Humans are the Children of Age. (031918)
Isn’t it crazy.
Wild how we as a society. As a species-
Have understood what it means to LITERALLY transform something.
Like rigid pasta that turns into fluid noodles.
All by an equation
that somebody way smarter than me at understanding the universe as a concept,
probably in a lab somewhere
and then, in conjunction with the government,
We have utilized and marketed as storable, edible and safe.
Instead of plants and fruits from nature,
Something we can control.
Something edible that we as an American people know, enjoy & favor.
A society that eats whatever is marketed to their people.
On another note, there are caterpillars that turn into butterflies.
Something only understood by the forces that created it,
Yet genuinely natural.
We understand what happens to the caterpillar.
As we do, to the seeds.
But us, as the species of human,
Can never control
Never get to know why
What is it’s purpose.
Is the caterpillar going through hibernation? Reincarnation?
Do they understand that they are changing?
Do they realize their difference?
Are they still the same on the inside?
Beautiful, magestic, fluid.
But not without deserving it in a past life.
In a past version.
We have tried to take control of all that has created us.
All the forces that are, for their own purposes, much grander than we can ever understand.
Like a young child...
. . .
Always trying to catch up to the answers,
But never missing out on asking anyways.
A curiosity that is childish in nature.
We, as a people, are so childish with nature.
We as a people are so childish with natural.
Every with our natural selves.
All things we have created.
All pieces of us we have turned stone.
So that nobody can break free from the parts of them they need freed.
Stuck in stone with the worse representation, and the best assumptions
Of who they want us to be.
Spend your whole life buying brands that say you spend a lot of money.
I’m trying to spend as little money making myself worthy of being stoned on someone’s brain.
The brand comes after,
To follow the legacy.
I’m an artist to the death of me.
I’m a human until it ends me.
I’m alive until I let society defeat me.
I will be my own hero.
My own kind of fluid.
Branched in boxes,
I flourish outside of the obvious.
I am my plant, my seed, my food, my process, my caterpillar & my butterfly. My brain, and my Noise, and my brand & my worth.
Nourished till full flow
I am an artist, because I know growth.