(Painting by Lux, writing by Nox)
James Eagan Holmes is cursed in more ways than one, not least of which is his stupid middle name. Say it aloud. Eagan. Eagan. Eagan. Fuck, that’s disgusting. Regarding his alleged crime, I personally can’t help but speculate about false flags aimed at inciting groundswell support for gun control—and ultimately, the greatest realization of 1984 seen outside of the novel itself. Occam’s razor would suggest that I'm wrong, and I hope that I am. I guess.
Anyway, is there anyone who hasn’t, at some point, wanted to kill at least a few people in the theater? Movie goers chatting on their cellphones while stuffing their faceholes with tinted corn syrup and aromatic deli meats never fail to stoke the fires of primal hatred burning in my heart. And don’t get me started on the ugly teenager in the back row, eagerly fingering the folds of his obese girlfriend’s Cheeto soaked labia.
I can’t hate James Holmes, because I wasn’t there, and I'll never know what really happened. I would say that this painting has some greater artistic purpose, to challenge your notion of the presumption of innocence, or some other bullshit, but it really doesn’t. It’s just a painting of James Holmes, and it’s a lot fucking better than anything the colored pencil toting 9 year old they hired as the courtroom sketch artist in Araphoe County can do.
Watch me art live, Monday through Friday, at Purple Pwny.
The tracks featured in this video are: