Saturday, December 17, 2016

Lesson TWO : Satellite


I value only those artists, who really are artists, that is, who consciously, in an entirely original form, embody the expression of their inner life; who work only for this end and cannot work otherwise.
 -- Wassily Kandinsky, 
Concerning the Spiritual in Art

According to current financial estimates, starting next month I will pretty much be subsisting on oatmeal and semen.  Although such a diet may leave me prone to light-headedness, surely my skin will be luminous?

      Imagine how much time and energy I would have saved, if only I could have admitted, aged 16 or sooner, that my family simply disliked me.  I was a screw loose in their litany, a flat note in their recitation of what they needed and deserved: everything.  I had to be eliminated and I was.  My family used to throw me “Go Away” parties.  I used to think they meant it in a funny way.
      This is an advanced course in being lost.  Attempts to order or figure out, to fix or solve, would risk injury to the already precarious mechanism.  Be warned: nothing sensible can help.  Resort only to Divine Providence, the Big DP, also Deep Penetration, by no means coincidentally.
     Almost certainly an obstacle: he is a person who likes to write.  I mean that in the dumbest way.  He is a person who likes to sit, silent, in the corner, and practice his penmanship.  Little wonder that there is neither success nor audience.  Those were not among the considerations.  He probably would have thrived as a medieval copyist.  As it is, there are no openings.  This small man actually believes he is receiving dictation.  He is as useful as a forgotten satellite dish, turned toward a distant galaxy, waiting on an alien frequency.

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