After meeting with the very promising artist Tao Ya-Lun, I shared with Michelle a bloody image on creativity over the lunch: In the society of post-modernism, post-cold-war, post-humanism, post-industry, post-you-name-it, WHAT CAN AN ARTIST DO? BUT, FIRST OF ALL, HOW CAN S/HE BECOME AN ARTIST? By fate, s/he has little choice, as little as a serial murderer. When the full moon is rising, s/he has to do it. S/he does not do it at every full moon, but somehow the bloody pressure is rising with each moon. S/HE GOT TO DO IT. DOOMED. This is the way the true artist is born and survive the society of media and consumerism. What does s/he do? MURDER THE FATHER!!!!! exclaims Artaud, and Derrida, and so forth. If the world is so small a stage, the true stage has to be a theatre of cruelty a la Artaud in the everything-goes era: MURDER THE FATHER so that the theatre can be free to be itself. Murder the Father and the body is restored its holiness and the art its sacredness. And this is the most political art of today.