All art is the creation and resolution of f(r)iction.
We are creatures of f(r)iction.
Our lives are lives of f(r)iction.
Without f(r)iction, we do not exist.
Our teeth grind against themselves, against food.
Our feet grip, wear down the earth.
We follow beaten paths.
Nirvana is the absence of f(r)iction,
the candle blown out,
no sputtering against the flame.
No nirvana us, we are the fires of f(r)iction.
Love is lubricated f(r)iction, our highest art.
Sharp corners worn round, muscles honey toned,
dis-armed, no leg to stand on,
love waits in the wings,
then knocks us over with a feather.
Love is the highest form of f(r)iction.
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Fear, hate, and anger prevents love from entering our hearts. But all of that friction due to hate, anger, and fear, wears itself down allowing love to emerge and blossom.
ReplyDeleteArt is truth in another form. Censorship is friction against art and truth. Eventually, truth will win out despite the friction being lubricated by the blood of martyrs and patriots and truth seekers.
Love will always win, as day drives away the night, because love is the lubricant of the world. Ego and fear and the emotions associated with them are the frictions of the world.
John, don't forget to also substitute "fiction" where you have "friction." I write of f(r)iction here.
ReplyDeleteThe "blood of martyrs and patriots and truth seekers" lubricate fiction.
All that we see, touch or hear is a product of f(r)iction. A story. A fable Interesting
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