Neurotika Blog – Uncertainty.

It is true that in uncertainty there is freedom.  Life is invariably a surprising thing.  If it was predictable it would be a pitiful thing.

In art -one arrives at an understanding -through questions and mysteries.  When one has a mental illness -the world is dark and scary.  But even this will work for you if you expect nothing.  I have said there is no ultimate truth -furthermore even the little truths are not measured.  The soul in its natural state is lost.  Is there is no problem there is no solution.  To apply such an impossible fate to art -is to know that every creation is unfinished.  The pure light is a reluctant  lover -hesitates before the shaping.  If I believe there is a God -I am wrong.  If I believe there is no God I am also wrong.  The spirit is like an elusive bird -whereby we pluck one feather.  It is then we believe we have a revelation -but it is just one feather.

To believe is to be misguided and mistaken.  Even our hopes inevitably lead to disappointment. But all is not wasted -there is a beautiful thing in such strivings.  We desire -and emulate as we remake our lives.  So we practice our art.  There is so much more joy in wanting  -than in having.  In this way we are gazing at a horizon beyond in the distance.  We are faced with emptiness -as we look upon the parchment.  We fill the open space with expression.  We throw down our difficulties -to overcome the ghost of our denial.  To do art is a divine madness -where we are entranced.  This is always a thing of defeat -we cannot resolve our promises.  To pluck the highest fruit -is to fall.  When we paint an image we are in fact affecting a thing of happy accidents.  In the beginning of the universe there was a flaw -an error of misplaced will.  Art is an imitation of this.
The only way to make a computer create poetry is to program it to make a mistake.  In this strange way -we are dismantling reality -and (hopefully) putting it back together.  Picasso was an artist who took things apart -to show the inside of them.   He tore off the mask of order to reveal the chaos that remained there all along.  He disemboweled reality -and we saw the guts and glory of it all.  So in art -we misrepresent and offer misdirection.  The artist would throw sand in your eyes in order to make you see.  The artist asks questions -but does not answer them -that is the profession of the philosopher. So when we tug the string from the darkness -we never know what comes of it.  It is said that all evil comes from a man who is not able to sit quietly in his room.  In this way -we are compelled to look without -and not see what’s inside.   Art is the unpeeling of the onion  -every layer is a returning to memory -every vision is a thing of reproach.  We discover -through what is covered.
So I force the energy into a form.  I hypnotize the pure light -and put it in a vessel.  In this way for a glass to be filled -it must be empty.  I must cast off the heavy weight and lose my girth.  I must avoid the heresy of dualities.  I must know the complexities of the stars -and not simplify them -or cut it all down to size.  I must pour out endlessly without ceasing -as if I were a wound.  I would unlearn all that I have learned.  To turn against the obvious and obscure knowledge -and cast down all systems. Both hesitation and expectation are enemies.  To pause and reflect is to lose the feeling.  Inhibitions are the only thing that destroy the inclination.  The only way to begin -is to begin.  As I write down these words I am losing control -thereby gaining control.  The will is only manifested in a sort of careless and senseless act.  The only way to understand is to look to the side.  Art is promiscuous and extravagant -but also subtle.  This is the dance with death that all visionaries know.  In this weird divinity -we struggle -as like Jacob we wrestle with the angel.  To explore all kinds of sin -and to search for whatever we burn for.  In this place -we face the terrors of embarrassment.   In this way a man will become what he fears the most. Fear is the great nullifier -it would kill the soul.  In the end there is no reason or meaning -we stand naked in the day of judgement.  We have no belongings or possessions.  We have no songs or stories -we have no art.  Only pure being -arriving out of emptiness.  Only the uncertainty that draws us in -as all things come together in the human heart.