People are easy.
We like to think that we can survive on planning. Simple rules, synchronicity, a smooth life. Days alternating like zebra stripes. Security. An income.
I want to tell stories.
Dogs walk by two at a time. We all melt in the summer heat. Intersections become electrical wires. Who moves first? We all forget.
I want to tell a story that remembers.
Selling things is easy. People are easy. Easy to meet, east to fuck, easy to please. Easy to pretend you care. Easy to know things they don’t. Because I don’t have a high IQ; I’m not my Nobel-winning great grandfather namesake; I don’t know the true size of my brain. All I know is that the world is too fucking easy.
Stories are not easy.
I can’t even turn on the television. Nothing means what they all say it means. Nothing works out the way news stations expect it to. Putting a spin on things is the only self-expression they have, but it’s always the wrong spin. The wrong way. The world sways, is sensationalized, and remains unaffected by the things people say.
Stories sway the world.
Everyone is a writer. Everyone’s an actor, an artist, a singer. Everyone plays guitar. Everyone tries to be a better version of everyone else. Everyone lies.
Stories never lie.
People are beautiful.
Admit it: without them, none of these paintings, none of this art, would exist.
Or would it? Perhaps the grass would evolve its blades. Perhaps stones would find solace in canvas and oils. Perhaps the walls themselves would bleed ink, clamoring in the need for something to say.
Unsure. Even if this happened, whether it would change anything.
The walls are still there. Covered in words, pictures, to be sure; but rigid and stalwart in securing your prison.
Talk to the walls, then. Surely their creaks are a language. Might take years to learn. Are you up for the challenge? Groaning architecture might make more sense than English.
But no. It can’t make sense. Not right away. Boredom will set in, and the beauty will slip away.
People ensure that there is much to be seen.
Art never overshares. Remember why you are here. Artistic stimulation keeps things interesting. Predictability with people arises about five minutes in. Perhaps it’s their programming, to be easy—digested, stored, understood. Done in less than a day.
Production of these must be proof that they are bored with themselves. Creating temporary lovers out of lines and paint swirls. Why hello there, young thing! What are you drinking?
Oh, don’t say that out loud.
It means you need someone.
Only people need someone.