Tuesday, November 26, 2002

Controlled explosion.

Ever feel like you've lost yourself? There's all these the layers of performance, the filters that you put between yourself and the world to stop yourself from getting arrested, sectioned, or glassed in the face, or just to protect other people from the corrosive absurdity sloshing around inside your cranium because you know without even having to ask that they really don't need it. First you have to learn to put them in place, but after a while it becomes second nature. Then you see some of the toxic crud that other people are spewing out in all directions, and you see them lauded for it. You realise that hey, some of the stuff you're filtering out is actually not that terrible (provided you express it very carefully). In fact, in a certain light and a certain angle, it could be mistaken for art or enlightenment or revelation. All you have to do is get yourself into a secure area where you won't disturb the locals, and




One by one. Carefully. In case you leak out too fast and become a lake of molten goo, poisonous magma that could spill over and engulf a city.

And what happens? Nothing. Nothing happens at all. No matter how hard you try to strip away those layers, that Russian doll container you've voluntarily bolted yourself into, you can't. You tear off one, and there's another underneath. Why? Because as fast as you whip off the filters with one hand, you're replacing them with the other.

You can't say this. You can't do that. Do something more like you saw that other guy do. Just put a bit of gloss on it so it looks new. You turn round, catch yourself doing it, swear you're going to stop doing that right NOW! and never do it again, but then you turn round again and oh, look, what a lovely painting of some elves and a rainbow and a birdie.

I'm in here somewhere. I know I saw me recently.

No comments: