I am not interested in compromising, accommodating, coddling, nurturing, reciprocating, socializing, representing, conforming, comforting, consuming, commercializing, worshiping and/or otherwise marketing a single fucking thing I do. As a result of this I give birth to myself, a lot, albeit in unexpected places. However this is a porno for another day.
The point will be to honestly examine your creative instincts. What are you chanting? On which cacophony do you feed? How decisive is your indecision?
Perhaps, like me, you grew opposed. Words alone do not suffice to capture the opposed opposition that makes rightness possible and so you make more art. You make Time out of art. Faster and Faster than a Steak can moo.
The truth is artists are everything, all the time. They are a cultural appendectomy. Restoring function to functionless, a body neither right, wrong, nor both. However no one can sign for this and they/you/I become pissed off because UPS is late, so now every day we make shit about the UPS shit.
This is not a helpful thing to practice. Intuitively, Art is a form of Suicide, not of the Artist as Subject, but of everything the Art is not; a Suicide of all that is Subjected. The problem cancels itself out. This is beautiful but easy to neglect, and so more often than not positions are taken that vehemently oppose all that isn’t, even though it already is, effortlessly, as you cannot undo the undone. You paint/perform/play and/or otherwise dilate with the intention of exposing what cannot be destroyed by the opposed. You create a threatened threat. You know destruction is unavoidable (because avoid what?) so the final choice is accepting you’re opposing. You make what you make and you raise a glass to the World as Diabetic Exorcism, effectively stabilizing the mutually destructive relationship. You create the volume at which opposition is it’s own elevator music, uninterrupted, going up, and you witness, you make witnessing.
You are trapped in an elevator.
It is easy to get stampeded in this place (the elevator), and continue violently opposing and changing directions yet never moving because you are trapped in an elevator.
What is the Alternative? You must approach, intensively. Move closer and closer to the elevator you’re already inside. Eventually; touch, taste, witness, listen, smell all over the elevator. Continue doing this for days, weeks, months on end and you will be OK because you will have become Ritual.
We challenge the spirit (the necessity of opposition, resistance to the opposed) just short of succumbing to annihilation. Ritual lives here. Become it so as to practice it – an active rearranging of presence. Whatever hellish song box the elevator corporation packaged around us over and over until we formed packaging (we are NOT packaging) cannot, under any circumstances, be Present.
Continue presenting. The how and why is simply possibility and interval, which always is and is indestructible in any Art that is necessary – the lived brutality of presence, which is beautiful, as you are anywhere but here and everyone is there and you are never anywhere. The elevator breathes, expands, approaches new colors, violates light, it’s directionless, it is not feeling quite itself these days, you bang on it with spoons and sticks.
You do not give into opposition. You become more present than it.
The Amish are still around and you should go, some of you.
The rest of you go do shit. The Amish are with you in spirit.