maybe this is what it is all about. slowly getting madder and madder and then it all cracks open. maybe this is what the process actually wants to make available and vincent van gogh was doing it right; looking into the nature of things and then slowly (or violently) breaking through it all into a reality consisting of Nothing. suicide. art is just a process of looking into the nature of reality; poetry, painting, sculpting, music. there is actually no point in doing any of it apart from process. it makes no difference if it is great art or not. it is the state the artist must move into. observation (real or imagined).

i am thinking that i do not want to think any more. and to observe. to see things in the world as they are. to create as if i can forget about being a past or future. an exercise in presence. in dissection. i’ll be okay because i won’t be okay. i will disappear. getting madder and madder. all this.

should art be known as ‘evidence of observation’? but say we have pure observation with no physical evidence – maybe this could be defined as the highest form of Art? art as a tool. as excavation towards the heart of consciousness. that is all. using it as a way to disappear. to move closer to god. the artwork is no longer about getting a message across. about making the audience react in a certain way. that became irrelevant a long time ago. probably around 27 July 1890, the date when vincent shot himself in the hayfield where he was painting. he died 30 hours later.

is art an awakened dreaming state or is art just a thing that has been touched by someone? duchamps’ urinal was placed in a gallery and called art. albeit a modern concept of art. did it need a critical audience to label it as such? that world has become madder and madder. a light bulb turning on and off. art destroys itself. the perfect awakening. the perfect dream.

is art a personal expression of experience? the intangible is made tangible. a thought. an idea. an experiment. a sensation. a feeling. a mood; non-reality fixed to reality as vibration. movement. intention.

can art be made by a machine without involving a single element of human experience? can art be mindless? emotionless? dependent on the artist. the viewer. does there need to be an interaction between the two? can/must the artist be the viewer? in reality, is there neither? deus. ex. machina. if art is an expression of consciousness, can a cactus create art in the desert solely by blooming? does a fox make art every time she walks across a snowy field? deus. ex. anima.

auldous huxley. the doors of perception. what i am struggling to achieve is what LSD can give me easily or i’ll go mad or something first. people got into these kinds of states long before synthates. they used to go into the jungle and find plant compounds. they yearned for spiritual realisation. union. transcendence. all i am doing is trying to find a way to get into that state. experience. expression. experimentation. emergency.

if i can’t find a field there is always the revolver.

is art spiritual experience or just madness appearing as Truth? when you get busy with your life and pick up where you left off, the seeking stops. the awakening stops. you become yourself again. you forget about Nothing. you forget that you are involved in an act of forgetting. instead you remember to be someone and then you start making art for art’s sake. it manifests but it is struggle. depression. it turns madder and madder. you are not sure of a way forward. again you come to a standstill. towards crisis point. you become anonymous. experimented upon by nobody. made into no thing. there is absolutely no possibility that anything can be made out of any of it. it is a path one must stay off/no one must stay on. you take solace in the fact that nobody need find out about your death in order for it to be real. for you. you experience the shock of unrealness. the Truth. Truth. Truth.

this is all so stupid. i am writing this in order to validate nothing. no one writing this writing. wanting to diminish my self after believing i was everything that ever mattered. like an idiot. i’m going to lose it all. no one cares this way or that. it makes no difference which way it continues. there is this emergency i know. it is neither right nor wrong. that my head is filling with so many thoughts. that the observation experience is disappearing. i see i have done myself a disservice. exchanging myself for nothing. exchanging nothing for art.