protest against the rising tide of conformity

I Fear the void. Fear the ignorance. Fear of the unknown, of the pain, of the stupendous paralysis. Fear the nothingness that comes with unobstructed youth. Of the obstruction of the umbilical cord. Fear the green lines underneath the documented sentences. Fear sex. Fear not having sex. Fear war. Fear the end of wars. Fear money, power, success, failure. Fear not understanding. Fear weakness and weariness. Fear your own inherent inability. Fear being too smart. Fear being unacceptable. Fear, once and for all, being finally rejected and cast out into the endless ether, doomed to a fate of floating further and further away into the purply void. Fear the void. Fear eating too much and becoming overweight. Fear depending too much on other people, fear being far too independent. Fear your god, and fear your inevitable hell. Fear the ones you love being cast into the void from whence they came. Fear being unloved, unlovable. Fear conditions. Fear chains. Fear the void.

In the end they knew I was coming, they had their mats set about just for a traveller like me to shake the dust of my feet on. Before my dirty finger could reach about to press their doorbell, they were rising to their tired feet, setting aside their remote controls, to walk already the well trodden path to open said door and allow in the long prophesied journeyman of whom they’ve all read and heard so much about. My arrival was merely a dance of which nothing was truly caused. It was a motion that did not need to be done, my fate was laid about before me from the beginning of time.

Artists don’t give us the answer, they only try their best to reveal their innermost feelings, affected by the experiences around them. An artist is not a mirror to the world, but a mirror to himself, as he perceives himself, and the best artist spends his life trying to more accurately express this perception. Its all perception, there’s no real truth. Remember, when you tell your little sister that when a plane flies overhead, the reason that the sound seems to be coming from earlier on in the planes flightpath is because light travels faster than sound. At that point she realizes that the sounds she hears aren’t reality, they are merely the perception of reality. Remember my friend, that the plane you see in the sky is not the plane itself, but is only the light bouncing off that plane. Everything, everything we know is from perception. An artist has accepted this, has stopped trying to discern, and is only wallowing, smiling, in this mixed up batch of random perceptions

The rising tide of conformity? Rising? As if at some point it was lower, and we are now witnessing a trend in which conformity is more prevelant than at some earlier state? Fuck that, we’ve always conformed, that’s the only way we know how to get by. I’m conforming right now.
Protest? Protest? What does it mean to protest. To peacefully fight, to argue, to make a stance against, to refuse to conform. Protest against the rising tide of conformity? I say conform to the ocean of conformers, and in doing so realize you’ve never been separate from the ocean. You are the ocean.

I am humanity. I am humanity, as a whole. I am every man, woman, and child ever born. I am their collective memories. I am every person on the planet earth today. I will die, and my death will be that of man. I will experience one phenomenon, I will witness the same thing that we all witness, and my experience will be congruent. There is only one experience.

This human experience is singular. We live under the assumption that there is real human interaction. That when I talk, someone is listening. That when I hear a voice, it is from another human soul, like mine. For all that we know, I could be the only one in this world. For that reason, when I sing, I am now singing to myself. When I pray, I am praying to myself. When I fight, I am only fighting with myself. When I am angry with someone, I am only angry at myself. All of this world is a part of myself, and who am I to try and separate us? Who am I to elevate part of me, and to punish the other. Who am I to cause a rift, to organize, to categorize, to map, to divide and conquer, to analyze, to break down, to kill. Who am I? truly, this I say to you.

Laugh. Sing. Love, dance, play, sleep, eat, run, travel, fly, jump. Do all these things, not because it’s what god would want of you, but its because its what you would want of you. The worst thing you can do is worry. You might die, matter of fact you will die, but if your lucky you will be between two towns walking down a railroad track in the rain wearing only jeans and a beer soaked t-shirt, having inspired countless artists. At the end of it all, may your last words be sixty-four thousand nine hundred and twenty-eight.

Define beauty. I can’t, but I’ll tell you when I see it. Joan baez, love is just a four letter word, disc two, no direction home.

Once life seems too hard, too complicated, too difficult, realize that it isn’t the world around, but YOU. There is nothing complicated about this world, nothing. All you have to do is understand that, then understand that its just your confounding mind trying to convince you that there is something that you cannot do, and its at that moment that the world opens up. Understand.
Does the blind man fear the loss of sight? Does the tallest man fear being ridiculed for being so short? I am you. I am dead already, I am rich, I am poor. I’ve had limbs amputated. Right now, I am suckling. Right now, I am sick and weak. I’ve been eaten by animals, I’ve drowned in rivers, I’ve won Olympic races. I am humanity, what shall I fear? I don’t fear the void, because I am the void. I’ve only ever been drifting, further and further away, and to fear that would be silly. I am the opposite of what I think I am, and I am what I think I am as well. I am everything, and so are you, and you are reading words from your own mouth that you just haven’t yet spoken. I don’t fear the void. And if you believe a word of this I’ve already lost you.

Pink.