Life is best understood in finite details. There is no need for art if there are working hearts. Being the pragmatist - what is tolerable? Is it coherent? Does it matter to me? Being the existentialist - what does it say to me? Who is involved? Does it matter to we? The rationalist? Well what do the others say and why? Which is more popular? Does it matter more to me or we?
I see life in meticulous details that do not work with rhymes. What does one plus one mean to a canvas? How can a heart - working just right - paint on the walls of the fortress and always, be looked back upon and be considered beautiful.
That stoic mind is ancient shit - we are intangible animals categorizing our limbs with limbs and minds with minds - the instinctual mind; the mind behind the mind pulling strings,
" Sing us a song you're the piano man...."
"bicycle bicycle bicycle.. I want to ride my....."
We familiarize with our environments and families. We copy our friends led by mother hens. We compete for company. We duplicate more than procreate. We mime to have a good time. And we memorize all of these external rhymes - whether you read them or not - these cultural lies depict our human myths.
Mother culture leads the followers away...
How can you simplify - a sloppy poem? What expression is best to explain this vortex we call home?
Must I be formal to say we are all just monkey knights? Swords and shields and an inflated frontal cortex.. Metaminded memories of shadows long forgotten yet we fight to say who's is who's. We are ghost of the future. We mean no more than we think, so says God and every other religion you can think.\
Imageless images, that's what we are - we reflect one another's mirror. We are an endless canvas of mind that looks at other endless canvas.
My rhymes were shit. I told you I'm not an artist, but I'm honest.
I don't think art is everything, but to be fair, the philosophy I read is riddled with endless dichotomy; the academia has failed to realize what my hate for art has taught me. We are only able to repeat the same mistakes, the room for innovation is a mistaken allegorical determination. To say this and that is new and by this person and before another and another... Once thought to be like that and this by these people. Now groups of people think different things about the same ideas, but disagree. Welcome to the human condition; nothing is new besides what people think is new about nothing.