Journal Entry: Thu Sep 18, 2014, 6:19 PM
The stagnant are often merely succulents over some sort of sacrificial system of belief, latching onto faith with all they have, spilling over with its philosophical juices, with every ounce of fat and red water that their body contains. I've no problem with this save they savor the sense of positivism which should come sided in such a meal, in fact I'd take this mix over a mess of atheism. In that sense of positivism lies the simple art of creation, the ebb and flow of nature, the laws of karma pertaining to the natural world and our effect and involvement. The spice, our sense of creation, is the deciding ingredient... without that there is something missing in the chemical makeup, something offbeat in the rhythm.
My one major belief is that we are all creative beings, and ironically, this is the one thing that most argue me over.
There is no such thing as talent, no such gift of creativity, instead it is something we are all able to tap into, but only the awake understand this, only the enlightened live it, and to round out our circle of being and to perpetually continue our push towards progression, this is a link that has no plastic replacement.
My father is the person who pushed the idea of this connection on me, he is the one who helped me identify the current which is able to be channeled through us. When I was young he was always up on music, I can remember him being floored by Rage Against the Machine, Nirvana, Chili Peppers, and all that good stuff that was going on in the early 90's. I've recently delved back into some of that music, and the life of John Frusciante in particular, and it blows my mind how connected some people are at times. Frusciante is on another level completely, he's on the wrong planet for sure, but one thing he knows is how to open himself up and allow the natural rhythms make their way through him. Kurt Cobain is another one, again, definitely on the wrong planet, but when it came to writing and composing, he just understood it, and the execution of it came naturally. Both of these guys battled with the shape we are all methodically cut into during the conditioning of our early existence. Both of these people battled with the monotony of the current condition of the flesh, and the problems which arise when we are forced to be subjected to each other, and especially when the artist is made to coexist with plastic people pushing the product, promoting the problem. Every true artists will fight this for the entirety of their life, every single one of us will attempt to shake out of the shape we are molded into during our formative years.
Every aspect of life benefits from system and security, but any form of art does not. I don't care if you're a musician, a photographer, or a painter, or all of the above, any form of art depends on freedom from conditioning, on the space and independence allotted with virgin thought and fresh ideas. There is a level of inner fight which we all must perpetuate. In my own experience, there have been many times when I felt that this is all that it is, a fight, a struggle, but we all eventually hit plateaus, we all find levels on which we can create freely, polish the perfection of creation, and push the boundaries while taking the entirety of the craft further. On those plateaus comes the ability to breathe, they are where we get a break from the fight, and are allowed the time to collect the conscious and continue forward. But in every walk the wobbly get to warbling and not paying attention only to be beaten down by the most vicious of beings on the planet, people.
The boredom which most of my time is soaked in is heavy enough to drown a island, in the land of consumerism the stars are always black, the stripes are sullen and silent and soaked in the once blue blood of sore shoulders, scarred hands, and swollen knees. I find myself become pushed further away from the normal with every day that passes. In stride I'm merely restless without enough minutes, heavy with hours on hold, weary by weeks I'll never get back. To pledge allegiance to the conformity of consumerism is that of weak men and brainwashed women, the day I feel okay with it you can make me an extra eye between my two via one steel cylinder with the diameter of 9 millimeters. And I'm not some angst ridden kid, though my words may sometimes sound similar... I'm merely awake in a sleepy nation, alive in the depths of the decomposing dead. The inward venture is the only I'll mention, the flesh is burning by the barrels with those lost in a trance, slaving to the dance, slipping in romance for image, status and wealth. Regressed to reaction and ego, repressed to complacence the people burn in green flames and meaningless names with friends like blame and a refrain of chemical silence serving as a prelude to violence, confused as to why they are depressed, comfortable with the way of the suppressed, slipped into manic digression of their intellect, the subsequent state of norm in the present, the sad stand of the everyman lacking heart and balls, soul and the cause, without someone to plead to and no one to call but a million meaningless accomplices in their little social wall... life is not facebook, nobody gives a fuck about your number of so called friends.