Month: December 2022

If this was God’s "Artworld" would it be good, bad, or ugly art?

What if the answer was, “Yes!”

Why yes?

First what kind of "good" is it?

Ethical or aesthetic?

What might it be like to walk around inside an artworld.

Called existence?

That hosted courthouse and congress morality plays.

Might it tweak expectations for what's coming next?

Caused by a reimagined sense of this-worldly place?

Realigning "Where I am" to "Who I am" to "Why I am".

As seed silent space planted to flower songs of time.

Scripture says.

Yes, scripture.

"In the beginning God created..."

"... and God saw that it was good."

As if good and God planted feet in the same breath.

What kind of good could make that kind of God?

The kind of good that goes with being righteous?

Like God just created a great place to inhabit right from wrong?

Doesn't this sound more like an artist looking at what just got created?

Hey, I really love this!

Doing this gets me off.

It's so god damn good.

I forget to grab lunch.

Meaning if there ever has been an ideal, manifesto, imperative to aspire to.

This hands-down ought to be it.

Not that moralizers who'd like to slap a right/wrong spun gold good spin on the waters above from below need be excluded.

Supposing they too have a needed dramatic role to play.

What if genre was the message?

Would ethics be hide-bound to prose?

Since if a sentence packs only one meaning that the author intended.

It might remove ambiguity making the intended meaning to be received beyond a reasonable doubt.

Needed to arrive without question as baby chick sex sorters separate right from wrong.

If so, prose structure allows a death sentencing sentence verdict to be pronounced cut and dry.

With a period that marks the end of the line.

Alternatively supposing this world to be an unimaginably crazy cool artworld.

Might cause any "." to go missing in action.

If the moment must die to keep music throbbing.

Because all subjects fall to the same tune of gravity.

Making art the impossible act made possible.

Might need include.

What's bad and ugly.

Along with what's good.

In order to actualize the potential.

For what shouldn't be.

Buzzing and booming.

If so, truth might be found subservient.

To the beauty of imperfection.

Of broken heart love streaming dream.

That earth wobbles morning sun rise.

Assuming scripture is the divine script?

If so, how a good God might allow bad things to happen to good people could be summed-up in that's what it takes to make a world art go all-out around.

Commentary: The door to venture an adventure is pried church-key open by what's presumed to be assumed.

What if there's no one right interpretation for anything?

No single correct meaning to unpack.

Never ever.

Only many interpretations splash unabashed.

As countless flocks of geese.

Flown misty days overcast high.

Heading south winter's retreat.

Having intended something in mind.

Surely.

While all back seat drivers.

Went along quietly for the ride.

Back seat belt hidden V shape ridden.

Driver driven country hills in view.

Assuming the one in rear view mirror must confess.

Universally understood by all.

Since the fall.

Into language.

The question now turns on.

Paved who's been naught or nice.

Yellow double-line defined.

Since who's been driving the driven.

Ticketed by Reality Sheriff.

Like some jailed interpreter.

Who's.

Always clear.

Always precise.

Legal quicksand innocent.

Quick to all-goings-on. 

Turns unsuspectingly multifaceted.

Third bug-eye rolled upward.

Prism possibilities simultaneous.

Opens off-brief briefcase defacement.

Who's deciding what's inside.

Imaging poolside images imagined.

Could this pose a problem?

Language without assigned fixed meaning.

Could frolic too chaotic.

Necessitates rectifiable agreement.

Take death.

Maybe not too fast.

If the general assumption was.

Whatever happens wasn't so good.

Presumably contradicting.

Gone Wrong went.

To a far better place.

Not to forget.

Truly dead don't come back.

Made possible by.

It's always been so sponsor.

Here's where the clue for a few flew.

Heard close-line strung.

Sung the blues.

Hunted for historical collectable.

Trophy tracks.

Trap wiggle cage riddle.

Meaninglessness set freed.

Worse than cluelessness.

Which remains down under.

Lock and key.

Glued mixed media canvass.

To bar code stools.

Spread-eagle wingdings.

On home brew notation tap.

Deranged arrangement amazement.

Mug suds spill over.

In hushed antique mirror whispers.

Sidestepping owning one's own.

Untie the infinite knot.

Keep the "what is this" question.

Shoelace loose.

Griddle sizzling incoherent inconclusive hot.

Served this way that way on.

Platitude plates of.

Rough hued possibility.

To weary travelers.

Instead of actuality.

As exclusively menu giver givens.

To allow a step outside.

Meaning Box.

Out about out.

Nose fog pressed.

Looking inside street side abide.

Where eternity's entry.

Haunts the hall wall's entirety.

As the meaning box's lid.

Slowly creaks open.

Hinged unhinged on supposition brass.

Starlight piercing flagship portholes.

At riptide midnight.

Find out, if anything, happens.

Checker-matched.

Inside-out outside-in.

Beating the pants off.

Who knew drum head.

As if surprises might arise.

Out-of-nowhere.

What if the reason why things are the way they are was because of what kind of world this might be?

If there's no way to get outside the question it'd be like asking if skin is really made of flesh.

What if a symbolical way to address the question appeared horizon already?

Looking like morning frog ready to leap-off a factual lily pad.

If what's factual can be in error.

Truth symbolic might be true irregardless?

Imagine it as dual-booted.

Left-brain literal.
Right-brain figurative.

Because:

soap bubbles pop
butterflies hatch
light bulbs flicker
kite strings break
glass windows break
tree leaves fall
last comics stand
newborn babies cry
garage doors close
fenced dogs bark.

Before it happens.

If truth was crucified fact revealed.

Promenade down forbidden zone.

New year's day parade band marching. 

Remade as facts made artifacts.

Hummingbird sipping rose flower nectar.

Beak pointed inside what's universally true.

Lightening struck cornerstone to apex.

Electrified unproven unknowable to speak truth.

Like trying on a pair of tennis shoes.

If a good fit time to make tracks.

Out the door going only straight now-here nowhere.

Down the path of hypotheticals made actionable.

Like an "as if" gave birth to an "is".

Trucking without certainty cemented.

Because if this-ness was as-ness this is-ness might offer a way forward.

Since if what can't proved stone cold can always be assumed hot tasty.

Like what's hidden between characters lie word tucked bed covers.

Silently spaced in deep sleep.

By the dialectical process of subtraction.

If empty spaces are blank characters.

Letting the emptiness of what's said make meaning possible.

Because if in the beginning was the word.

Wasn't it the blank canvas first word?

Breaking the silent night sound barrier of space?

Before characters formed bridged constellations.

After curtain call lights turned off.

If what's outer is inner street corner neon lights.

That flash "This" is near.

Signage for transparent containment.

Stepping stone periods dotting the path.

Lyrics never to be repeated forever.

Fingers rap-tap tribal drum code retold.

Balboa Park Ferris wheel karma driven.

With silence following last word reborn.

Commentary: Period.