that saxophone simply blew up a collective hymen and made those (white) kids discover Blood in all its primeval grace and splendor - all those distorted grimaces are the very expression of ecstasy, and they all look like they're splashing in gold (or blood) for the first time in their lives!! that's what TRUE art is about: it's not about manipulation, but liberation. it's not about petrifying limitation of the senses at the service of spiteful domination & power structures or whatever, but simply & elementarily letting go, flowing, limitlessly & unbridledly, further & further away into unbounded realms of Non-Selfness, ever-metamorphosing, dissolving forms & features in order to spark off other meanings auroras incandescences, unpredictable alchemies, an extreme tightrope act of Amour Fou based on total delivery. finally, it's not about any specific formula, cliché or grotesque violence for its own sake, but REVELATION!
* the BLOODY YR HYMEN of the post title refers to a graffiti of mine, one of my first vandalism acts, carried out still in my teens