Shackled Brain Lips

Mystic Truth by Bad Suns

Great album


Let’s talk about language

and thought

The phrases I use to communicate are not my own

My ability to think, articulating thought internally and expressing it out loud,

One of the worst things about language is how it limits and even obstructs this ability

All ideas exist in my conceptions through the medium of pithy, unoriginal, euphemistic and cliched phrases that lack the precision & the distinguishability that. . .

that I would like them to have!

How about that

More precise is better

I find myself feeling or thinking something genuine and powerful

As do we all at times, for real

And whatever that is, it will immediately contort and become a familiar phrase

a phrase composed of two or three words which independent of this particular phrase can mean a million different things

Language can’t be special

I get that

complete originality in articulation is literally the opposite of language

New expression means no one knows what the hell you’re saying which defeats the point

I just get boreeeed man

I need to learn other languages, cause this one is stale

I think this just one of the many reasons art is so powerful

Storytelling (writing and theater) and Depicting (drawing, painting, sculpting)

They explain things discursively through other mediums

I’ve found saying things like

“The Ballad of Buster Scruggs knocked me off my feet!”

“My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy is a masterpiece!”

“Kung Fu Panda is truly a great film and esteemable work of art!”

And then

I cannot even begin to explain why

They express things to me

They teach; they boast the power of wisdom

And no beauty is not wholly in the eye of the beholder that’s the dumbest thing ever

It’s in there, but beauty is not subjective


Moment of honesty

I act like a moral relativist

I don’t agree with its implications, but for some reason relativism founds a lot of my internality and intellectual disposition

Belief is hard to pin down because it takes knowing oneself

And I haven’t even become myself fully – if that’s even possible

That being said, it’s not actually a mystery why I’m an unconscious relativist

I’m highly agreeable and highly creative. Boom, relativism. Boom, no spine.


I feel like I’m off topic

Right I remember! Beauty cannot be completely, idk – not real – because the world has to exist somehow

And if you don’t acknowledge the hierarchies of art, then you don’t understand that worthwhile art has insight and substance and should be valued on account of that fact

I’m not disregarding aesthetic, but I am dissing it a little bit

So what about my art?

If I’m a writer, and I can’t express anything originally?

What I’m about to say will be imprecise and perhaps flat out wrong, but

I recall Plato poo pooing on poetry for its romantic superfluity and synthesis of realities which do not exist.

I say,

The role of the writer, the poet the storyteller, is to see and report, depict and present,

to think and touch and teach and move

Perhaps a special role of the poet is to reinvigorate language

to reinvent and freshen that which is worn from use and lost to the vaguery of meme and cliche

And maybe that task requires some romance

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