Did you just say that you read a T-shirt proclaiming: "artists are terribly people?" they asked with a wry smile in
their voice and the same old nascent lazy-eye vexed anew, in their imaginary facial expression. But, just
hold the fuck on here! . . . (isn't a question mark implied after the word 'expression' as much as
it is, at the end of this group of words) — oops, you didn't put a question mark down at the end, again. Why not?
But you did place one just there. So
punctuation use, or unuse (lack of use? disuse? un-use?) is
artistic license as long as we agree that the words we are reading have
been created by an artist.
"This feels like the preface for the beginning
of professor Veach's initial Go On Lecture Series. The one where
he (at this point, the sub-textual words: 'attempts to' will be read one way
by some readers, and in another way—at this point—by other
readers) weaves a story with its own plot while incorporating an interesting
philosophical argument into the message." They thought to themselves
because these were the words, which were, now, (slowly) causing them to
realize they were (actually) agreeing to allow some assfucker (could Professor
Veach be an assfucker? Ass fuckery is—-- ok, make there be heard a dial-up modem sound at this point --—because the person who wrote these lettersentences and punctuation thinks
it's funny. Punctuation Marks!
*giggle* Because you
allowed me to raise your inner voice and now you are allowing me to
imagine the Full Metal Jacket Drill Sergeant as he stares down under
the brim of his amazingly stiffly starched Mountie hat at first onto you and
then into you, with his unique type of bug-eye-stare, which you have agreed
(with everyone who sees it) communicates wordlessly:
This entire society has given my brand of unhinged,
their full-permission to be as much of an ass-fuck, to you . . .
who are currently-now a member of this relatively small group of this
society's strongest youthful-young-YOU . . . who possess the most
violent/attracted-to-risk-embracing (internal-drug addled) minds",
as he forcefully shouts, "Give These Punctuation Marks a God Damned Reach Around!!
This is a strange agreement you have entered
into. Do you agree? You are listening to my words -
my lecture - which is you implicitly allowing me to tell you what is
unfolding from the inside of my brain and (*) putting it inside your
brain.
This lecture's transcript will be read an
unknown number to times. Unknown to me, the person who is typing,
and unknown to you (the reader, every reader, someone reading it out loud, someone who
decided to turn these words into a script, the actor who contracts with a
group of administrators-over-actors to say these words with their
'currently-successful in current-day society's brand of unhinged') and even
unknown to our overloard-computer-monitoring-programs who will BELIEVE they
have an accurate tally. But. No-matter what beliefs are believed,
by whom-what-when [www] ever, the number will always fall somewhere between
one and infinity (1 - ∞).
Not between zero and infinity (0 - ∞) because the
artist had to read-see it when they transferred it from a collection of
unlabelled-with-words things that we-all (both of us) agree to call
'THOUGHTS'. Into a whomwhatwhen [WWW] before stringing that
collection together into labels.
O fuckin K. ok. Oll-Korrect.
Sorry. Please excuse my (obvious-to-all, including my inner editor)
overuse of certain verbal-mannerisms, which become an over-reliance on written punctuation marks and result in: a strange collection of run-on words and hyphens—or m-dashes—between words,
which are obviously violations of some little book somewhere on "Proper Grammar".
Critics all. Our minds, our selves (Self's) are self-programmed (without a visible on/off switch) to treat "new-to-you" or "less-than-ordinary" experiences (like this one) with a highly critical eye. Which could be labelled 'close-minded-disdain' when viewed from outside of our selves. We, on-the-other-hand, NEVER think we are behaving disdainfully. Everyone labels themselves 'open minded'. When have you ever thought, *well, that was extremely close-minded of myself*?
I suspect that most listeners/viewers of this artwork (on first listen/read) fall somewhere between nonplussed-confused and disdainfully-irritated. So much so, that they (you) are more-than-likely *at this very moment* reluctant to consider it a legitimate artwork, because the word-itself says: 'work of art' and *where does he get off*? . . And, referring to himself as an artist? . . with the title professor? (albeit un-capitalized) and now calling this lecture an artwork? Well. I'll, disdainfully, be the judge of that.
Maybe both listeners and viewers of this lecture's transcript would be less inclined to unfurl their inner critic if this lecture was composed of dried linseed-oil and pigment splattered on canvas, displaying to viewers various
light-refracting and non-refracting molecules, which might be communicating a deeply mysterious message within its abstraction.
Mystery may be mysterious, but it always causes curiosity in the curious.
But. This lecture is also riddled with mystery. It is possible to speak-or-write plainly, with easily understood sentences, and with paragraphs which contain identifiable concepts. All-the-while, keeping the listener confused and thinking.
Isn't there a part of you that thinks: *I don't understand where he's going with this, but I'm still willing to keep reading/listening until I, either, "get it"- or - something I hear/read "pushes me too far" and I quit - or - the lecture comes to an end*?
"...contains quite a few too many repetitious uses of cliché-squiggles, which reminds this viewer of corkscrews..." - Anonymous mouse, who likes the pun in the screen-name 'a non-e-mouse'
💭and which reminds a non-e-mouse of a relatively large animal's penis.
(and, the reason his inner self labelled
the corkscrews as "subjectively negative", was-and-still-is 40-years-later, because he (as a 4 year-old) stare-giggled at the sight of a massive petting-farm pig
as it failed to copulate with a petting-farm goat
. . . and was given a strong amount of pain (beaten until the sight of blood
caused the pain-giver to stop) by the adult from whom they had grown accustomed to
receiving good tasting things from, and whom they called by the name Dad. This pain caused their 4-year old self to associate that corkscrew visage with that punishment (for decades longer than it took for the basis for the entire memory to
disappear).
Which was/is too bad. Because if a non-e-mouse were to
self-hypnotize (meditate, practice mindfulness, actively contemplate, etc.) they
could recall the actual reason they had been giggling was because *the pre-schooler's television-cartoon-laden mind* found humor in the pig's frustrated-focus compared with the anthropomorphized,
look on the goat's face, as the pre-schooler imagined the goat was saying:
"I don't have time to give you a piggy-back ride, Porky! Can't you see they have tasty stuff in their hands, which I want to put in my mouth, and chew and swallow until I don't want to chew-n-swallow any more!"Also. A non-e-mouse could, then, interpret (thru the lens of intervening decades) that their then-parent's anger may have been trained/programmed by their own parent. And, a non-e-mouse might decide (rightfully or wrongfully—no matter—the truth is what the Self chooses) to conclude that many pre-television era farmers prevented their off-spring from deciding to commit bestiality with a belting as soon as it was suspected.
"Gotta nip that corruption in the bud!" - quote from every great-great-not-so-Grandpappy Ubiquitous
⧫ ⧫ ⧫ RETURN FROM IMAGINATION ⧫ ⧫ ⧫
(an echo of the word 'THOUGHTS' . . . 'thoughts' . . . gradually
increasing)
These thoughts are THOSE things inside us, which exist before we say them.
Thoughts are THESE things inside our brains, which we think exist, because there are some large portion of them, which we first become aware of and then never do anything with. We leave them unsaid. We never think of them again. We never jot them down.
There are an uncountable-number of awareness's, ideas, and "fleeting thoughts" that are never acted upon and are never turned into anything
tangible. These things never get out of our imaginations.
We consider that any thought, which we "mull over" or "ponder on" for a long time or with a sufficiently strong enough focus to both be able and willing to
refer to as an INNER IDEA, that because it was never expressed in any way
(not spoken, not written, not photographed while hiking in the woods) — that it has no value and can simply "be forgotten"
as soon as some other thought is considered valuable enough to push it out of the way. And then we decide (? - or - is erasing random thoughts an automatic survival mechanism?) to either express that new thought aloud - or - write it down - or - type into our hand-held - or - sketch it out, so that we might, someday, turn that valuable idea into some form of dried linseed-oil and pigment display of various light-refracting and
non-refracting molecules artwork.
An artwork is
an attempt to use the brain-eye's sense of recollection and comparison
in-concert-with the brain-hand's fine-tuned dexterity. This ability is either "trained" by
self-practice - or - "programmed" by ancestral DNA - or - "innate" to
the luck-gods - or - is merely a side-effect of possessing this combination of traits and there is "absolutely no other reason".
It could be that every organism in the Universe (visible and un-visible from Earth; known and unknown by Earthlings) which happen to possess the combination of:
complex eyes, fine-tuned thumb-touch, and sufficient cranial-thought recollection-and-comparison
ability — can always use the combination to imagine and to, then, try to capture those imaginary images for future reference.
Capturing imaginary images is communication with one's future self. Showing those imaginary images to another (who also possesses complex-eyes and sufficient cranial-thought recollection-and-comparison ability) is advanced communication. In layman's terms, it's called showing your artwork to a friend.
Show a picture of a cute baby mouse at this point.
Imagining is just a survival mechanism. The baby
mouse learns by watching the entity, which gives it stuff that tastes
good. When big enough to want to have more of the stuff, which
tastes good, than the entity is currently providing (or intentionally stopped
providing) the baby follows and learns to find its own stuff that tastes
good.
The adolescent mouse learns by avoiding getting pain from
the entity which gives it pain. When big enough to
want to have less pain, than the entity is providing (or intentionally
started providing) the adolescent un-follows and learns to avoid pain.
Adult mice survive because they have imagined future
actions (want to have) which they compare to their present state, this
activity is acceptable to think of as: a state of lacking
something they would not know they were lacking, if it were not labelled by
their minds as something pleasurable, which they would like to re-experience
because without it they experience pain (discomfort, hunger, sexual urges,
etcetera).
Make there be another (second) audible second dial-up modem
sound at this point.
Ass fuckery is a pleasurable experience for those who
have taught themselves how to relax their anal sphincter, thoroughly
clean their own rectum, apply lubrication, and not to equate the internal stimulation
with (the programmed-emotion) of shamefullness.
There are a too-many-to-count-number of people who were
taught to believe (by their own Great-great-not-so-Grandpappy Ubiquitous's)
that anal stimulation is an irredeemable and unforgivable act. Grandpappy Ubiquitous's have decided it is so shameful that it is not only punishable by death,
but—after the assfucker or assfuckee has been killed—their terrible awareness will forever exist in
the most pain their-long-deceased-Grandpappy Ubiquitous's ancestors
could ever imagine: burning in the hot lava, which forms the (imaginary) pits of
hell.
Can you imagine why this might be something billions of
long-deceased-ancestors have conspired to construct in their imaginations and preach/share with their progeny as well as incorporate into the doctrine of their religions?
In conclusion:
Random thoughts become cogent ideas the longer one contemplates them.
Ideas are only valuable (to you and others) if you are able to objectively evaluate why you have them, discover where they originate, discard those which were passed along from some ubiquitously self-centered person (who considered everyone else in their world to be an unimportant background character because they were incapable of empathy) and to communicate those valuable ideas to yourself and others.
Take-home assignment: Please contemplate the title of
this lecture "Artists are Terribly People" and formulate your thoughts
around those four words until you have a new-to-you, original idea, which you
can communicate. At this time, no essay is
required. However, be prepared to explain your
train-of-thought(s) relating to these four words during our up-coming discussion class. I intend to focus that discussion on how your individual imaginations influenced your mental process(s).
The next lecture in this Go On Project will
introduce-and-expound-upon
how to employ your imagination to identify empathy in your own
mind, and (subsequently) how to incorporate empathy into your future actions,
as well as how to identify the difference between sympathy and empathy in one's
self (and others).
(*) The fact that you, for your own reasons, are willing to lend
some credence to my thoughts and possibly incorporate them into your
future-self's future-behaviors, future-concepts, and future-thoughts is
something pleasing to me because I RESPECT any creative brain which shows it
possesses(¹) traits which I store-and-hold in a mental inner happy place, which I
created/possess, and which—I
posit—somehow got shoehorned into my
learning-to-read-by-reading-aloud-self's mind when I discovered tales written
by other humans which entertained and captured my imagination with sufficient
levels of personally-generated chemicals that I wanted to repeat the
experience.
Which resulted in asking a Librarian (title used here to
impart word-as-honorific) to point me to the isle where I hoped more of that
personally-generated chemical stimulation would be stored. It was.
I became addicted. Addicted so much that I chose to learn/taught myself
how to create my own punctuated-lettersentences. Eventually, I possessed a
mind which I RESPECT enough to enjoy some of my own artworks.
(¹) Don't you just get an inner-tingle when certain words slither-role?
(Didn't you just get it again? Slither roll, slitheroll, ummm) . . . Slither-roll possesses
a vindictively unparallelled level of nonpoisonousness to my sensibilities.
Footnote under the footnotes (closing thought):
There are people
who have never had a brain-chemical reaction to any collection of
punctuated-letterwords, who have no comprehension as to why the use of one's
imagination can make them more intelligent, happier, healthier, and a more-honest individual (to themselves and others). I am someone who thinks of
those people with deep sorrow. And, I feel this way even though I realize "they" can not fathom why I (or anyone) might actually feel sorry for
someone else's inability to experience something so simple that it can be
described in one sentence: Learn to enjoy reading.
Eclectic Reading for Go On Students:
