I once knew a man that hated seagulls. He would try and influence me against them. But damn it, if the right light shines on them, I do not see why they should be excluded. This from a cat that adored ‘god beams’, the most boring form light can possibly take. But money, a bit of talent, the right gear and all of a sudden bullshit seems to be walking as well as talking. As with most people that do it, I wondered why this man took an interest in me, try to build me up and guide me. I was not to cahoot with other people’s art or seagulls, and carry a light meter in my rectum at all times. i met a lot of people through this man, but I always seemed at odds with my new friends whom were all smokers of a different brand than I.
They all shared this man’s ideals - you know what? Let us call him Jon Doe, he is dead to me anyways. Doe would lead his congregation in prayer, as they waited for the next Progressive Algorithm, or ‘Al’, as they affectionately referred to their god. Sermons would be once a day, and as sermons go, they would utterly boring. But I stuck around - Doe even had a special name for me ‘Sunshine’, although, he would only use it when he was mad at me.
Soon, I felt a certain popularity in the cult, they seemed almost in love with my black and white view of the world, even to an such an extent, that they would laud my performance and ideas, even when they were evident manure. So I would not feel sad, you know? Bless their misguided hearts. I left. I had a falling out with Doe’s portrait, and that was it. After that, his avatar looked distinctly like an arse excruciatingly tired of farting.
My bleeding art had suffered a stroke, but I took it in stride as the smoke cleared. I turned into a hedgehog, sporting the blades in my back as a defence. So do not worry, when the knives come out - if they are in your back that means your integrity, the most important part of you, was preserved.
We were, artistically, miles apart.
