my work is shifting to the body and losing focus on the body within an environment.
- the terrible decision is in the eye of the beholder.
- one man’s addiction is another man’s money maker.
- no one loves an aging hipster.
- if it can mold it shouldn’t be eaten.
- yolo on the rollo
stripping away every hindrance to work comes at a price. one must embrace plain-speaking. direct words and action that cut to the quick of matters.
everything else is a waste of time.
somewhere on my drive today i had a vision about existence. it was one of those hippy type deals but without all the drugs–just straight, sober, mind-numbing traffic.
it was about islands and inhabiting them. how we’re all rebuilding tools over and over and over again.
on the site for the atom editor i did a quick search for vue.js packages (because, mostly, i am experimenting with a vue/electron app) and found the predictable millions of results (slight exaggeration but also mostly true). i haven’t used any of these so i can’t review them, however, on first glance - what is the best? superficially it’d be the one with the most downloads and/or stars – depending on the ratio of downloads to stars that you personally judge by.
fundamentally i have no problem with this other than the slight annoyance of picking the best tool amidst a sea of tools. however, the problem is with how much redundant work there is - the flood of packages, libraries, frameworks, etc. is incredible waste. but when one believes they’re an island they have no other choice but to reinvent the wheel.
“Why is art beautiful? Because it’s useless. Why is life ugly? Because it’s all aims, objectives and intentions.” – Fernando Pessoa
The creation of my work is mostly self-satisfying in a most destructive manner. The work exists in my head, is created in a moment of passion and then exists in a state of being that is neither alive or dead.
That final state kills me since I’d prefer to not be reminded of my mortality, loneliness and uselessness.
Life goes on–bills must be paid, supplies gotten, food eaten.
The created work sits idly by slowly being covered in dust. But what of it? Everything is slowly covered by dust and/or turning to it.
To sit in a basement, hang on a lonely wall or live in a speculators tax shelter are all the same. The preciousness of your idea is either totally ignored or sold for a premium and then ignored.
But I digress. I’m tired of stewing in the soup of pecuniary philosophy!
One must live and for me to live is for me to insist on art and to insist on an artist’s life is to insist on living uselessly.
And that is what I shall do.