Sisyphus as Artist as Harbinger
…so that, when it comes down to it, what you are saying is that art is to elicit an “emotion” or “response” from someone who, what, wouldn’t “normally” or “otherwise” come to that conclusion or have that thought or make that connection themselves? that artists are like some canary in the mine that alerts the dumbfounded, those unable to determine that the mine is filling up with an odourless gas that, okay, that person in that mine right, the reasons why they are in the mine, they think are “to feed my family” but is actually that they are being used as cheap fodder by a mining company because they couldn’t be bothered to make robots that would be too expensive or ludicrous, think pre-industrial revolution here, and so until we have those robots we use you idiots who use a small bird as the only stop-gap against death, so artists are flagging these things in artistic ways, waving flags, showing things, making the uncaring feel, and so that process, that “art” is what, like this: here I am showing you what it is, here I am literally explaining to you with examples and thought-images how one group interacts with or expects the interaction with another to go, one group is here showing the other group what they have not realised and that that is why artists are hated or maligned or defunded or ridiculed, and that process, that eternal ongoing process echoes and mirrors the actual flow of civilisation, these antics played out, every inch gained drawn with blood literally and figuratively; now we hear the sound of triumph, horns, angels choir, the DNA singing its own praise, saving its own soul from the meat grinder, the very essence built in to the ACGT bases in the DNA finally harmonising in a species able to translate the functions built into its sensors to synchronise enough to gently pull the golden thread of life threaded through the dead bulk of black mass that without this “divine” intervention would swallow itself whole unerring and blunt like wildebeests roaming the muddy steppes fucking cousins and uncles and tearing the flesh from the bones of their brethren eyes caste up unable to comprehend much other than the difference in shades of light between cloud or sky (these angels call themselves the true artists); or is it beauty, skill, technique and achievement which is transcendental in the way that we as humans acknowledge some greatness in its achieving (as opposed to war, or the daily toil, say)…the same shard every time at this exact moment Sis laughs to himself, finding himself able to wipe some mud off his leg and cover up the wound in a gesture he has performed so many times even his surprise or quick little laugh is an echo to the last time – he is out of his own body floating above the behemoth he has become watching a man live and move and make gestures, a mind now free from the process, the monotony, an unexpected revelation here now only after one loses all sense of self, the battle between purpose and pointlessness, of need vs want of even up vs down, the mind finally either breaking or ascending to another plain that in without the constraints of the step by step onslaught of causal events, look here he always stumbles and so he does, the foot slipping deeper into the earth a little but as always he stops, breathes out and pushes on, now here in the aether he is left remembering the breathe out watching over the things that are inevitably going to occur, glancing left seeing the tapestry of all events that have ever occurred and to the right all the events that will occur as what will unfold will unfold, this grace, this scene he hopes that when going back into the flesh that he remembers and that he is not, now, instead, lying suffocating in the mud with a large ugly boulder on his body pressing his face into the mud where the last electrical impulses in the brain are showing him a version of a heaven he has over the years toiling and struggling imagined to be the only true possible one have tapped into an area of the brain that is permitting the connections made to tell this dream to be automatically validated as one hundred percent true and real and in that instant of thinking this thought he comes to understand that, were it to be taken under those conditions, is unarguably the most true position he could ever possible come to accept…built from scratch, this veins and arteries, once a boy this man standing in a podium scream-preaching his revelation out into the world to less than ten people, his eyes open and manic, his haircut recent, his nails clean and manicured, he either greatly respects his calling or this is his first time and he is/was nervous and so duly prepared to present himself in the best manor, either way he is remarkable and stunning, his neck artery, the one that fails you when you have a stroke, is bulged to the maximum, a horse breeder judging a stag for his flock who first mathematically assessed the racing history and purse of a prospective purchase would naturally next turn their attention to the general health of the stallion and seeing the bulging almost pulsating thickness and highly functioning carotid artery exhibited by these fervent preacher in a horse would surely sway their decision, likewise the observers hear today hearing things such as “..the things that must occur will occur, ‘active’ participation is irrelevant, though we will participate! we will be the observers we are the witnesses of all the has or ever will be, here in this mass of stars and black holes and matter we the witnesses of ourselves, our own witness, our own angles…” one can’t help but be persuaded or take some of his sentences to heart, one who has obviously come to some illumination he is fervent to share and, wouldn’t it be true that should you have such an accident you would also become so activated, you would say, and you would believe in saying that “I have discovered the truth and I know it in such a way, that is so strongly that I can’t keep it to myself”, just like every decision you have made and every idea you have that you think to share, sure maybe not as passionately as the guy with a red face hoping to convince others that god is found by observing every single tiny instance of interaction between every particle in existence, that is, that there is a natural flow, like dominoes, from every single interaction to the next, that the universe itself is from it’s beginning, as far as we know, an ongoing succession of interaction upon interaction manifesting in this gloriously complex and incomprehensibly vast cosmos that, due to its very inception and cascading flow, that is, how we have and can easily observe how there are causes and effects and our interpretation of them or participation in them is an illusion created by creatures who are firstly within that system and secondly are unable (due to limited senses) to decode the whole in real time which is the mode by which those creatures live in this unfolding universe, say, or you are still here and determined to breed horses.
