Art Has a Mouth
As the Computronik Souls are landing … human people must speak up louder than ever. We have to distinguish ourselves … to a less and less discerning populace. Or else something very important (inside of us) goes instinct.
If we are nothing else (and we are much more) we are sub-creators, artists in the MasterCreator’s grand image. So our stories must themselves tell stories. I am a writer and a visual artist. We all are — if we muster the courage. Here are some examples from my recent inventive craft:
I titled this piece Kiss the Planes.
It brings with it the idea of a beautiful drunk. We are in love … in these times … with the idea of being fragile, passion-driven, worldsick will-puppets. We float wherever an idea or a sensual inkling might take us. We tall all or no responsibility for everything. We are gargantuan and erotic accidents … in our own mind … or in some dark thing else’s.
And yet we are haunted by being beautiful after all. One-time Innocents. Remembering what it was like to not feel so soul-less. Wishing it was possible to time-machine back.
Normal addicts (on alcohol) have just bloodshot and spider-veiny noses. This one has the worlds DNA tattooed into the arteries of her face. Almost as if an amorous partner has beaten it into here. I shiver to play with such dementedness. But it is the very heart of our media.
I wonder a thing. Sex took over our imaginations … and with it … our entertainment devices. And against what all did then say. We have become the replaying actors … now living out the characters we’ve long watched.
If that logic and earthly paradigm must always play out … then what of our current fixations with enstranglement … decapitation … violence-lust … etc?
And oh how the woman … has become the man of our age! Confusion … upon confusion … upon enigma doom … and beyond.
What will we do … when the best of earth is alive in our countenance … but so at the same time … is the entrapments of Hell?
