***EDIT – part of the SYSTEMICS II book

[ some hints for modern artist, as well as deep but childlike males and females ]

When possibly one of the greatest painters of the female nude, Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres, had to lend his ear to the accusation of not being modern enough, not enough of a ‘revolutionary’ like ‘everyone else’ at the time, he replied, in order to justify his love for classicism and renaissance art, that, well, “the female form looks still the same like it used to”. What he sarcastically implied with that confident quote was that if that weren’t the case anymore, he wouldn’t actually bother painting. He would’ve probably just carried on playing the second violin in his local orchestra to pay the rent and get on with his life (that’s apparently what he really did at one stage). For me, it’s very interesting to look at the progression that went on, from the days he devoted to the exposition of the female form in an attempt to capture some of her divine mystery and beauty, to how the genre finally evolved to be suitable for the complexities of the world today.

Well – there came of course the impressionists, carried away under the steamy embraces of teen-nymph and wannabe-artist Suzanne Valadon and as far as I know there wasn’t a single one among the Montmatre crew – Renoir, Degas, Manet, Monet, Toulouse-Lautrec, you name it – who hadn’t succumbed to her seductive charms. All of them duly dedicated many of their female ‘impressions’ to her. The Valadon was, attaining fame as the most notorious muse in art history, perhaps the key to be officially ending the artistic discipline of nudes for the mainstream, as the mainstream was from now on required (as a preparation for the end-of-days) to be flooded with the self-ingratiating outbursts of nitpicking and mediocrity, protected under the puffed-up, gay hat of pseudo-sophistication, that was to become today’s modern art.

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[ a fictional dialogue, written for draft magazine – issue 000 “unspeakable” ]


Reinhard: Hey, Rimantas, how’re you doing?

Rimantas: Cool, cool. Very busy. But all good. And you?

Reinhard: Not bad, either. Cultivating diligently. Lots of changes inside. Outside, it all seems to have come to a standstill. While Clown Chaos enshrouds the so-called ‘World:.

Rimantas: Haha, yeah, really seems like that.

Reinhard: Haha, you know I’ve understood something important recently. We’ve talked a lot about the cosmic changes. And that people are so lost, it’s almost ridiculous if it wasn’t so sad.

Rimantas: Yes, I know. They all think what they do is really important. And they don’t want to see anything deeper than that. It scares them.

Reinhard: Exactly. It scares them. And the scared bit is part of the programme they’re running. From what I can understand now, the whole group mentality, the sheepish behaviour, is probably the root of the problem.

Rimantas: Really? What do you mean?

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[ a poem ]

Denigrated, disenchanted and disenfranchised
not anymore seeing and hearing those closest and dearest.
Invisible walls erect. Blotching out neighbours, friends, partners.
Busy denouncing, competing, complaining.
Slave execution of instilled group canon programmes.
Poor little me. Just wants to be liked. Part of a ‘mother’ party.
Ha ha ha. All so cool. Muchy Funny Jumpy Micky.
Fireworks popping. Tails wagging. Aimlessly hopping about.
Settling for the collective conduct of ‘sincere pretence’.
Only the media seems real. Getting a daily quick-fix all-important.
More than happy to pay, no matter how much.
Crackpot haphazard circus chickenshit.
Shaken and stirred, vomited and re-inserted.
Until filled to the brim.
Nasty venom, lurid and rank.
Sealed-off from Truth and Kindness.
A zombie-monster, though love and success seem real and in sight.
Loop-doomed to stick-it-in, take-it-out.
Me, me, me.
No-one and nothing at all.
Entering the gate of No-Life.
And that’s the naked end of it.
Tears not being shed.
Sentimentality a lie all along.
Inverted principles of the Three Realms are ruthless.
Drowned without mercy.
The blaring sheep stream pours down into the abyss.
Happy, dazzled, anaesthetized.
Different colour ribbons. Festively wrapped victims.
Free and individual. All so nice. Almost flying-off into the sky.
Look how beautiful I am.
Even the furnace in front looks like heaven.
So many promises and hopes, even great expectations.
Poor sheep. Sacrificial lambs. Wiped off the historical slate.

… just like that …

Devils smirking. Jealousy won.
You see, Lord God, Lord Buddha, Great Dao?
Golden body. Master piece of master pieces.
I want.
Biting poison. Eating entrails.
Passed down through the entire pyramid.
Until reaching the rats gnawing away
on each other’s fecal jewellery.
Feigned meaning in vying and fighting.
Ignorance, lust and petty desires.
Blatant self-interest fake purpose of life.
Trampling tradition. Outbidding friends.
All forgotten. No friends. All lies. No future.
Not even present.
Except ghosts and snakes feeding away
on whatever Goodness is left inside.
Deserved or undeserved?
Blaming others for own faults and stupidity.
Self-pity wallows in filth and gore.
Always killing the ones more capable.
Boredom. Hypocrisy. Passing time.
Knowing not.
No matter how high the achievement –
still all for naught.
We mortals. Born again and again.
Prison of Samsara. Fate and Necessity weaving.
How lucky to have a human body.

For all of those stepping forward and out of it
the Future cannot be more …
Words fail. Notions fail.
The most beatific art might as well be the lowest of forms.
Adamantine. Diamond-like. Never-degrading.
The Divine Gong of Dafa gushes in.
Radiance effervescent.
Gods, Daos, Buddhas – never again tired and ageing.
Mighty benevolence without bounds.
Buoyant matter dances – is – flickers, rejoices.
Into the deepest of depths and greatest of greatnesses
of the micro and the macro.


[Summer 2012]


[ tags: writing, poetry, abyss, sheeple, scapegoats, sacrifice, ignorance, denial, pettiness, deception, jealousy, wanting, becoming, golden body, divine realm, humans, human condition, salvation, .. ]