EMANCIPATION OF MEWE
I am awakened by a sound and as I arise with the cloth that covers me, I tie it into a loincloth of sorts. The sound calls me into the crate and the black liquid that fills it engulfs me. I thrash, I spit, I take note of my surroundings, and I re-emerge. The loincloth is now transformed into a cape, and in my hands I wield a pickax. Now standing in front of the crate I raise the ax. With three blows the liquid floods the gallery with the vengeance of Katrina. The gallery floor is now like black glass, the American flag piers through the liquid and holds the reflected ME painted on the crate; and it reads, WE.