Art For The Masses

Was art ever meant to be enjoyed?

By the body of individuals? Grasping and pleading for more

and newer, and better.

Why is our society built on the notion that Art can be sold, and that people will enjoy being

dragged through endless fads

one style to the next

pleading

crying out for more

Was art ever for the mass?

Were we supposed to be the ones creating, sifting through the sand for gems

that can be manufactured

altered

modified

and mass produced?

Why is it then that we allow it?

Why is it that we get caught up

With the thought that our art

could never be good enough

for the Mass?

This thing that you see is not what you see,

not letters on a page

nor words on a screen

not even sounds and syllables spoken

not even spoken by the one you love

This is my soul

Crying out

To be heard

And Musing to itself

about the way of things

This is not art for the masses

This is art for me

Pine

pine trees, stacked and stacked, vertically filed into forrests neverending. while adoring the scene one truly fails
to really see the trees.
in a sea of green
you miss out on the true meaning

Where you are is a home to me

Where you are is a home to me
with lines and spaces fit so easily
Warmth and laughter so happily
bidding us into closer community

And it's more than me
more than glee
more than things wanted longingly
more than at many points I could even see
what this home of ours does mean to me

You're a friend treasured by me
One, now, I know all too clearly
is one that I can't give up willfully
And so we sit, and wait, and see.

You are what I want a home to be.

Transmit

transmit the transmissions
to transit and trances
and to all the tan children
training to be soldiers
transmit the transmissions
that war is over
let freedom ring
across our green earth

Where you are is a place I can't be

Where you are is a place I cant be
for when I look, all that i see
is not the depth, or heart you carry intrinsically
nor the warmth, care, or awe-inspiring beauty

What I see is myself, a reflection of me
like looking into a mirror, reflexively.
I see my bleak future, and past villainy
I see pain and heartbreak and wish to flee

When I sit and look at your wonderful free,
not wonderment beckons, but shackles encompass me
Not due to the sight, but they've been there completely
All this time chafing in ways that are killing me

Why do I worry about whats to come when today is so very sweet?

Stud

Stud is an interesting word. it can stand for someone attractive or something completely mundane. The reason why I mention this? because I believe this duality is part of me. I just wish I could be more attractive than mundane.

wishing for sunlight on a new World (Worlds: Interlude)

Sitting and thinking, Fear has crept in and made it's foothold deep within that very small part in the cavity of the traveler. For you see, fear is a hateful thing, welling up and forming sadness and rage. It's a sinister beast that preys on the innocent...but the traveler knows that he has lost that title ages ago.

For he knows that his goods are outweighed by his bads. His Kindness outshown by his petty. His man encompassed by his beast. Yet he still yearns. Yearning for a day in which he could feel

sunlight on a new world.

For he still stings from the cold. Fear has brought along it's confederate lonely to rest in his chest. He feels them rummaging and tearing and finding every weakness that abounds. There are many.

Sitting and wishing (what a light defense against his enemies) has shown him one thing: that fantasy and reality do not convalesce one's soul. Nor do they cohere to one another in any meaningful way. They bounce about in and through one another, alternating their course and making liars of each individual dancer in their collective duet. they are not opposed to one another
Just opposite of one another, different in every way.

Pedal

pedals turning

spinning, burning

caught on blaze with the windows yearning

to be something more than an automobile

it's shade is teal

but it's eyes are green.

Commentary on a life in complete and utter enjoyment

I forgot this feeling
like a rod I'm reeling
i'm feeling something far bigger than I know what to do with
so I just sit
and enjoy it

Crane

the crane stood on a crane, pondering the irony. It had heard that there was another crane for this lonely crane to mingle with, but in turn it was a machine. the machine didn't have much to say, but made a wonderful perch
to see the sunrise
and the cranes flying
off in the distance.
The Crane smiled, and sighed in relief.
"At least the journey wasn't wasted,
just another step in the road."

Worlds (Part 3)

while stuck between worlds
and beautiful notions
of current heart's delight
and past's destruction

a sharp dagger flies,

"what if I'm not enough for this world?"

what if there exists within me something else
something wrong
what if in this middle space, there lies not a pearl
but a void.
It still stings. It smarts. it pains me to think.
to think that just maybe it's fault is
just me

I look to my insides, all I see is a mess of
cogs, and wires, and premade destructive
tendancies.
I have lived for destruction with the will of a
zombie.
Crying to be fed
And never doing any feeding
All I do is whine and moan
and feel such things alone
but in this middle place, between this one and that, I wish that what I wanted most was to want something of
worth.
that mattered.
that meant something more than self-satisfaction
and feign
and falsities
and delusion
and destrucion
without lasting
without meaning

I realize that i love none but myself
and that in doing so, I am alone.
The world that I've entered into, then, is not much more than the one I left,
The pitiful pity of preferential
me.

...waking from the nightmare, he dusts himself off. this traveler of worlds
he's something of a moth.
he fears darkness,
and loathes the empty
he clings to the light
and he's much too much
like me.

Sunshine (Old FB Stuff)

The sun is hanging on the ceiling
It's your Second chance to sing
It's floating, just above our heads
Your Second chance to fly
As I look to the smile
I know
affixed to your face
I realize the power
Second chance to feel
not a cloud in our sky
not a moment left to lose
a chance for us to love
and not a moment too soon

Worlds (Part 2) (Old FB Stuff)

While thinking of worlds and worrisome notions
of past heart's destruction and present's fixation
And rummaging rummaging through nostalgia's collection
A thought chimes out,

"I need a new world"

Strikes like a siren, first loud then numb
a painful realization, soon turns to conclusion
bringing forth heavy glances at life and love and why
I have discovered that that world was not big enough
for you and I

So I amble about
making sand castles
kicking dust in the wind
building, burning bridges

And in this little shell, that was once filled with life
is not but crushed rocks, and knick knacks, and strife

So packing my bag and waving goodbye
I pretend to hear cheering
instead of my cry
I look around, back turned, for one final moment
then exit stage left, for new horizons, that look most imposing

I embark with the intensity that comes
from bullet through chamber explosion,
Running from erosion
fleeing from corrosion

feeling wind against my skin again
Flying through the darkness
fearing what my heart missed
breathing in the sea mist

I stop. And look. and what do I see?

An utter completeness
In a world that was made for me

Worlds (Old FB Stuff)

Well, while thinking on worlds and worrisome notions
Of past heart's delight and present's forgotten
And rummaging rummaging through nostalgia's collection
A thought just dawned,

"I wasn't meant for their world"

Troubling sounding, rolling off the lips,
I fear not it's ire, sound, or lament
For not Death, sentenced for we
More liken to a tune not befitting to our melodies

Yours, not bad, not even a bit
In fact seeming wonderful, a grand jubilant
How I wish my stringed whosit, my unique instrument
Could enter your company, could enjoy your accompaniment

So with a sigh I do leave you
Though no tear to shed
If we do meet once again
Be it then my greatest delight
If not, alas (woe upon woes),
There however are no mortal perils
No breakings or tearings or big detonations

Just the emptiness of an emptiness
In a world where I do not belong

-A Friend

Nostalgia (Old FB Stuff)

Nostalgia is a funny thing.
It allows you to look at things past and realize what once was.
And implications of the changes that abound come forth, brought to light by contrasting then and now.

It really is strange.
How one can leave without leaving, to be five feet from something and on a different continent simultaneously.
And all this time being away I thought that I couldn't come back

So now the question:
Can I really come back?
Can this soul be as it once was, like scraping rust from the kettle
Or like shining light in a once forgotten room

Does it need to be as it once was at all?
Or is this the next progression
Like a tornado to rally the town
The murder to show people they need to love one another
The death that helps us see a need for life
The Christ that showed us how it is to live.

Essentially, what I'm trying to say is that nostalgia is a funny thing and that I seem to be back.

Talk to you soon,
M.

Needle

needles poking holes
in the surface
of me
tearing when their
sharp intrusions
come together so very
tightly
Why is it then in the onset of the needle
puncture
that I find myself enjoying the beauty
that comes when life wakes
these limbs up
and I find that the waking of arms and legs
is much more satisfying than the numb.