Hello, I am here.

I’m not very good at articulating the flashing film strip zooming past my quivering mind’s eye at quantum speeds so fast its almost mystical. Usually when I talk or write, I release the grip I have on the picture that pops up on the monitor printing out the activity logs from my front end brain wave terminal and hope the words stumbling out, that I have just associated with that picture in my mind, can try to come close to the depth of what I was actually trying to say, or at least point my target in the right direction like an aircraft flag signaler guiding a Boing 747 to the runway. I tend to let words go without actually knowing where I am headed. A recess playtime for the word play rhetoric I think I can get away with without sounding pretentious, which in itself is probably pretentious. What I am writing may not even be accurate to what I actually believe. It is, however, a great way for me to decipher the recursive patterns my mind is constantly shapeshifting between.

I want this journal post to, hopefully, start solidifying the dialog in my head constantly debating the ideas and philosophies of art. What it is, what it tastes like, how destructive it can be without a guidance system telling it where to be used, why it can be both the adolescent princess in etiquette school learning to dine with the proper utensils and at the same time be a war lord burning down villages and collecting valuable nothings for no lasting reasons. Art is anything you want it to be, but that doesn’t mean you should let it be everything. Distinguish between good art, bad art, and great art. Art so great and so magical that it literally can be used as a skeleton key to unlock a doorway to another dimension. Art that when experienced by the super special alien people roaming this beautiful world, will start to grow in brightness, start blurring around the edges and suck the future art junkie into a black hole with no escape. But who cares if you can’t escape. There’s no point in going back anyways. Art is the ability to take time and break it apart. Rearrange it into a puzzle that’s constantly dodging your attention. Not an unsolvable puzzle, but one with many layers, many levels that player one can explore for hours and days and lifetimes. Hide yourself in your art. If you are lucky, a few people might find you and if you hit the royal flush, most people won’t. So confused on where and how to find you that it drives them to insanity. Art is something beautiful at a glance and destructive upon further inspection. Art is the throwing up of your middle fingers to give a big fuck you to the people pushing paint around with nothing but the fear in their soul, those who have never explored the darkest depths of their consciousness, those with no knowledge of the other side or even of its existence. The frozen corners of the universe pushing out every last drop of electron vibration to hide for another million years before some archeologist A.I. comes along and breaks apart its history with a set of microscopic nano robots. Robots like garden gnomes. Gnomes so sophisticated and well trained in the ability to piece together the past that they finally assemble the truth. A truth so powerful they spontaneously combust into a trillion separate fractals all spiraling off to find their own way towards enlightenment. Let art be the thoughts of a mad man that are driving the innovations and discoveries of the future.