some thoughts i thought i'd share...
this is not a pipe. nor is it a painting of a pipe.
nothing seduces us quite like simple truth. except maybe the complex lie.
my recent work regarding Wonderland and the whimsical work discussed here at the Whole has really unsettled me. i dont like having my ideas of truth fucked with. what else do i have?
i need something solid in all this.
a few weeks back, discussions at The Blob regarding Sigourney Weaver et al had me questioning my own existence as a unique being. i felt the solid ground of my previous studies on Ego turn to clouds of questions. these clouds gave me my Wonderland series (by way of the circular logic of ferris wheels and eyes), and now thanks to Wiz's Arkham, once again, i feel cloudy uncertainty.
this poster does not have a scent. this is not a poster.
it is not raining food.
i went to a friend's album release party last night, and i met a woman named Kanika who i can only describe as a goddess. she recognized my energy as a seeker of truth (she quoted afrikan proverbs! in a bar!) and i was captivated by hers. in the moment, there in her eyes, nothing else mattered. well not really. that's a lie. i felt like nothing else mattered. truth is, the world didn't stop turning.
the experience reminded me of a strongly-worded comment from The Patternist in which a reader challenged my use of the term goddess to describe Beyonce. i couldn't really defend myself soundly. who was i to say who is a goddess and who is not?
i told my friend that night that the woman was the meaning of life. but, i was pretty drunk. she could have just been a very beautiful lie.
this is not a kiss
this is not Beyonce
my most recent post over at the patternist discusses the duality of the red and white queens from Alice's Adventures in wonderland. the first people to take to the dance floor last night were twin sisters; one's hair was platinum blonde, the other's was dyed blood red.
if both faces of the sacred feminine are truth, then in a way, they are also both lies.
in Beautiful Liar's Beyonce and Shakira, i find two images of woman;
this is not a metaphor
both of those descriptions of woman feel as true as they do false. this also describes much of the musing done here at the Whole. there is something real and true happening here, but so much of it is based on illusion. john travolta is not zeus. ryan reynolds is not an amnesiac god [cool term though].
jim carrey is not ebenezer scrooge, and his new movie will not actually be shown in 3 dimensions. funny red and blue glasses do not transcend dimensions of real.
again, not really 3D. those balloons will not lift that house.
the boy was not in the balloon, NASA did not bomb the moon [how ridiculous]... oh wait... maybe they did. maybe i'm wrong about all this.
does it matter?
i sure hope so. i need something solid in all this.
.
my recent work regarding Wonderland and the whimsical work discussed here at the Whole has really unsettled me. i dont like having my ideas of truth fucked with. what else do i have?
i need something solid in all this.
a few weeks back, discussions at The Blob regarding Sigourney Weaver et al had me questioning my own existence as a unique being. i felt the solid ground of my previous studies on Ego turn to clouds of questions. these clouds gave me my Wonderland series (by way of the circular logic of ferris wheels and eyes), and now thanks to Wiz's Arkham, once again, i feel cloudy uncertainty.
"What is real?
How do you define real?"
-Morpheus
How do you define real?"
-Morpheus
this poster does not have a scent. this is not a poster.
it is not raining food.
i went to a friend's album release party last night, and i met a woman named Kanika who i can only describe as a goddess. she recognized my energy as a seeker of truth (she quoted afrikan proverbs! in a bar!) and i was captivated by hers. in the moment, there in her eyes, nothing else mattered. well not really. that's a lie. i felt like nothing else mattered. truth is, the world didn't stop turning.
the experience reminded me of a strongly-worded comment from The Patternist in which a reader challenged my use of the term goddess to describe Beyonce. i couldn't really defend myself soundly. who was i to say who is a goddess and who is not?
i told my friend that night that the woman was the meaning of life. but, i was pretty drunk. she could have just been a very beautiful lie.
this is not a kiss
this is not Beyonce
my most recent post over at the patternist discusses the duality of the red and white queens from Alice's Adventures in wonderland. the first people to take to the dance floor last night were twin sisters; one's hair was platinum blonde, the other's was dyed blood red.
if both faces of the sacred feminine are truth, then in a way, they are also both lies.
in Beautiful Liar's Beyonce and Shakira, i find two images of woman;
this is not a metaphor
the delicate flower, the captive porcelain doll
and the raw passion, emotion, the force of mother nature
both of those descriptions of woman feel as true as they do false. this also describes much of the musing done here at the Whole. there is something real and true happening here, but so much of it is based on illusion. john travolta is not zeus. ryan reynolds is not an amnesiac god [cool term though].
jim carrey is not ebenezer scrooge, and his new movie will not actually be shown in 3 dimensions. funny red and blue glasses do not transcend dimensions of real.
again, not really 3D. those balloons will not lift that house.
does it matter?
i sure hope so. i need something solid in all this.
.
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