simplest of things. Elishba had a knack for gourmet dumpster diving, turning discarded food into feasts. We called it "Treating out," our version of breaking bread, a communal act that brought a sense of normalcy and dignity to our lives. It was during these shared meals that we bonded with a priest who lived on the same sidewalk, spreading his version of religion to the homeless. He audaciously compared our existence to pilgrimaging with Jesus. I couldn't help but laugh and tell him, "Church is inside you." For me, it was true. Buddhism, through the Dharmata Foundation, had become my spiritual anchor, offering a philosophy that fit neatly with our transient lifestyle.

We embraced the concept of flux, the consistency of change, much like the Fluxus art movement of the 1960s. The Tao or I Ching echoed in our lives as we adapted to the ever-shifting circumstances. Our community of homeless brothers and sisters was diverse, yet we found unity in our shared struggles and fleeting moments of joy.

One memorable period was when we squatted on the roof of the nearly shut-down Berkeley Art Museum. The Rat Bastards had just finished their installation featuring an abandoned car, a poignant symbol of decay amidst the academic setting. The Berkeley Art Museum was closing due to seismic risks—its brutalist concrete structure, with cantilevered galleries and unfinished forms, couldn't withstand the tremors of the earth. The building was a stark, raw monument to a different era, with skylights casting eerie light over the atrium. We lived above it all, high on the roof, until the sunburn and the inevitable arrival of the police forced us down. It was safer there than on the streets below, where the homeless community of Berkeley could be unpredictable and, at times, frightening.

Our makeshift home on the roof was a testament to resilience and ingenuity. With climbing gear and scavenged materials, we constructed a fort that shielded us from the elements and the prying eyes below. The police eventually discovered our hideout, amused rather than angry, and we were roasted like crabs in our sunburned state as we explained our peculiar sanctuary.

Mr. Floppy’s Flophouse

From the concrete heights of Berkeley, our journey led us to the infamous Mr. Floppy’s Flophouse in East Oakland. This was no ordinary shelter; it was a mansion steeped in history, a relic of a bygone era that once housed a bordello and saloon frequented by none other than Jack London. The elegant bar still bore his image, a ghostly reminder of the past amid the raucous present.

Mr. Floppy, an enigmatic archeologist from Finland, had transformed this mansion into a nexus of the underground party scene. Known for excavating an inverted pyramid believed to hold the knowledge of mankind, he now presided over a labyrinthine venue that catered to the city's most eclectic and eccentric souls.

The flophouse was a sensory overload, with each of its 15-20 rooms offering a different experience. In the grand ballroom, DJs and performers like Psychic TV and Olli Wisdom spun their web of hypnotic beats and ethereal sounds. Upstairs, the atmosphere shifted wildly—one room featured a naked man playing sitar, another was a hub of freestyle house music, and yet another was a black light wonderland, its mushroom garden glowing eerily in the dark.

Despite its reputation, Mr. Floppy’s was a haven of camaraderie and creativity. The City of Oakland had granted the necessary permits, ensuring that the events were both legal and relatively safe. It was a place where the boundaries of reality blurred, where the night could stretch on indefinitely, and where George, the property’s owner, would appear at dawn in a wizard cape, serving shrimp cups and noodle soups from behind his piano.

Yet, beneath the surface of this fantastical place, a more somber reality lingered. I was once invited to become a roommate there, a chance to join the eccentric family that inhabited the mansion. The openness of the place made me hesitate; I feared I wouldn't fit in, that the acceptance extended by the homeless community might not translate to the more intimate quarters of Mr. Floppy’s. George, who once exuded a warm, welcoming aura, had become more of an Airbnb host, concerned with the bottom line rather than the communal spirit that once defined the house.

The Produce Market and the Grit of SF

No matter how far we wandered, our story always led us back to the streets of San Francisco, to the produce market near Circosta Iron and the pipeline sewage treatment plant. This was the grittiest, most unforgiving part of the city—a place where survival demanded every ounce of strength and creativity we possessed.

Our trading post was more than just a shelter; it was a beacon for the lost and the hopeful. Here, under the shadow of industry and decay, we found ways to inject beauty and meaning into our lives. Poetry readings, shared meals, and the simple acts of kindness created a tapestry of human connection that defied the harshness of our surroundings.

In this urban wilderness, Elishba and I continued our pilgrimage, modern saints navigating a landscape of concrete and chaos. We built our sanctuary with what little we had, discovering a profound sense of control and purpose in the process. It was our way of living through the chaos, of finding peace in the eye of the storm.

Our journey was not just about survival; it was about finding moments of grace amid the struggle, about creating art and beauty where others saw only desolation. We were the modern-day St. Christophers, bearing the weight of our world with resilience and defiance, turning every challenge into a testament to our enduring spirit.

The Price of Ice Cream and the Cost of Dreams

Texts are completed in their transaction, a dual narcissism. The transaction of the linguistic crisis—the decisive moment, critical, connects you to a crisis. The turning point in an illness, whether you will live or die. Argument, textuality, discourse—Criticas Kritikos, able to judge.

Pieces of writing, a speech, the idea is a text. We distinguish what is and is not text. Textuality arises out of intentions and is offered up to the hearing of an argument.

So, there's an ice cream van there, selling just two ice creams with two chewing gums in it. For bloody nine pounds for two of them. Nine quid for two? Yeah, nine quid. That is gonna get nowhere. One that comes on my street, it's either one pound apiece or two pounds, like he's gonna get nowhere with that. No, no, he ain't! That's well bad, isn't it? He should know! And he only does bloody card. Stood there with my cash! Bloody hell! Well, that's well bad, isn't it? Bloody well bad! Yeah. Yeah! Bet he can hear me!

In the end, we navigate our crises, our moments of decision. Whether it's the price of ice cream or the cost of our dreams, we judge, we survive, we continue our pilgrimage through the concrete jungle.

Arik Seidenglanz 2024

Governor Newsom,

Picture this: The dead of night, the city a sprawling organism of restless whispers and flickering lights. Each street, each alleyway hums with the residual energy of the day’s chaos—a chaos that never truly sleeps. This is the world I navigate, the world I fight to reclaim from the clutches of corruption and neglect.

I am Arik Seidenglanz, born into the whirlwind of October 7th, a date etched with significance, intersecting with the lives of legends and the scars of conflicts. I attended art schools for longer than most, spanning from 2000 to 2015, and received my important degree in 2009. I have been banned or wrongfully cast out from all the schools I loved, including the San Francisco Art Institute (SFAI) and Taliesin West, where my journey as a Creative Director and Art Director at American Apparel was cut short by a hostile takeover just as I took on my role. These disruptions silenced my voice and my potential to make significant contributions through these institutions.

Karma was bittersweet when SFAI and Taliesin West evaporated, mirroring the abrupt end of my career at American Apparel. Despite these setbacks, I found my calling as the Director of the Seahorse Liberation Army.fr and the Minister of Disinformation at Treats Super Mobile Disco, which I consider my greatest societal contributions. These roles align with my identity within the Situationist continuum, creating a body of seamless actions that define my life in a Fluxus pedigree. Where I once labeled myself a conceptual artist, I now simply call myself an Artist. I direct art films, act, write, produce, score, fund, edit, cast, film, shoot, process, imagine, and dream. Sometimes I succeed, and sometimes I fail. But today, I am the most relevant artist I know who hasn’t needed a gallery since the early 2000s. My last two major projects, which I consider a battle of good versus evil, include my efforts with the Consulate of Catalonia in Los Angeles and the Harwell Hamilton Harris Fellowship at Parkways Conservancy Inc.

This battle was against the corrupt city of Los Angeles and individuals like Ken Cheney, Shapiro, Richard Jud Williams, Joshua Marcuson, Steve Snyder, about 67 Doe’s, and 6 or so judges, with a particular focus on the malevolent Judge George F. Bird Jr. Crook. Navigating the vast ocean of our digital and physical realities, I stand as a catalyst for change, an experimental machine with a heart still intact despite the whirlwinds of fortune and misfortune. My essence is not of an ego monster but that of a fortunate experimenter, a high-flying experimental machine whose journey through the tumultuous skies of creativity, technology, and societal critique has been both a trial and a testament to resilience.

In the complex web of life, where each subtle tweak in the fabric of existence can lead to a thousand unseen changes, I find my purpose. It is in the mapping of these changes, tracing their connections with strings across a theoretical map, seeking out the feedback loops with the greatest leverage, that my work gains meaning. These points of influence, whether they disrupt for the sake of disruption or scale for essential growth, are where I thrive, listening intently to the echoes of their impact.

My mission is to harness these leverage points, to scale up the disruptors that promise the most significant transformation. Would I still listen, you ask, amidst this grand orchestration of change? The answer is a resounding yes. For it is in the listening, in the understanding, and the application of these insights, that the true art of change is mastered. My work, a dance on the edge of innovation and tradition, seeks not just to challenge the status quo but to redefine it entirely. Welcome to a space where every action, every decision, is a thread in the larger tapestry of transformation. Here, we leverage the vast and intricate feedback loops of life, aiming for a future that embraces the full spectrum of human experience and potential. Together, let's embark on this journey of discovery, leveraging the power of disruption and scale to forge new paths and redefine what's possible.

Governor, the heart of my plea lies in the essence of integrity and transformation. Picture this: A permit, a simple piece of paper, becomes a weapon in the hands of the corrupt. In February, a 48,000-square-foot rooftop bar at the La Grande building slipped through the cracks of due process, manipulated by those who wield power without accountability. This wasn’t just an oversight; it was a deliberate act of deceit, a betrayal of the public trust. My team and I, through relentless research and innovative software, have unearthed over 6,000 pages of evidence that unravel this web of corruption.

Abundant Blessing, the vendor tasked with supporting our community, has utterly failed us. They promised food under duress, presenting a menu that was nothing but lies. There is no menu, no plan—just a systematic stripping away of our nutrition, leaving us weak and hostage to the grueling task of securing basic sustenance. Consider Tanya, who begged for death due to her suffering from lupus and was left stranded without her wheelchair battery by the Salvation Army. She was dragged outside to socialize and left in the sun for weeks. Then there is the senior resident whose gate is just one foot wide, taking her hours to get to the bus stop. This is our reality—a nightmare under the guise of care.

In the face of this, I’ve developed software leveraging Benford’s Law to identify mortgage payment schemes, ensuring effective and honest operations. This tool, fortified with blockchain technology, could revolutionize transparency and accountability, yet it languishes due to bureaucratic resistance.

Governor Newsom, I am more than a voice in the wilderness. I am an artist, director, creator—an avant-garde force against corruption. My battles against figures like Ken Cheney, Shapiro, Richard Jud Williams, Joshua Marcuson, Steve Snyder, and Judge George F. Bird Jr. are not just personal but pivotal for our community’s future.

I urge you to initiate an investigation into the corrupt practices of the Los Angeles City Council and Abundant Blessing. Reinstating our long-term housing is a plea for dignity. Halt the illegal permits and consider the adoption of my anti-corruption software. This isn’t just about me—it’s about a systemic overhaul for justice and transparency.

Governor, as a last resort to make my voice heard, I have begun a hunger strike. This drastic measure underscores the severity of our plight and the negligence we face. Abundant Blessing, upon hearing my first complaint, attempted to bribe me with $100 in food stamps—a clear violation of trust and integrity. This is the line I walk, knowing that only through unwavering good faith can we hope to restore justice.

My wife, now schizophrenic, and I, embedded in prolonged grief disorder, are examples of the profound human toll of this systemic failure. Yet, I stand as a hero in our arc, emerging from the depths with the resolve to right these wrongs. You have the power to return our home, as you did for another wronged family, to correct this injustice.

Let’s meet, Governor. Let’s discuss the evidence, the systemic failures, and the innovative solutions. Together, we can weave a narrative of transformation, leveraging disruption and scale to forge new paths and redefine what’s possible.

In the heart of this relentless city, amidst the chaos and the whispers, lies the potential for profound change. I stand ready to collaborate, to fight, and to reclaim our community’s integrity. Join me in this journey of discovery and justice.

Sincerely,

Arik Seidenglanz Founder and Director Harwell Hamilton Harris Fellowship Parkway Conservancy Inc. Phone: 415-685-3289 Email: arikseiden@gmail.comSecondary Email: arikse@proton.meFormer Address: 1410 Ewing St, Los Angeles, CA 90026

P.S. On a personal note, I am being recommended for a teaching position at the Art Center College of Design to teach Situationist Performance Art and Action Activism. This role would enable me to further influence and inspire the next generation of artists and activists. Your support in addressing these systemic issues would be immensely impactful not just for me, but for the broader community we both serve.

Navigating the vast realities of government corruption is akin to charting a course through a stormy sea. My battles against figures like Ken Howard Shapiro, his daughter Cheney, and her husband reveal a labyrinth of deceit. These individuals, alongside Joshua Marcuson, have manipulated bankruptcy laws and engaged in fraudulent schemes to avoid debts, leveraging PPP loans and exploiting loopholes. Their actions, supported by complicit lenders like LMF 2 LP, have wreaked havoc on countless lives, including mine.

Ken Shapiro and his daughter Cheney, often interchange emails to perpetuate their deceit, masking assets and evading accountability. Joshua Marcuson, a straw buyer, utilized a defunct, unlicensed arborist company to secure PPP loans fraudulently. Their operations are intricate, involving illegal property sales, fraudulent permits, and systematic harassment to devalue properties and force sales at reduced prices. Their tactics include false complaints, break-ins, and violence, reminiscent of Scientology's suppressive party tactics.

This is more than a personal vendetta; it’s a fight against a systemic cancer that undermines the integrity of our society. My software, fortified with Benford's Law and blockchain technology, offers a beacon of transparency and accountability, yet it faces bureaucratic inertia. Governor, I implore you to investigate these corrupt practices, halt illegal permits, and adopt my anti-corruption software.

In this relentless battle, my wife, now seeking refuge in a nunnery due to the trauma inflicted upon us, and I, barely holding on at 125 pounds, embody the human cost of systemic failure. Our story is one of resilience,

Jewles Lost His Jewels: Radical Poetics from the Life in LA

I am Jewles, a cat who once roamed the wild streets of Los Angeles with the pride and swagger of a king. My jewels, the symbols of my freedom and virility, have been taken from me. This is my story, a tale of transformation, loss, and the raw poetics of survival in the urban jungle.

Lyrics Snapshot:

I lost my jewels, On the boulevard of broken dreams, Amongst the neon lights and silver screens, I danced with shadows, chased by schemes.

Hollywood’s Mirage I am the neon lights and silver screens, casting long shadows where dreams dare to tread. I once prowled Hollywood’s alleys, my jewels a symbol of my untamed spirit. Under the bright lights, I was more than a cat—I was a legend.

But then they took me. In the sterile, unforgiving light of the vet’s office, my jewels were taken. The streets of Hollywood felt different when I returned, a shadow of my former self. My nights at Miyagi’s, once filled with life and vigor, now echoed with the loss of my freedom.

Skid Row’s Reality I wandered into Skid Row, a place where survival is the only rule. Here, my loss mirrored the struggles of the humans I encountered. Each of them, in their way, had lost something too. The streets taught me resilience, each step a radical act of existence against the oblivion that threatened to consume us all.

Venice Beach’s Duality I found solace in Venice Beach, where the eclectic mix of humanity offered a strange comfort. Among the performers and artists, the dreamers and drifters, I discovered a new rhythm. I learned to dance with my shadows, each step a testament to the resilience and unyielding spirit of those who refuse to be defined by their losses.

Mid-Wilshire’s Contrast The gleaming towers of Mid-Wilshire stood in stark contrast to the tent cities that sprawled at their feet. Here, I saw the extremes of wealth and poverty, of power and helplessness. I navigated the invisible lines, finding spaces where I could rest, if only for a moment. The battles here were quieter, fought in boardrooms and courtrooms, but the stakes were just as high.

Resilience and Rebirth My journey through Los Angeles has been one of transformation. From a proud king of the streets to a survivor finding new strength. My jewels were gone, but in their place, I found something greater. I am Jewles, transformed. The city, with all its beauty and brokenness, has shaped me. I am a testament to the power of resilience, to the radical potential for renewal.

Conclusion I am Jewles, a cat who lost his jewels but found a new purpose. My story is one of survival, transformation, and the radical poetics of life in Los Angeles. Through the highs and lows, the beauty and the despair, I have discovered the true essence of strength. My journey continues, each day a new verse, each night a new chapter. This is my tale, my song, my life—a testament to the indomitable spirit that resides within us all.

The Conceptual Artist’s Odyssey Imagine the metamorphosis of a life, sculpted from the raw, jagged edges of struggle and triumph. I was once a conceptual artist, navigating the pristine corridors of museums, my art a beacon of thought and expression. Then life, with its unpredictable currents, steered me into the corporate abyss. I became the Art Director at American Apparel, a shift from galleries to the gritty halls of commerce. Creativity collided with commerce, and I watched the empire crumble, a phoenix without a flame.

Built House, City Took It in a Corrupt Act with Property Thieves and Scientology A sanctuary crafted from dreams and dedication, seized by corruption. Property thieves and Scientology, lurking in the shadows, took what was mine. I fought in court, winning every suit, each victory a testament to my resilience. But the battles left scars, and I turned to storytelling to heal and rebuild.

Now Working on Books That Tell the Tale and Planning to Rebuild by Making Films with the Earned Losses I am now working on books that chronicle my odyssey, capturing the essence of my struggle, the victories, the losses. I plan to rebuild by making films with the earned losses, each frame a brushstroke in the grand tableau of my renaissance. Rebuilding not just in bricks and mortar but in narrative and vision, crafting a future from the vibrant hues of my imagination and the bold strokes of my perseverance. This is the prologue to a new beginning, where every loss becomes a cornerstone, every setback a setup for the grand design of what’s to come.

Every loss becomes a cornerstone, every setback a setup for the grand design of what's to come.

In the neon-lit abyss of El Sereno Hills, where every shadow tells a story and the air is thick with unresolved whispers, Erik’s narrative unfolds like a fevered dream. His words cut through the digital fog of Nextdoor, a platform meant for mundane exchanges now turned battleground for a lost soul searching for his anchor.

“Cat for sale, $15,” reads the ad, but to Erik, it's a lifeline. Each message he sends is a desperate plea, a cry into the void, hoping to reclaim a piece of his fractured reality.

2:09 AM: “I think I know this cat. I think I want him.” 2:24 AM: “Hi, I believe I found my cat after two years. Lost him near Hollenbeck Police Station, Christmas 2022. Looks like him. We need him back.”

His words, raw and urgent, paint a picture of a man on the brink, clinging to the hope that this black cat with untipped ears, named Trix, is the same one that held his life together. Trix wasn’t just a pet; he was the silent witness to Erik’s unraveling, his wife’s descent into schizophrenia, their miscarriage, and the void that followed. Trix was family.

By 2:57 AM, desperation colors his messages: “Our lives crumbled without him. My wife’s mental break, our miscarriage – Trix was our family. Please, let us see him.”

But the silence from the seller only amplifies his torment. Erik’s messages become more frantic, fragmented, each one a reflection of his disintegrating psyche. He reveals himself—Arik Seidenglanz, a man wrestling with narcolepsy, battling bureaucratic giants, his sanity hanging by the thinnest of threads.

Erik’s story is a kaleidoscope of lost time and shattered realities. Diagnosed at 20, his life spiraled into sleep attacks and lost memories, fighting through the fog of his own mind. His wife, Elishba, mirrors his struggle, standing resilient beside him.

His messages, a digital symphony of despair and determination, pulse with urgency. Erik’s plea isn’t just for Trix; it’s for a semblance of the life stolen by fate and indifference. The city’s bureaucratic labyrinth looms, indifferent and unyielding.

In his darkest hours, Erik turns to the shadows, seeking allies among digital phantoms. His narrative, jagged and surreal, intertwines with legal battles and the sinister reach of the Church of Scientology, a twisted labyrinth of power and deceit.

“Let’s be friends,” Erik’s words, a mix of defiance and dark humor, reach out to faceless adversaries. He isn’t just fighting for Trix; he’s battling a system designed to crush the soul.

In this digital noir, the cat, a silent witness to human frailty and resilience, becomes a beacon of hope. Erik’s messages, fragmented and urgent, pulse with the rhythm of a man on the edge, fighting for a sliver of normalcy in a world gone mad.

As the days bleed into nights, Erik’s narrative takes on a life of its own. His digital cries are not just a testament to his struggle but a rallying call for others lost in the same urban wilderness. The city, with its cold, indifferent gaze, becomes a Goliath of bureaucracy and systemic neglect. Erik, armed with nothing but his words and his desperate hope, stands as the unlikely David.

In a twist of fate, Erik’s pleas reach the ears of Angel B., another lost soul in the digital wilderness. Angel, a beacon of solidarity in a city that often forgets its own, responds with a message that breathes life into Erik's weary heart.

"HEY, I've been waiting a month from the 5th day of your post to come get my cat," Erik's message reads, now laced with the urgency of a man on the brink. "You won't call me or reply. I'm going to come get my cat. If you gave him away, please call me so we can find him. We need our cat back."

The city, a labyrinth of broken dreams and unfulfilled promises, becomes the backdrop to Erik’s relentless pursuit. Each step, each message, a defiant act against the overwhelming tide of apathy. His wife, Elishba, a silent warrior in this battle, stands as a testament to their shared struggle.

Amidst the chaos, a new narrative begins to take shape. Erik's battle isn't just for a cat; it's a fight against the very forces that seek to break him. The specter of the Church of Scientology, with its insidious reach, becomes a formidable adversary. Yet, in the heart of this darkness, Erik finds an unlikely ally in the digital realm.

"Hi Jil," a message from Jen E. reads, a sliver of hope cutting through the digital noise. "Sorry to hear you're dealing with a psychopath. Wishing you a quick, positive, safe resolution. Would you be open to sharing their company name? We're about to hire a contractor and want to make sure we don’t give business to these people."

Erik's narrative, now interwoven with the voices of others, becomes a tapestry of solidarity and defiance. Each message, each interaction, a step closer to reclaiming what was lost. The city, with its myriad of voices, becomes a chorus of resilience, each one adding to the symphony of Erik's quest.

As the days turn into weeks, Erik's messages continue, a relentless beat against the drum of despair. The cat, Trix, remains the silent, elusive prize, a beacon of hope in a world that often forgets its own.

In a final act of defiance, Erik reaches out once more, his words a testament to the unyielding spirit that drives him. "I'm only interested in reuniting with my male cat if he fits the following criteria: neutered, natural ears without tipping, comfortable around people, not microchipped when we lost him Dec 23, 2022, and miraculously survived all this time."

Erik's plea, raw and unfiltered, echoes through the digital ether, a cry for justice in a world that often turns a blind eye. His words, infused with the spirit of the Beat Generation, resonate with the timeless struggle of the human spirit against overwhelming odds.

And so, the tale continues, a gritty, unyielding fight for redemption and sanity. Erik, armed with his words and his relentless hope, stands as a beacon of resilience in a city that never sleeps. The cat, Trix, remains the symbol of a family's desperate quest to reclaim what was lost, a testament to the unyielding spirit of those who dare to dream in the face of despair.

Erik's journey, infused with the raw, unfiltered intensity of a man on the edge, continues to pulse with life, a testament to the indomitable human spirit. The city, with its indifferent gaze, stands as the silent witness to a tale of hope, defiance, and the relentless pursuit of justice.