Jodorowsky brought the soul of poetry to life in the the skin of cinema. Celluloid baroque in gilded absurdity in the way only he could. Fathers who are pigs but only because the self-loathing is a mask grafted on by years of pain and intolerance. Mothers whose voices sing to us that which is soothing but never that meaningful. Trapped in bodies that betray the beauty that was so very clear from the lens of a child who found wonder in all things.
Me inserted into a self-chosen surrealism co-created with those who let me fly. I have found my house of dancers and painters. I want to traverse the straight line.
The world as poetry. Invented currency could be creative not just digital. What would that look like? I know people who are working on such experiments. I am eager to live in a world that trades in time made beautiful. I will settle for nothing less.
O the muse! I have found myself among the talented who need a key to unlock that which makes them expand. Unfolded across possibilities where magic is managed by uncertainty. There is such life teaming and crashing into each other. Primordial soup of the next wave creative and it's starting to feel like evolution is probable. Conspiracy nuts would vye for the injection of alien ideals to kickstart the process. Maybe or it could be as simple as an infusion of capital. Whatever the case it will happen organically as all such things do.
I contain Multitudes rippling across the poetic heritage to this moment. We have inherited the wisdom of madmen in the woods. What mantel will we pass on to those who come after? Such legacy is built in capricious ambition towards a life lived fully.