Philosophy of the Keexzus, No. 44: Democracy of the Heart’s Content
Lyrical suturing follows the descent into the abyss. A still, chaotic tragedy unfolding into every moment. The dislocation of the unnecessary imbues perceivable light. Perception of the event becomes a time signature. The overwhelming mass of humanity interprets all this as apparently similar. Nothing beyond the clear parameters of constructed logic accepts what is in plain sight. The mumbling, grumbling monster shines inside the darkness of its cave. In another world, the literature becomes magnificent. Something altogether very real, clear, disturbing. Democracy is a foreign concept in the illusion. The unregulated atrocities of deluded monsters habituate the landscape. They stalk the darkness with their cold understanding. At times, there is no other way but to describe these beings, these creatures. One artist falls into the carnage, secretly transcribing the lyrical elixir floating in between creatures. The surface is no longer perceptible or even seemingly real. New worlds become realities unforeseen. The territories of these worlds become mapped. Few venture in and even fewer venture out of the abyss. Somewhere above on the surface, the same problems arise. Different territories, same perceptions, actions, only filtered more harshly. And even still, the surface looks above and beyond into other worlds—disconnected perhaps from the fact that what already resides within has already been buried deeply, recklessly unfound.