QUATRO

Four in the morning good time to start up the bloggin frenz again. "Art is the human disposition of sensible or intelligible matter for an esthetic end." Since our next essay is going to be about art why not start here. Quote taken from Joyce's Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man I want to reinforce it by bullshit ideas. Art is for humans and humans alone, Aristotle said that it is which distinguishes us from the animals. I say thats not only true but that art is worthless and an expression for the rich to enjoy and decide which should be hung up and which is trash. Conspiracy's and theories, two things i hate but which i always find myself resorting to at early hours of the morning. It is worthless in the sense that it is nothing but enjoyment, no pragmatic logical basis for it, just an expression of one person's DISPOSITION on what they think is BEAUTY, which in its own is relative. Or I think it is...sometimes. The Mona lisa, is there that much beauty in it as there is to an egon schielle, but taste is relative as well. I suppose to Dan Brown Mona Lisa is more interesting, but I enjoy chaos, bad art (good art, relative to perception??), poor voices (adam stephens, bobby dylan, neil young, conor oberst, etc. etc.), and things that take hours to read into, so I guess I get things cheaper which becomes an advantage. Poetry is appealing because the amount of depth and description in a such a short amount of words, more aesthetics to it then that, but thats what draws me in, point across in often a better and indirect way, have to think things through where stories and prose usually get their point across in a direct way which losses some of the meaning. maybe?? done with that. here's many unfinished verses...things that i'll eventually finish.

Been livin life at a runnin pace

That might be a whole song.

SIX DAYS SHORT

He cares no more of the drink

swallows down each night

a drunk man

no thrill in the ride

just another means to pass the time

find him at home with lips around his baby

tellin her she drives him crazy

and he'd take the bottle over her

if only he could pay for the next six nights

he stumbles like the darkness

a summer night

gotta get it printed

or it'll be rewritten

six thousand times all with new meanings

just ramblin' now, no rhythm, no depths to words for me right now, gotta fill them bloggin quotas

A different man in the morning

then throughout the rest of the day

someone you wont recognize, keep away

let me come out on my own accord

In the courtroom, so fancily dressed

in front of the panels and jury, some sort of mess

called forward for my morning crimes

cant bribe dirty judge

pockets full of pennies and dimes

Judge oh how can i recall

a crime you wont tell me i've done,

for an answer he just swings and points

his gavel sound of a drum

locked up got few days to pay the price

in a cell with fellow field mice

life lasts a blink of an eye

lost cause in expanse of blood red sky

never get to find out the crime i've done.

oi oi oi

'

Sally won't you come back to me

been gone for sixteen centuries

now patton takes me by the hand

says he's gonna turn me into a new

man.

Fought in six wars and now i'm bored

think i'll go home and check the score

you'll always be there in the back of my head.

fini.