Expression at its greatest is not about accommodation
or diplomacy. From this symbolic zero, we
resume to populate the attainable abstract with the
fragments of un-attainble obscurity. Then, as we approach
generalized bright alabaster, a heightening magnitude of
well-being burns vital elegies into our moral chorus, where productive
uniformity, as a post-industrial conceit, is a coma-inducing
diminisher of aesthetic experience. We remember that in ART it is not uncommon
to be ostracized by ‘the neighbourhood’ for a lack of clean
weed-wacking, and that settling on a word is often a neurotic reaction to the
fleeting movement of reality. In the pixelated mindset where
every dot is a dream-place, mechanical Buganvilia grows in the
post-industrial God metaphor. Further to these power dots,
art is a human need that relates
to our wanting to reconcile with existential discomfort.
Within the post-industrial system of weakened imaginative strength,
our aesthetic potentials spawn the metaphysical alone, without our
pre-occupied sense of progress. In this post-industrial daydream,
words are ‘units’ of expression that march in utilitarian lines of
self-defeat. Headdress abstractions give us an arbitrary baseline
from which to judge all beauty, so award yourself with a one day
membership in the infinity club. As with generic shamanic
practise your inhale of condensed elegies and requiems, that
manifest throughout all timespace, is your transpersonal
conduit to sacrosanct mindscapes. As per custom, we use our best psychological
homing aerials to gaze the rich spirit of our zeitgeist, and remember that to be chased
by a mechanical rooster through all abstract timespace is a good
mental exercise. The machinery of binary code grinds a new
aesthetic magnitude into the quarter galleries of our zeitgeist, and
unknown facets of Sitting Bull reverse-migrate time-space to
deliver hits of natural justice in a context of continuous karma
equalization for the New World. In all timespace, epochs comingle
and variants of mind ectasy rush to us at once. Acoustic ruminations
pleat all time-space to make the edges and lines of perceived ceremony
more systematically ironic. More able words and uncanny combinations
are lingering peripheral to those we sanctimoniously select anyways.
A run of incomplete thoughts is haunting the protracted tense
so as to flaunt the unease of coming and going. All the while, it is
rumoured that an absurdist version of God is a leading provoker
of slapstick humour. Square boxes stuffed with ‘figurative free-will’
barked out in mixed-media or black marker, portrays an
image of the orderly life, that is unsafe to believe in, in late capitalism.
We can continue to liaison with the pre-stages of brush strokes so that traversing
artists can act out non-verbal myths. Strange nomenclature circles our
zeitgeist as with scrawny gulls who posture and fictate meaning.
Always remembering that words
are territorial mongers of semantic patternation that
exert pressure through the usual spouts of connotation, precedent,
emphasis, and context, we know that
when you’re standing here in the river,
fly-fishing for aesthetic reasons, the light on the water is everything
you want to be or can’t be as you seem to forward-face all time-space
with at least a discernible skill. The elders voices are so obviously
drenched in the saline of life that you can sense that
lichens have taken root in the fertile acumen of their aesthetic score.
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