A DEFINITION OF ART

I thought I'd see what these posts turned out like when I really 
was drunk, not just sounding like it. So the meaning of art was 
next and yeah let's define it.

Ah jeeze, it's just the same as normal but with more typos because 
I can't hit the right keys. And I keep correcting them so it's not 
even funny, I mean why?

OK, Art is artificial, artificial emotion. Or the artificial 
stimulation of emotion. There see I'm concise when I'm drunk. Umm, 
no really it's all just stuff that makes you feel things that 
aren't real. People wrap it up in so much crap about how it has 
meaning, but it's about the feeling, the meaning is in the way of 
the feeling.

You see, music, painting, photographs, stories, movies, they make 
you feel for things that aren't there. Feel the things you need to 
feel. The hope, the sadness, the love, the hate, the life. They 
live a life for you, a dream realised in paint, or film, or sound. 
Beond the dream, but true and yet false. Piped straight into you as 
emotion beyond reason, beyond reality, just emotion felt as it 
needs to be in the raw heartfelt truth. The truth in art is the 
truth of the dream, the truth in the hope, the desire for a dream, 
the desire for life. Life is art, emotion. No that might be too 
much of a leap. Or I'm just not drunk enough.

Are you art? Am I art? I'm emotion, or I feel it, but my life is 
emotive. I put the emotion down, if I do it now is that art?

I'm listening to jazz. Free shit on ABC, on the TV, and old CRT TV 
with a set top box that tunes into ABC Jazz. I'm my old computer 
typing on the other side of the room naked, with a stainless steel 
goblet thing with brandy ion ti. Two CRTs light up the room, I 
turned off the lights after the movie finished - tequila sunrise on 
VHS, bought at some Op-Shop for next to nothing. Lots of christmas 
LED things also scattered about that I've built. Also some that 
just react to music, including a net one that I've built which has 
a mic. and is picking up the jazz, but the other one is just 
flickering away with noise. They flicker about. A bell swinging, 
two christmas trees, one of 64 LEDs in a spiral to make a Christmas 
tree shape, the elongated leadsd of the LEDs are lit along with the 
LEDs themselves as patterns ripple their way through the digital 
logic thaty controls them. Ripple through time, through truth. The 
room flickers, I sweat. It's hot, or I'm not, but I don't care. I 
hate the heat, but not when I'm naked, people should be naked in 
the heat. I keep thinking that I should have a woman here too, but 
then she probably wouldn't care for listening to jazz on full 
volume while type up some nonsense on my computer that I probably 
won't even post anywhere anyway. I think about that lately though, 
whereas I didn't used to care so much, but I can't be stuffed 
hanging out with people - I never really can be bothered with 
groups, they just talk about predictable nonsense and I just say 
predictable nonsense back, or nothing at all because I'm sick of 
predictable nonsense but there's nonthing else that they want to 
hear. What is it anyway? A primal desire, a need for sex, it's not 
like I want to talk to men, just women, it's just sex really. If I 
ignore that, I'm happy. No, if I ignore that I want money. But 
stuff money, stuff sex, I'm happy, in my room, my house, listening 
to music in the light of my CRTs and my LEDs. A little electrical 
insanity to drown out my desires, or to fulfill them?

Shit I bet people want to read this crap, I mean I would. But then 
I love insanity, I drink up the art that invokes that urge to let 
go. Just free yourself from the rules, not for sex or money, just 
to stop caring, to set yourself on something, to lead yourself by 
the tail down the road of pure want and desire. It's what's in all 
of my favourity movies, just letting go. Of care, of want, of 
anything but a dream, and living the dream, dreaming the life. I 
want to go nuts baby, show me the car.

Oh well that's that. One thing I wanted to add on the art thing is 
that there can be meaning in art, and that meaning can evoke the 
emotion that makes it work. But the best art has no meaning, it is 
emotion, raw as the flesh of your body, burnt into your soul. Great 
art needs no explaination, no insight or intellectual disection. 
Great art is beyond reason or truth, it is in the vague wilderness 
of emotion, carving its path through your eyes, ears, nose, body, 
into the mind, into the self. It works straight on you, and it 
cares not for your thoughts or your fears, just on your pure human 
blueprint.

I want to make art. I shoudl make art. I don't make art, I want to 
make money, and I don't really care. I get my art on a twenty year 
old TV that I got for nothing. I pay $0.20 for a VHS tape of a 
movie that cost millions to make in 1987. Art is human, or at least 
modern human. The relic of the purpetual human life is art. I pick 
up the scraps of life, the scraps of art, and live them. This is 
life whatever it means, and it's probably all that I truely want.

- The Free Thinker