Tuesday, October 27, 2009
PDX Art: "Look a like" by Richard Schemmerer
Look alike or don’t like the look
The suit makes the man the condom size makes the modern day Romeo. Myths are like falling stars they fall from high above into an endless far below bottomless pit of gravity simply called “No men’s land”;an old saying for a frontier which cannot be inhabitated by eager human settlers who don’t settle for a little piece of earth but want the whole earthy cake.
Why is nobody giving their children Native American language lessons and Native American names outside a reservation maybe because shame has no place or culture or style but is universal.
Even shame has been done before. There is nothing new under the sun who’s is just one sun under many even Sun has been done before maybe even better.
What’s really genuine besides Denim? Denim was invented by the French it was the beginning of a style revolution and like all revolutions it fringed out into main stream territory.
Everything has a territory even the brain processes different psychological aspects in various chambers of thought.
It’s all a game about power which faculties supersedes the other.
Molecules don’t care they just like to congregate with like. Even if we strive for control we want to be liked by and be alike others.
The scent of power spreads around like perfume it either attracts or disturbs but everything we do is to impress our own idea onto as many as possible.
We enter the world as competitors even the succeeding sperm had already a fight for survival behind him. It never ends as we weigh ourselves against the minions that form our zone of interaction.
Masculinity needs an adversary to constantly reassert itself to not feel castrated to proof that it still got the scent of irresistibility.
The idea of Sex is craving constant attention because at the base of our brains deep in the olfactory we are just like animals. Sure we are amazing animals but we are also have a killer instinct which triggers feelings, of positive and negative of yours or mine, at its own leisure.
They can turn as on and off from loving to hate like a faulty light switch before we even know it before we even able to finish our thought process and follow up on a logical decision instead of a lightening quick impulse.
That’s why we do things that we regret shortly after.
We are talking, living our dream but we are living based on our memory which serves as a filter and a mold at the same time.
Everybody wants to be like John Lennon – just imagine — maybe not with Yoko Ono in tow but that’s just preference based on preconditioned stigma.
We collect smells and emotions combined with color coded visual snippets to build our mini empire by using our artistic freedom to arrange all this accumulated information into a designer world designed by our brain to the specification of our upbringing and our psychological needs.
If we are forced off our course by outside modalities we become depressed or self or otherwise distractive.
We constantly want to be someone else following cultural trends like a hound dog following rabbit tracks and are always searching for looking for social role models that promise short term satisfaction to our ADD Ego.
Our inner workings are like a Hollywood dream factory script constantly being rewritten weighing our impact and marketability against our handicaps.
Dress for success has been a cool advertising slogan because it plays into our insecurities to show us how naked we are never enough not compatible or just an unworthy opponent.
Big lips, boobs or penis are never enough to set us apart or get us ahead but packaging can do this trick.
A name can be perceived as a handicap like you never going to be a star with this name or we change it to hide a tainted cultural heritage we ourselves perceive as inferior.
Broad shoulders are back emphasizing a need in dramatic times to lean on something lean on images which emulate what we are not.
We copy anything we perceive off as an advantage that could advance our agenda get us a head get us the starring role in our own lives.
“I am a winner Baby why don’t you love me” is the theme song; manipulation is the games name to get to the front line of the action is the drawing force.
The shadow never sleeps it just lingers waiting to follow you with your every move.
Moments are like time bombs going off changing the course of history personal and otherwise.
Who’s your daddy becomes “who’s your Hero now”.
We fucked our brains by never being really who we are suppose to be. When we say we are in the present moment it means nothing because the present is not constant but is constantly marching on as our past.
When we dock in the past we don’t even know what’s around us as we lose context like a piece missing from a film; the same counts for the future the difference is that we add extra footage to the memory bank when we fantasize and mix past and present into it.
What’s left is an artificial state of mind which is not able to see its true reality but is binging on wishful thinking.
Life is like an island and we are lost on it not alone but lost together and nobody knows where we are nobody can find us because we are all here.
The beggar and the iconic star and the dead heroes, the war crimes and the holy sacrificed, the new born and the long dead, the saved and the exiled all are right here becoming or disintegrating with free or against their will, solid and transient because it is build into our system.
Tradition that has no counterweight even rebellion has become tradition is just a phase helping us to reprocess our desires while we are trying to find an escape from this prison of the body and the mind.
And the dog keeps humping the old leg keeps on barking at flying gravity defying leaves and I must be still alive because I can smell the spirit of youth, smell something familiar even though the sand of time feels gritty between my teeth I can taste pleasure.
I bite into the ripples of my soul full with expectations of its filling, bite into the apple of fame to suck its juice and eat the marrow of the forbidden fruit just to know what it’s like to be someone else.
Now that I know I can’t go back because it is impossible to unknow once you do you can’t forget. Sure you can pretend but it is stored away in the vault and any one can crack it.
I can’t forget that I am just like you even if I don’t like your look you are my mirror image.
Knowledge has this sordid life in us; it keeps accumulating and creates a hybrid world that lives in us as an alternative while we keep on admiring what can’t be acquired.
Images float by like balloons ripping with wafts of air rising into the mile high sky to fornicate with Gods atmosphere the one we crave the most.