Art...

He paints and as he paints, he withers away.

In this world; a piece of life must be taken away from you so life can resound within your art.

You wither away, but only slowly.

At times, we've seen people put all of their life in one single painting and never paint again, not because they don't want to but because now they are being cremated, burned a-dead. We cannot bury because artists will envy the body that lays below and dig it up. Desperate for the paint that still may reside. No, we must burn the body so it's only gray ash. Only few have a deep desire for the ash, we can live with that.

The paints are not even really necessary; I'm sure that when you give life you might as well give blood; a deeper red than most people could imagine. Because it's not just paint; it has nutrients! It has substance and longevity to it. It has oxygen; breathed, no harmful chemicals; nothing harmful at all unless it has AIDS. But here, here we don't have AIDS. We have canvases; blood. Sometimes you get more than just red. Keep yourself locked in an a vault with no oxygen, you get blue. Take off your piece of skin and cover the canvas with no oxygen, you can get green and purple. Smoke too much, and hack up half of your lung and you have black. Your body is a portal to art greater than anything. For your body is a piece of art. And NEVER will you be able to give your art the sort of perfection that you have within yourself; but at least you can try.

And at least, some do try.

What is the point if it is not everything? What is the point if it's only half ways there? With more substance comes more abuse. Abuse a little; you are fruitless. Abuse it to your full potential and I think we are finally making progress.