Art is Not Useful, it’s Meaningful.

So, let’s put out to pasture that tired old rumor, that meaning in art has value in Occidental culture. Knowing that in our all-inclusive society, you can be any damn thing you can possibility imagine -except a fine artist.

Because creative meaning is just too subtle to be an attractive alternative to the hyperbolic social narratives animating our dystopian culture; where the meaning of all things is in their usefulness, and the amazingly reasonable buy one get one free added value, which is why the fine arts are mutually exclusive to that inclusivity.

So what’s the attraction? Obviously, the learning process is painful, because ignorance is bliss. And knowledge of the arts will not give us an advantage in practical matters, because the creative mind can not be set to a task. So why do we bother?

Well. I would say, it establishes meaningful ground, from which we are able to discern between dinning or simply feeding at the trough. It’s what makes us human. That is to say, being creative give us a certain savoir faire, because we are not spinning in circles chasing our proverbial tail.

I mean doing the math thing without music is to understand the true value of the arts, because it imbues that discipline with meaning, where none exists. So that’s the reason we are willing to pay the price and always will, no matter the cost. Because it’s what makes life worth living.

Yet, the tranquility needed for the creative human mind to flourish is deliberately suppressed with outrageous social distractions in our cultural fricassee; the daily in-your-face calumny of office has metastasized; males and females have menstrual cycles; the ever looming dial-up a PCR plandemic zoo; the heart pounding misadventures of human safaris; and don’t forget during Tuesday’s weekly scheduled Armageddon day, is the exclusive one day only coupon bonanza shopping spree at the local super market, where you too can buy five pounds of concentrated hangdoo in a three pound bag!

Obviously, their narratives are ridiculous, but what’s perplexing is Narridiots take them seriously. That’s what compels me to descend deep into my cave scratching my head in disbelief. And in my usual Vaudevillian manner, I often emerge victorious. My latest trophy is an anthological exposé of the prattle between a reformed Narrator and Narridiot, that exposes the underbelly of our culture mêlée in a heretical short story titled, A tale told by a Narridiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

Many have found it entertaining, thought provoking, yet an inspirational rough ride. However, I did warn people to buckle-up in the introduction. So … c’est la vie. Nevertheless, if you have a passive aggressive statement posing as a question, or if you have “issues,” you can address them on the blog page. But, I will only answer questions worthy of a lioness. But then again, we can learn as much from a reptile!