File Under Mild

Buford Youthward

The immediacy of the world is greater than words. You can't say more than you see. All that is said melts in the air. And the moment is sacred. Sacred because it's temporal. There's nothing to gain by gazing backward at a fleeting moment in a floating world and there's nothing newer than this evening's crescent moon. The dimensions of the world are ours to render; do not start from scratch, start by scratching.

You, reading this now, you have one foot stuck in the twentieth century. Get it out. Plan your escape, release your burden. We did not make our minds any more than we made the world they have the gift to mirror. Graffiti never changes, it simply starts over. We must know life, its celebrations and humiliations before we can imitate its vastness.

The way of the West is consumption. It's a substitute for democracy. An antidote for survival. Ask for exoneration and you'll find redemption is the price of popcorn plus admission. Absolution is in production. Forgiveness is granted after the book and made-for-TV movie hit the half-price racks and late night airwaves.

Pastimes are a purchase. Transactions bring pleasure, and boredom brings sting. Old oaths carry forgotten curses. We pledge allegiance to the republic rich with false desires. We elect to turn superstition into legislation and solve social problems with mere gestures. Give me garbage disposals or give me death.

Invent your own passion like a professional hysteric. There is no will to power, just a will to shock. Pity the fiends guilty of causing a hit-and-run raid on the collective peace of mind.

Shapes, sounds, light and textures have no meaning. We invest meaning in them. Medium information, hot information, mild information. It all becomes indifferent without increase or income.

Read more in Byline

Art Crimes Front Page