Wednesday, April 14, 2010


I've come to a pertinent conclusion of late.
My life is not about a production or a contribution, at least I neither subscribe nor value it as such.
The artists job is to report poetry. Glossy, charred, disgusting and beautiful poetry.
Is the aesthetic a compass of moral turpitude?
I think perhaps in my case it may be so.
It makes me ill to discover myself on the end of a product line or in the corner of a promotion.
If I'm to promote one thing I want it to be poetry, poetry, poetry.
Visual strokes of poetry about loneliness, pain, joy, love and perhaps I may even lead myself into a cause.
Me the social activist, what do you think of that?
Product of Modernity
Product of Technology
OOOOh that's good. Paint about it.

I have restrained myself so long thinking that this was perhaps selfish, slothful, or a manipulation of my true purpose in this world.
I now understand that it is my best chance.
Be a part of everyone else.
Dammit that's what I want.
To the lonely, I feel.
To the despondent, I feel you too.
To the majority, do not accept me.
To the minority, I am not your stranger.

If a moment exists where all understand hits at once, I will make love to you then.

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