The art Is a lie used to tell the truth.
What is the point of talking into a machine that is unable to understand you? It is the same issues I've had with every other person I've ever spoken to. Words that sound like other words are transposed on top of each other. In the quantum world these words do exist and the songs that we don't know the words too also exist.
We often go back to the moment of waiting in line under Christmas lights two hands brought together, no electricity pass between the two.
Electric into time and into the future and I see you. All of the options that could be there. Your future, so bright. I push up against it with my hand and you hold tight.
The lights flicker and go out and I hear you gasp as you feel me absorb the life from this moment.
I wonder if in that moment the words that we spoke came back to you? The words about an artist creating the world around them. The artist using words declaring what they want,
And all I wanted was to hold the hand forever.
My hand was open waiting for you to grab what you wanted. And then your hand against mine found it and decided to cling to this moment. The Christmas lights flicker and are gone. We stood there waiting in line. I hope the lights remain off.
And then your hand pulls away for fear of someone seeing as you're reminded of a discussion they had on the state of being.
The character of light and dark and the electric current that exists between the two.
Christmas comes back on, never close again, except for every moment since then.
They spoke on the idea of trash
in humanity as we picked up and threw away the discarded.
As I threw my trash over a fence I speak on how there was more God that I saw along the street then in any church.
Wax smoke covers my clothes and turns them into Rags, is what is filling my lungs, and my brain. This is the Purgatory where I move the muck but go nowhere except for old memories. it weighs thousands of pounds back and forth to be melted down. There will be no record of the work.
Trying to find something of value in all the death, The definition of art has now become unoriginal decoration. Of course everyone hates it. And there is nothing to understand of it.
Love Is Alive used to tell the truth?
Love Is A Lie used to tell a truth.
The lies that were told are now forgotten.
Your hand let go to let the trash fall away.
