Tuesday, August 4, 2009
They’re everywhere. All around us. And we r part of them. I too am a beholder. In fact, we all r beholders. Now isn’t that great? Finally something we all belong to. While we were seeking that longed for unity, that inspiring connection, and the warmth and ecumenicity that comes with it, the darn thing was there already all the time, sitting there silently, right in front of our noses. Krishnamurti was right, when he told us: “To seek is to deny the truth that is right in front of you”.
But wait! We all r humans too no? I know, i know, some of u want to be pigs, worms, and dogs, and some of u really r, but only as human beasts eh? I think we have to agree tho: Humans r not united at all. Ecumenicity? Don’t make me laugh. What a joke. The same is true for us beholders. Alas, another dream shattered.
But wait again! There is some light at the horizon. Most of the beholders, r not creative, possess no originality, r non-productive carriers of their cultural heritage, and r decent, law abiding citizens, united and connected for sure by their stupidity. And don’t forget the eyes. The eyes of the beholders. Everything is in those. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Remember that one? There is no beauty whatsoever, without at least one eye of a beholder. And i tell u, there’s even poop in the eye of the beholder, blurring his/her vision, and smearing his/her view.
The time i was profiling my femdom, gradually contouring the feminine version of it, i met crowds of beholders, trying to let me act according to their wishes, wearing what they wanted me to wear, enslaving them congruent to their rites and protocols. If not? No femdom anymore. No domina at all. See? It didn’t matter if i had a view on the matter myself. It was all about the eyes of the subs, slaves, pigs, dogs, and worms. Their eyes dictated femdom, not mine. I dismissed them all, leaving them to what i call, vanilla dommes.
Some time ago, a friend asked her friends to define art. Thinking i was her friend too, i wrote:
“Art is not to define, to catch in some stupid sentence. It's ur struggle to free urself from culturally prescribed protocols, laws, rules, behavior, thinking, etc etc, which r holding u back from expressing what's living inside u, maybe even not fully known to u, driving u crazy, making u feel desperate, and powerless, but also driven, and feverish to deliver. And it will happen one day, like the child that cannot be stopped to leave its creator. But first my dear, u must get pregnant, and carry that piece of shit inside u.”
As a result one of her friends attacked me, trying to convince me that art was in the eye of the beholder, that no art could exist without being approved as such by the beholder. In short: No supportive beholder, no art. His enlightened monstrosity was commented by me as follows:
“Which reminds me of brave anti-semites like Wagner, Blake, Liszt and a few other great ones in the eyes of the beholders. Not to mention that fabulous Teutonic art with found grace in the eyes of millions of Nazism adoring beholders. Remember Mao? How about his beholder qualities? Great supporter of the arts, that one. Maybe i should add Pol Pot? Or the Conquistadores who destroyed great amounts of Maya, Inca, and Aztec art? All beholders no? The list is endless boys.
Ah yes, it's all in the eye of the beholder. Especially ugliness, hate, and the need to applaud those, whose work is echoing and mirroring the feelings of the beholder, but which the beholder would never dare to display him/herself without the support of other beholders.
Behold, let it be written in stone, and burnt on zillions of HD’s: Art is art when it has been approved by large groups of beholders.
Btw, who were those beholders, when Rembrandt painted his Nachtwacht? Poor fellow was laughed at. And what about Amadeus (psssst that was Mozart eh)? He perished in a cold room, lacking money for food and medicine. Apparently his music must have been of extremely poor quality, as the beholders said so.
Let’s have some democracy in art too eh? One ass, one vote.”
Then…… i was removed from her friends list, rofl.
Of cors I let her stay on mine, as i’m not inclined to measure her by one silly move. Hmmm, two actually, as she had done this b4. Anyway, i still believe that one day, she will conquer her fear to be discredited and abandoned by her beholders, stop siding with them, and do what she so desperately wants to do: Creating art her way, and cracking down on the beholder pandemic. But she’s not ready yet. R u?
Btw, do u know why there’s so much pulp & pseudo art? No? Here goes: Cos there r so many artists who r selling their soul to the beholders, and as such r destroying their art.
And yes, not only artists r scared to celebrate their unique potential, and to face bravely the destructive quest of the beholders. It’s one reason why so many choose to only display their sexual cravings anonymous in the virtual world, and rather live a life of sadness and deprivation, than to come forward and confront the beholders, make fun of them, and knock their righteous teeth out.
>>>>>>>>>Mi madre un día me dijo: "Si te haces soldado, serás General; si te haces monje, terminarás como el Papa." En cambio, me hice pintor y ahora soy Picasso. <<<<<<<<<
Sunday, August 2, 2009
The poem below i wrote in response to a blog entry on Carla’s site (long gone by now), regarding a witch’s soul, her temperament, and personality traits. This remarkable woman calls herself a sexy Christian warrior witch, which she certainly is, although i have my doubts about the warrior part in her self assessment. I’m sure she has no intention to fight in vanilla wars, and probably used the word in a more metaphorical way, emphasizing her readiness to fight for her beliefs, and to confront any obstacles that might come her way on the path she chose to travel. But she will try to do this in a gentle manner, respecting the beliefs of others, and recognizing their right to be different. I guess this is one of the reasons she decided back then to keep me on as a friend and an ally, as for sure i differ in many aspects from this peace and harmony loving lady. For instance, my tolerance is almost zero, when compared to hers, and i had no problems whatsoever to participate in dirty warfare during an earlier part of my life. This poem has to do with that episode. It’s partly metaphorical, and partly real. It’s also witnessing, that even under almost unbearable circumstances, human relations can flourish, and intense sexual encounters r possible and sought for. Looking back, i know i've changed, and still i am the same!
B4 the battle of Gilboa
I met Zephaniah
And we made love
Like only witches can
She crushed an ancient king
Denying him her spell
From Endor to Ein Dor
I met Sedecla
And we made love
Like only witches can
She resembled Kelêmath
The one i loved b4
In beauty and unrest
Ein Dor brought me Golan
A new grim battleground
Where i made love again
To men who i call men
They died a warlock’s death
And orphaned me