tirelessly rearranging forms
in hopes of understanding.
each ambiguous attempt
widens a stumbling confusion.
round-about answers misdirect
as a measure of possibility.
i walk around,
i’m unsure of my knowledge,
i question the knowledge of others.
do we follow logic or each other?
it seems that we trail
behind those before us.
“common sense” or “norms”
speak of oppression.
unity divides the whole,
misconception is the only reality.
as i sit here tapping my foot,
to a beat i cannot keep,
others fall in step.
i look their movement
they don’t know
what comes next.
i must admit,
upon first impression,
they seem knowledgeable.
so what do i gather from this?
flail in all direction,
that way you’re bound
to reach some place.
“art saves him, and through art – life.”
this was a line that i took, probably out of context, from friedrich nietzche. you must pardon me, for i’m trying to read what i don’t know, which to be honest, is everything. disregarding his initial intention, i’ve taken these words to mean something else to me.
this snippet in particular resonates with why i create, let alone think. i’ve always used some form of art to express myself. it’s a cyclical existence you see: i live to create and i create what i live. i’ve tried to realize my shortcomings as a so called “artist” – the lack of technical proficiency and misconception – although, i use these weaknesses as a strength. how can a weakness be a strength? simple. to know one’s limit is to know one’s progress.
i will admit mediocrity, even when i strive for originality. Knowing this, i still create what i can with what i’ve got because this cathartic impulse can only be satiated by myself.
regardless of its uselessness to others, i create because i live and i live for that ideal that is but a shadow of reality i experience.
do you know what you’re doing? i wish i could say yes, but no, no i do not. wait, what am i talking about? of course i know what i’m doing: i’m living. surely we all have a different opinion on what qualifies as living, but for me, as long as you’re breathing, you’re living. i know many would argue against this fact, but technically, to me at least, it seems like a self evident truth. now, what you do while you’re breathing, that’s a whole other story. maybe that’s what people mean by the statement, “get a life.” if it was like Mario world, heck, i would collect the hell out of those green 1 up mushrooms, but since this is not video game land, i’ll just live within myself. it’s hard to understand others when one cannot understand oneself. i seem to like things and not like things and so do other, yet i can’t find someone of which makes me feel wholly similar or comfortable. i might divulge personality to another, but that is in hopes to find reciprocation. alas, i’m left alone and wanting. for what, i cannot comprehend, nor does another. alone i was born, and alone i shall die. half knowing myself and those of whom i consorted with.
allow me to
you in this direction.
don’t follow my lead
this is just what i’ve been told.
i presume scraps of truth
in what’s been said.
reason rests upon
belief and fact,
to which each slant levels.
distorted facts contort belief
i don’t know what i know.
god, do you exist?
science, can you explain?
well i’ve heard both sides of the story,
and all i hear is jargon.
you’ve furthered my confusion and
have not cleared my doubt.
you both sound correct.
but then again that’s coming
coming from a believing not believer.
i’ll concede my improper use of language.
i have no knowledge of what i speak,
nor write, yet i take comfort in
the babble of incoherence.
i guess that my misappropriation of meaning
gains validation in its disjointed being.
it’s easier to spout junk,
than to create.
the garbage i vomit
comforts me more than
the trash i compose.
be it rehearsed or spontaneous,
it comes from the same source.
i should be thankful for both,
at least something is made.
my eloquence runs smooth
like a serrated knife along a fine vein.
the blood spilled
showcases my dexterity.
i indulge in things i do not understand,
but do so out of interest.
my ideals overshadow my talent,
yet i create out of habit.
drawing lines are easier than
those written, but written has more
opportunity displaying intelligence.
everything has an intelligence,
mine just so happens to be below what is
socially respectable for one of creation.
yet, creation is available to those of will.
intelligence is man made,
will is natural.
one can improve one’s aptitude,
but is it mimicry,
or actually understanding?
if i copy, i hope i’m able to
express my understanding.
otherwise my attempt is futile.
if i cannot what i’ve digested,
and create my own understanding,
i’ve not understood anything
but the art of copying.
at least i know how to touch myself.
maybe that’s all i need to feel whole.
or maybe i need an actual hole.
I must admit that my knowledge is limited. Besides that, my understanding also stoops to such lows. I’m born a “blank slate” and from there my parents inscribe upon me their knowledge, which they got from “blank slates” past. It’s hard for me to discern truth, due to my lack of understanding. It’s not how sharp it is, it’s the depth with which it reaches, and to that, everyone, potentially, wields a valid point. If science draws a blank upon defining the reality of existence/mind, then how can I trust anyone, myself included?
I’ve been told that I “read” to much into what’s being expressed, therefore, my thoughts are misconstrued. Now if everyone is a little bit off in their judgement of what is “true,” how can I be deemed wrong? I’m sure some one can validate or surmise their truth, but if we all have been taught by an empty teacher, who really can speak of truth? I’m readily available to take another words as truth, but that’s only because I mistrust my judgement. Which, by the way, comes from another who is just as disinformed as I.