A Pretentious Assault on Creativity

A Pretentious Assault on Creativity

 

Every portrait is self defaced

Images coerced and berated

Until it is everything else

This workshop is glorified

No amount of pen and pen paper can save you

Poems typed and printed

Its ironic

That your images have become images

rehashed and replayed

Your reacting against everything

falling short of creating

You think this will make you somehow free?

Dead words until cliche is king

artist pope, and the cardinals of your experience

betray every line

If philosophy is dead, art is dead

Each line written another nail in it's coffin

Every poet an undertaker

"Never", said the businessman, "hold a glass of tap water up to light"

"You won't like what you find"

The voice of ink on paper is polluted

Arsenic and mercury

Metallic impurities define machine like entities

of compiled portraits self-defaced