Truth in the Empire

Buford Youthward

If the human experience is a series of patterns and mythologies which are realized, hinted at, subdued and subscribed to, then these patterns of life, of civilization, dictate heroes, winners, the tragic and triumphant alike.

We can stand on the sidelines and watch the world unfold, we can subject ourselves to history as it is imposed and reported to us, we can take reactionary roles, or we can fight for our right to incite. Revolution is the dynamic of the world. It spins, we move. Forward motion mutes history. It must.

To stand outside of oneself is paradox. Why go against the practical? Besides, pragmatism will eventually win in the end. The feeding frenzy of the ignition switch knows the kill point. Burn the inspiration while you got it. That's the faith of graffiti.

Save the film and pictures for the picnic. There is nothing to show, nothing to see. If an experience is simple enough to be captured in a picture frame, then it can't be much of an experience. A great communicator is not necessarily a great artist. They offer no truth, nor provision objectification. To communicate is in itself a subjective science. An act of manipulation funded by ego and self-interest. The story always becomes its interpreter.

Contrasted with the cotton candy thrill of cinema or the kaleidoscopic video arcade, there is nothing like the empirical, the real. In Hollywood, where the false shamans are swinging on the plagiarized fulcrum of reality, sincerity is no gauge. To each his own empire. That's the maintenance call of reality.

The simple can be profound, the complex boring and otherwise. The dictates of commerce and communication are tied intrinsically in the world of entertainment and leisure. Empiricists of the world, disband. Decentralize. After all, it's not the thought that counts, it's the ritual.

You never become who you are by going against what you naturally want to do, at the time of any decision, at the consumption of any text. Sometimes you have to call 'em like you see 'em. Me? I'm on a witch hunt for meaning, yet I cast no Rosetta Stone. There is no hero here. Just a cat coming to terms with his demons. A fire starter trying to finish the flame before it's turned off.

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