Things are not going well. Some time this weekend, a security guard picked up on this fresh, guttural screaming. It was leaking through the doors of the auditorium. The guard unbolted the doors and discovered an extremely distressed cow on stage. She was frantic and buckling under her own weight; she panted wildly, flexing her hair, then died after a few moments. Later in the day, a vet arrived on scene and assured everyone that the cow had died of epilepsy induced by ingesting some foreign material. In other words, the cow had eaten something that killed it and was not harboring a contagious disease that would eventually kill us all. What the cow ate, it turned out, was a massive dose of food coloring from a Morton Williams uptown. Blue No. 2. An art student had picked up his friend’s work study shift and fed the poor cow blue all day earlier that week. He was going to make a series of paintings from the cow’s dyed feces— Paintings which he said would be his “Yves Klein” moment. It was just an exhausted attempt at impressing a cultish painting Professor which resulted in the dramatically staged (literally) death of an innocent heifer. The security guard is traumatized now, and is taking indeterminable time off. What’s so goddamn ironic about the whole thing is that the “piece” really went over very well in critique. Everyone was so excited at the thought of losing control, at the uncomplicated force of real consequences. Even at the end of class, after four hours, they were still foaming at the mouth. They plan to pick it up again next week.