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May 08, 2005
The Art of Living
art turns the world
not the deities
when you fly over Los Angeles
or Athens
the housing tracks
and their cookie cutter design
every third one, a repeat of the first
designed by mathematicians
and bankers
That is art
it is the art of calculators
and inside those homes;
the same
those with the lazy eye
not to see beyond the domino effect
that they have chosen, that it creates
and recreates
everywhere
from the dishes
down to the cutlery
from the oxford knot
down to the 9 to 5 cubicle
all the way down
to the children that they bear
this is art as well
the art of manicured machinery
for that is what one becomes
a machine
and after so many years in that style:
a broken one
when you are riding in the back of a bus
through the slums of Mexico
or Burma
the ragged piecemeal shacks
all in rows
staggered, like the lurching steps of a drunk
each unique to its neighbor
in the way of its varying scraps of color
and the condition of broken boards
the shapes of corrugated metal
that form them
Unique
but the same
to the despair
to the lives
that live within them
this too is art
the art of hoplessness
passed from one generation
to the next
from one regime
to another
what one man may simply discard
another may find, his only possession
and the distance between them
does not exist
not here
nor there
at least not in any practical sense
this too is art
the art of poverty
and for them
both those who live inside the cookie cutters
and those in the shacks
it is only while in the presence of plaster saints
and stained glass icons
inside the white vaulted funnels
decorated with the thorned man
bleeding from the wrists
and feet
hanging from the cross he was meant to bear
for the practical purposes of the guilt basket
passed among those with nothing
or close to it
and into the hands of those who sleep in silk
and solitude
It is only here
that they are led to believe that such lives
as those which they live
are necessary, and good
for there is a man; one who stands
while they must kneel
one who instructs
that they must beg
for forgiveness
for trying to get through the day
through the world
through life
they are told: suffer
it is required
it should be cherished
it will prepare you
For how can you know joy
if you cant endure tenures of misery?
How can you recognize clarity
if you wont submit to senility?
How can you be shown the right path
if youre always making your own decisions?
How do you know you ever really loved someone
unless they are taken away from you, from the living
by your friend; Jesus Christ?
For there is a better place, my friends
Above the clouds
Behind the stars
Beyond your understanding
Never Never Land
I think it is called
and when your bones
finally lie bleaching in the sun
or the worms get into the box and take to the flesh
You just might be allowed entry
or perhaps, given a residence
in this, 'Promised Land'
as long as your coins and banknotes
continue to land in the basket
What is this place like, you might ask?
Well,
its all biscuits and gravy
You'll be fitted in free flowing white linens
that dont ever wrinkle, or, get dirty
for there is no dirt in heaven
only soil
You will not have to pay taxes
or for gasoline either
and you will sleep soundly,
if sleep is what you desire
You can feast with the Saints
or dine with the virgins
Yes, you can move about freely
and visit with everyone youve ever loved, and lost
Well, that is, if they subscribed to our Laws of Devotion
But then again
who among you would want to mingle with sinners and non-subscribers?
Heaven:
It is, my child, whatever youd like, or, need, it to be
Go ahead, fill in the blanks.
It sounds pretty swell, doesnt it?
'Yes, very much so, but whats the catch?'
Well, there are a few conditions
the fine print, as they say
You must dismantle your robust spirit, Pride we call it
and that free thinking way of life, must cease
Snuff out your desires as well, they are slothful
anything that brings pleasure is evil, a sin
and you must devote your life to idol worship
study your bible, if youve read Mellville
youll see the similarities
also, being a Republican might help
You look troubled by all this my son
but you need not be
for this is not life
that you are experiencing now
this is just a precursor
a test
for the eternal episode
If you screw up once in awhile;
its OK, just come and beg for forgiveness in my little wooden booth
Oh, so many sins that you are guilty of, already, by default
but if you say ten hail marys and rub your beads
nothing you do will be counted against you
you are Forgiven
However, if you REALLY fuck up
If you are, for instance; a non-believer
lacking the common sense needed to comprehend
that a man walked on water
or parted the red sea
or in He, who rose from the dead to save you from yourself
Well, dont expect an elevator ride upstairs
or a free pass on the the winged chariots to the golden gates
Nope, straight to Hell for you boy
Fire and Brimstone, red men with horns, pitchforks
Hitler's there, Richard Burton too
An ugly scene all and all
Read Dante's Divine Comedy, the Ciardi translation
youll get the idea
'But how do I know that all that you say is true?'
'FAITH my boy, Faith
you must trust in me, follow me blindly
no need to question things, for I am a sheperd
and you are my sheep...
'all right, sign me up'
And so this is art as well
it is the art of manipulation
the art viewed and sold
to the confused
the dying
the lost
it is the art for those who reach inside for answers
but can only conjure up their ignorance and doubt
And the artists of manipulation know that smell
of the ignorant, the confused, the scared and the meek
The artists know.
They dont even have to come knocking
They know that they will come; the lost, on their own
they always have, they always will
and to no fault of their own
sometimes the world just seems
like it has nothing better to offer
sometimes
its just too hard to find
and of those who reach inside
when in need
and CAN conjure up the answers
or at least, a sense of direction
and are empowered by it
Those who find sunlight in the shadows
That can break free from the chains of the conveyer belt
Free their hearts from the vice grip
Well, they are the lucky ones
because for them life is not a queue in which one waits
for a transfer from this place, to a Sunday morning fairytale
it is not a purgatory which one must endure
while one awaits a vision of some well crafted mirage
No
It is an adventure, a challenge, and a thing of beauty
I feel this every day
in the curves of the woman sleeping beside me
on the mirrored streets of reflected neon
in the shifting colors of the gloaming
at the bottom of a bottle that swelled with fine agave spirits
in the images crafted by men, attached to the spines of literature
in the birdsong at dawn, beneath a foriegn flag
in the laughter of the innocents in playgrounds and schoolyards
I find it everywhere
It is there, if you resign yourself to finding it
you only have to open your eyes
and awaken your senses
To have faith in yourself
and in those who have faith in you
If you can do this
then there is no need to worship false idols
and follow in the footsteps of the great majority
and this is art too
This, my friend
is the art of living
Posted by Drexler at May 8, 2005 11:32 AM