I am a King,
I have crowned myself.
I am rich.
Wealth is pursuing me.
And it is sad that not everyone is a rich King.
You have only to set a crown on your head, and recognise the wealth around you.
But you are too weak and too cowardly to do this.
I would rather live in a valley with rich kings than in a valley of tears.
Then I would not need to be a king myself.


When everyone is quite naturally and simply creative, a paradise, a kingdom is right there where he is.
There one has no need to go far to reach the next paradise, the next kingdom, because paradise starts round the corner at the neighbour’s place.
There is no energy crisis.
There is only an insane waste of energy.
Does nature know such a thing as an energy crisis?
Do the birds, the trees, the beetles have an energy crisis?
Only man imagines he has an energy crisis, because he has gone mad.


Perfect ecology must be that man places himself back into his environmental barriers so that the earth can regenerate.
The insane an unjustified consumption of energy should correspond with the equal amount of responsible intelligence.
But this is not so.
Man remained a stupid animal that all of a sudden has crazy amounts of energy, of poison and deadly weapons at his disposal. And he wastes this all blindly destroying his environment and killing his own brothers.
And greedily this man, this stupid animal is asking for more energy, more poison and more deadly weapons.
Men, especially the so-called experts, have lost control over the levers of energy. They do not know anymore what they do.
The consumer society does not bring us the salvation.
We produce without sense.
We consume like mad.
We waste blindly.
Man degraded himself to a manipulated consumer item, nuclear energy consolidates this most dangerous of all forms of slavery.
He who advocates nuclear energy is either excessively short-sighted, tendentiously misinformed, or consciously criminal.
We live in paradise, but we destroy it.
Everything is here to be happy on earth.
We have snow, and every day a new morning
We have trees and rain, hope and tears
We have humus and oxygen, animals and all the colours, distant lands and bicycles,
We have sun and shadow, we are rich.


But what is the avant-garde fool doing with art?
He helps to destroy our existence.
Modern art has become a panopticon of horrors.
The most absurd activities are perfected and worshipped, the art-makers want to stand in the front rank of the destroyers.
Since long-time the artists ceased to be the creators of art. It is a small international mafia of frustrated intellectuals who wants to dictate to the people what they consider as art.
They sit, unapproachable and unnoticed by the people on their thrones and speak to the people in foreign words and complicated phrases, just as doctors do in Latin procuring respect for themselves by using the fear of the incomprehensible.
Pop Art, Body Art, Concept Art, Land Art, Happening, Dripping, Action Painting, Tachism, Op Art, Kinetism, to name only a few expressions out of the avant-garde Latin. First the Latin was French, now it is English.
Modern Art became intellectual masturbation, enforced as a short-lived status symbol, ugly, cold, Godless, without heart. An art which creates unhappiness.
The artist, deprived of power, is in reality an executor of mental rubbish.
All he does now is to illustrate basically wrong intellectual theories, completely estranged from the laws of nature, and from what mankind is longing for.
Modern Art as avant-garde has missed the target and hit the emptiness. This is stupid self-destruction.
Culture is committing suicide.
New – newer – newest at any price is the slogan of avant-gardism “new” stands for most effective destruction.
This mafia which I have attacked condemns everything which does not fit her, and assumes educational functions with a hitherto unknown intolerance.
Everything that is not propagated by this mafia has no right to exist. Everything that it does not consider as art, is not art. This is an intolerance without compare.
This negative avant-garde’s claim to politico-cultural power is similar to that of the Nazis during the Third Reich. Only the trend is reversed.
The museums of modern art are the hospitals of our exhausted society in which the diseases of civilisation are cultivated and preserved, instead of being healed. On exhibit are the products of a masochistic therapy, the purulent discharge of our impotence to create.
Our enemy is really the stupidity of not being able to distinguish the genuine from the false. A museum director must be made liable for his deeds and must be put in gaol if he buys rubbish with public money. This panopticon of horrors of contemporary art is like the emperor’s new clothes in Andersen’s famous story. And the emperor’s new clothes will long be admired, although he has no clothes on, although he is naked.
A structure of lies collapses.
One only has to make light, and the nightmare disappears like as if you open your eyes, and one is no longer in the dark.
There are painters, thank God, who go their own way, imperturbable, strong and free.
They spread the good and the beautiful.
They have an aura like dark glowing.
They are our hope.