building art from the constant detritus that is life
nothing is stable, all is built upon faultlines we don't see
human existence is a wreck (waiting to happen)
we plow ahead, secure in our entered state, oblivious to the wreckage which always lurks
lost in thought lost in sought lost in ought to bought (lost in naught?)
and then in one loose second we lose our imagined control
BLAMM
wreckage
[insert personal visual of scattered debris, including piece of wood and steel at this part, to tie triggering song to rambling prose]
and after the shock
after making sure still alive
we gather up what is still usable
make art from the more beautiful scraps
and leave the rest of the rubble and wreckage behind
to exist is to survive
to continue to imagine stability
despite no historical evidence in support of that psychology
to attempt to pretend everything is okay
"You tried to tell me what was right, and I told you what was real"
right and wrong have little to do with survival
the myth of stability we tell our children
to give them the confidence to learn survival
before the real world closes in on them
the space to play
"I just thank the lord for hands to play..."
before work closes in
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