DELUSIONAL PEOPLE

Faber- to fabricate, to lie, thus, ‘art is a lie!’

Modern art embraces everything, and it should, as each new generation has that many new sources of inspiration to draw from, the only new ideas are the combinations and retoolings of older, (arguably better) ‘original’ ideas. Whenever I come up with a great new idea, it appears someone else has already done it; Woody Allen, Mel Brooks, any countless number of other brilliant jews. This is the only decent argument for anarchy. We ought to just tear everything down and start from scratch.

Ideas and philosophy multiply exponentially upon themselves, building blocks like LEGOs towards an ultimate good, or perhaps mucking up the process with overt confusion. I can’t create unless I immerse myself in new ideas and company, I get depressed when I’m not fulfilling some act of creation, when my body gets depressed it makes itself fall in love, when I’m hopelessly in love the only cure is art.

As it embraces everything, is doesn’t have to be picky, it has arms open wide to receive it all, but perhaps it CANNOT decide, and is just artistic nonsense. The ravings of madmen in the street at streetlight poles begin to make perfect sense to me.

If someone labels their memoirs ‘The Rantings of a Crazy Person’ chances are they are not a crazy person. If they label their memoirs ‘The New Gospel of the Reborn Jesus Christ as Told to me by my Housecat,” then they may be a pretty good candidate. But even I attribute animism to inanimate household objects, a silly childhood holdover. My class ring, like all class rings, for example, had a singular purpose in its life; to get itself lost. My toilet cannot flush without my approval. Whereas most people need only to pull the flush lever, I must be watching my toilet as it does this, nodding and smiling satisfactorily, beaming proudly as if no other toilet could fulfill this function as well as mine.

Delusional people (artists of reality), confuse their internal and external spaces, in some degree incapable of delineating between the two. Their dreamrealm is our realm, and they will as readily interact with a wall as they would with the policeman on the corner, and “sane” people like you or I would rather interact with neither. We tell ourselves that hard-line constancy is better than our mental illusions, a good use of our perceptional condition than being tricked. But we are all tricked on a daily basis, by our biased minds, our faulty eyes, and the society, fellow humans and world in which we live.


This is Rodin’s ‘The Thinker’ It raises many important and pivotal questions about art as we know it, ‘what is the thinker thinking of?’ ‘is the sitting position the best position for thinking?’ perhaps he’s thinking that ‘I could be thinking a whole lot better if I put on my damned thinking pants.’


This is Rodan. He thinks of nothing but destruction.

The artist is a clown, a poet, an imitator, a monkey, a philosopher, a sociologist, a socialist, a satirist, a fabricator, a creator, and first and foremost a liar.

Constructing his or her own reality for entertainment, aesthetic or philosophical purposes (and let’s not forget the payouts), is the honest intention of dishonesty what separates them from the camps of confidence-artists and the camps of schizophrenics?

A few more thoughts related to this subject, and then I must return to the comfort of my dreamtime, whose sophistry I know to be authentic and internally consistent:
Early cultures and shaman were much more responsive to the archetypical ‘stranger’ as a bringer of both dramatic good and evil foreboding. Regardless, his news was often accepted as gospel by the characters time and time again, even in those stories where the moral was that some trickster is playing with your worldview to ill ends. We love a good mystery, and solving it sometimes takes a backseat to never solving it. Some humans skip to the end of the enjoyable book to read the reveal first, others join major world religions. An old Native American belief was that ‘evil is the truth that is not meant to be known.’

And finally, this:
Does telling a fictional story make it more true than if it were never told at all?

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