Burst.

Underlying all entertainment/man made stimulus/art (forward slashes meaning 'or' not 'same idea/different word') are controlled to a certain degree, success by intent or accident, success meaning reaction in inputeer (things are looking a bit wanky here), all things multi-definable, the people who know this and test this and win with this - entertainers? Label, name, gang - all ideas easy and light and equally pretensious as well as vital to our precious superiority over mere animals - underneath or overneath all of these ideas are the very basics that never change - I know my aesthetic ideals, I know my present and 'eternal' interests and the gap and thread between them.

I know the amount of decision making that goes into every box of pop corn, I know the conscious bit is important but I far prefer that alternative, the rambling and confused string of contradictions, I want to move beyond trying to please anything, I want to get pure information falling out my hand or mouth, a relentless data feed, a perpetual output always refining itself, a pointless pursuit but one that is fulfilling. I know myself and the improvised school is the place to go, closer to being an idiot or honest, free of that which makes you feel professional, experienced or arrogant, free too from the limitations that come from having an ideal which is not your own, embracing infinity, letting everything through, even going beyond enjoying it until you are left still and silent, back to a baby watching a cartoon, harmless, helpless, maybe evening vomiting.

I say these things because I have found the reasons that I love and produce drawings and music, and can see the products yet to happen, paintings and words, and they please me, I am not distracted from them when they are being made, they are incidental to the process of being absorbed in an activity which leaves you peaceful and more logical, feeling healthy and still knowing that a feeling is an idea and that ideas are man made and allowed, but they are the best things to me, sensations in all forms, 'is'es, memorable events in a lifetime, significant objects in a room, beautiful and hopeful and honest and automatic things that use the language of their medium to seep suggestions into others, but still I feel like a selfish fascist, woe is me, down with ideals, hooray for Vulcans and jocking the stock market.

I have justified an existance as an artist but I haven't made the art yet. Oh well. I'm not going to die for a very long time, and it'll be worth it to me. As long as someone has a sleeping bag around.