Despite Them

And when I saw online what art is worth to other people in the consumer marketplace, my self esteem emerged. 

The struggles for acceptance, for value, in a dehumanisation culture where artists are rejected as wasters, shunned with the same grotesque and ferocious distaste as are drug addicts and homeless, criminals and beggars, the diseased and mentally ill, by vile lower level state workers assuming their supremacy and righteousness to be the experts on life itself and how things are done in the civilised world of human endeavour, which is to say all are beneath them unless earning more than themselves in which case...

...in which case my every spare space crammed with canvas I struggle to find happiness in because the image they portray is different than I imagined, recognising myself to have the same cynical attitude toward my produce as the bastards have toward me, frustration they don’t do what I planned, don’t fit precisely my intention. A projection of alienation from these inanimate objects, artefacts worth nothing to me because displeasure at imperfect rendering, and yet... 

...my canvas are inanimate things capable of enhancing life by invigorating emotion and expanding the soul of the viewer who perceives into them and from them...

...while I distasteful to the critics am worth less than objects whose price tag is beyond their ability to afford anyway... 

...for the very same reasons...

...a matter of perspective. 

This is not arrogance on my part. I prove my skill at boosting the National economy every time I create a goods of value, which is far more than the derogatory critics will ever do. Why then have I allowed myself to be ground down by them for so long? The canvas I hoard and hide in a state of ashamed inferiority are worth more collectively than those people’s annual income, to some. 

I am my own expert in life, I need not those who cannot afford to live in the world I inhabit, of creatives and beauty, of golden hearts and good souls, of muses and buyers of art who appreciate the work and the value of artists who may someday after they’re dead be remembered several generations later in mythic form by lovers of life, collectors of art, those who sail the same seas of vision and passion high above the scope of those whose grinding down of hope is a way of life. 

Here, I have the final laugh even after my death. For by these works shall I be remembered while those whose bitterness caused me to suffer, whose malice destabilised my enjoyment of living at all, they shall be forgotten not long hence. 

I alone recall their faces and the cruelty and cunning by which their covert abuses were permitted by others like them. 

Who are these evil bastards? I would say, safely with a sweeping generalisation, those petty office workers who work within the states pyramid structure in positions of relative authority. I have encountered so few exceptions and so many examples. 

This fuels the subject matter for my art, a purging of emotion, of grief at the mistreatment of good and hopeful hearts by those whose nasty envy creates the depression, whose lies fill official paperwork with libels they get away with because the authorities protect one another from exposure at the cost of truth, at the cost of better people than themselves. It was true in Shakespeare’s time and Dickens, as it is true today. 

Remember, Plato was forced to drink poison by the state for preaching liberal philosophy. Christ was tortured and murdered for preaching love and taking a stand against the usury which is a crime against God. 

It has always been this way, the sociopaths in positions of social responsibility and their fake respectability commit and get away with corruption and crimes against humanity, every generation endlessly. 

But it is those who create, compose, invent, inspire, who are remembered through the echo of centuries with gratitude and respect for their having enlightened us all by their activities, by their dreams of a better world, a better world where they truly belong. 

Through the pains are our spirits honed and our message refined, and always as our histories and mythologies recurrently reveal, do we come to this same conclusion. 

The abusive controllers are the problem to our communities because they delude the zombie masses that peaceful freedom thinkers are the problem to our species. 

A harsh lesson in life, life for what it is.