🔵 By Daniel Broome. Photo by lauragrafie.
And here one is, wafting in your phases, the re-alignment of what’s hitherto this handled, presumed, induced by the latter, compelled to the former. Under the influence of “Damage Control” turns out has been a waste of my fun tickets… But when one is propositioned, it makes me wonder that my involvement is required in something…
Walking the street surfaces of this world you come into the social contract with many choices, not many options; some offered, some imposed. But whether you like it or not, when one is the subject of ones conception, the proposer wittingly enters into a mutual agreement, a transaction, to become conceived and unbecome one’s self. By taking license to the rights of one’s identity, you put yours on the table – if you’ve chosen the master of their identity. But the identity you perceive may not be one who’s performed, rejected for one only one knows.
Nobody told me this. I’m… confused. Why me? How, what am I doing to incite a concern by one, to be so conceived?… Allow me to remain with you, under your impression of me – show me who I am, how will I know you unless you do? Allow me to attempt to change your look, your language, allow me to smile, to sprinkle my unease, my perplexity; allow me to unsimplify the sight of me. Change your mind. Tap the glass of your light bulb. HARDER. Until we don’t all live under your light. Your sight. Your hearing. Your bright idea.
I think there’s pathology in this. Who knows the Trevor’s Axiom? Because where I am now in this game is where you might’ve begun, if you learn to know yourself as I have. We don’t know if the choice was yours, the influence I befell fruicsiously on you has dichotomized into your influence on me, playing desire’s bulb on strobe on influence on you… unless ya wanna fight?
Warning gives to moods embrace, surging to enter exertion into calms atmosphere, drip by drop by drip, till a full cup is borne… but it’s ALL second hand, now as it ever was.
It is known, therefore it is not a secret – that a TRUE artist requires no inspiration to “produce”. And only that which is original in its conception, is “real” art.
And this is only mental toilet paper, use it wisely.