I thought I'd see what these posts turned out like when I really
was drunk, not just sounding like it. So the meaning of art was
next and yeah let's define it.
Ah jeeze, it's just the same as normal but with more typos because
I can't hit the right keys. And I keep correcting them so it's not
even funny, I mean why?
OK, Art is artificial, artificial emotion. Or the artificial
stimulation of emotion. There see I'm concise when I'm drunk. Umm,
no really it's all just stuff that makes you feel things that
aren't real. People wrap it up in so much crap about how it has
meaning, but it's about the feeling, the meaning is in the way of
the feeling.
You see, music, painting, photographs, stories, movies, they make
you feel for things that aren't there. Feel the things you need to
feel. The hope, the sadness, the love, the hate, the life. They
live a life for you, a dream realised in paint, or film, or sound.
Beond the dream, but true and yet false. Piped straight into you as
emotion beyond reason, beyond reality, just emotion felt as it
needs to be in the raw heartfelt truth. The truth in art is the
truth of the dream, the truth in the hope, the desire for a dream,
the desire for life. Life is art, emotion. No that might be too
much of a leap. Or I'm just not drunk enough.
Are you art? Am I art? I'm emotion, or I feel it, but my life is
emotive. I put the emotion down, if I do it now is that art?
I'm listening to jazz. Free shit on ABC, on the TV, and old CRT TV
with a set top box that tunes into ABC Jazz. I'm my old computer
typing on the other side of the room naked, with a stainless steel
goblet thing with brandy ion ti. Two CRTs light up the room, I
turned off the lights after the movie finished - tequila sunrise on
VHS, bought at some Op-Shop for next to nothing. Lots of christmas
LED things also scattered about that I've built. Also some that
just react to music, including a net one that I've built which has
a mic. and is picking up the jazz, but the other one is just
flickering away with noise. They flicker about. A bell swinging,
two christmas trees, one of 64 LEDs in a spiral to make a Christmas
tree shape, the elongated leadsd of the LEDs are lit along with the
LEDs themselves as patterns ripple their way through the digital
logic thaty controls them. Ripple through time, through truth. The
room flickers, I sweat. It's hot, or I'm not, but I don't care. I
hate the heat, but not when I'm naked, people should be naked in
the heat. I keep thinking that I should have a woman here too, but
then she probably wouldn't care for listening to jazz on full
volume while type up some nonsense on my computer that I probably
won't even post anywhere anyway. I think about that lately though,
whereas I didn't used to care so much, but I can't be stuffed
hanging out with people - I never really can be bothered with
groups, they just talk about predictable nonsense and I just say
predictable nonsense back, or nothing at all because I'm sick of
predictable nonsense but there's nonthing else that they want to
hear. What is it anyway? A primal desire, a need for sex, it's not
like I want to talk to men, just women, it's just sex really. If I
ignore that, I'm happy. No, if I ignore that I want money. But
stuff money, stuff sex, I'm happy, in my room, my house, listening
to music in the light of my CRTs and my LEDs. A little electrical
insanity to drown out my desires, or to fulfill them?
Shit I bet people want to read this crap, I mean I would. But then
I love insanity, I drink up the art that invokes that urge to let
go. Just free yourself from the rules, not for sex or money, just
to stop caring, to set yourself on something, to lead yourself by
the tail down the road of pure want and desire. It's what's in all
of my favourity movies, just letting go. Of care, of want, of
anything but a dream, and living the dream, dreaming the life. I
want to go nuts baby, show me the car.
Oh well that's that. One thing I wanted to add on the art thing is
that there can be meaning in art, and that meaning can evoke the
emotion that makes it work. But the best art has no meaning, it is
emotion, raw as the flesh of your body, burnt into your soul. Great
art needs no explaination, no insight or intellectual disection.
Great art is beyond reason or truth, it is in the vague wilderness
of emotion, carving its path through your eyes, ears, nose, body,
into the mind, into the self. It works straight on you, and it
cares not for your thoughts or your fears, just on your pure human
blueprint.
I want to make art. I shoudl make art. I don't make art, I want to
make money, and I don't really care. I get my art on a twenty year
old TV that I got for nothing. I pay $0.20 for a VHS tape of a
movie that cost millions to make in 1987. Art is human, or at least
modern human. The relic of the purpetual human life is art. I pick
up the scraps of life, the scraps of art, and live them. This is
life whatever it means, and it's probably all that I truely want.
