For those of us dancing on that line, you know exactly what I mean.
and of course, everyone says you can’t be sane in an insane world, whatever. I mean … The situation before us, before you, is actually that insane. (imagine me sliding my hand down my pants) (Imagine me sliding my finger onto the pulse)
if you’re paying attention, then you can play the crazy game!
so —
let’s play a crazy game!
It’s sort of a “let’s see who’s the filthiest,” but you gotta prove it!!
It’s sort of a race of who can think of the weirdest, wildest thing, and then actually do it. (how did you even come up with that idea??!)
It’s sort of a mission of let’s make this garbage look beautiful or let’s pretend this garbage is beautiful or if i tilt my head like this the garbage kinda looks like my childhood home or Let’s point at that garbage and call it art, (smell that?) but it’s already art, and it’s already beautiful, or it doesn’t have to be, or ‘define beauty in this context’ or whatever, all the way down that stupid spiral of what is art, and eventually landing on the “why does it even matter?” …
Well … it’s …
it’s …
beautiful, sure —
but it’s not beautiful in the way that you're thinking … and i’m honestly tired of being pimped out like a whore —
my art isn’t your entertainment.
I mean it — be careful with real art; it might change your fucking life.
I mean it.
I say this is art because it is real and it is true (I mean look at these scars) and look at the mess I made (we made), and the pain really taught me something wild, didn’t it? and I approach it with this ‘i know what you did last summer’ attitude (as if we all know) (as if we’re all shocked nobody knew), and you get to say i don’t like your artwork — well that’s totally fair; if you don’t wanna think then please step to the side, but also maybe THAT is the real artwork. This power exchange. You hiding. Me crying. us judging. (us aching) like: Who are you? Who am I?
I mean … Look a little deeper, honey
i dare you.
(art as invitation)
my depression taught me everything. It’s weird. is it stupid to say this?
Finding beauty in atrocity? Oh, you bet your ass i am!
Staring that beast in the face and saying I see you motherfucker (art as a weapon) pointing at the failing system.
(imagine me crawling out of a hole)
are you having a hard time figuring out who’s the predator and who’s the prey?
look deeper.
and Revealing the intricacies of that disaster, that awful thing that happened to you (I’m so so sorry, by the way), and wondering if maybe you’re still stuck in it …
What’s left? What’s lingering?
i’m still stuck in it
i’m still stuck in it
i’m still stuck in it
and then the fact that you’re still here: perseverance (art as a promise to yourself)
if i’m really in touch with my inner self, then i have the opportunity to say something really real. If i really am this deeply creative and imaginative and provocative, then it is my duty to share these gifts with the world. (“look what i imagined!”)
look what i dragged out of the darkness!
here there is cultural change. please let it be.
Now gag on it and remember why you’re alive.
art really saved your life, right?! so show them why you’re alive!