Such a piercing gaze

I’m watching an artist,
Ignore the window.
Focusing on his canvas,
And reach for the grays.
Passing blue, and green and red and yellow.
“This is no recreation of your existence.
This is the product of my mind.
Words or paintings.
They both serve the purpose similar of differing minds.”
Aesthetics minus ontology still equals zero.
And vice versa.
The cumulative picture,
composed of either words or images,
Depends on the parts in order to actualize the whole.
This body of philosophy shall not survive without arms, or legs.
And no branch deserves the title of ‘head’.
None is most important.
Such flaws in our thinking have led us to believe,
To lie to ourselves,
To convince us and you,
That we CAN actualize opinions.
That what I say is right .
What blatant irony.
This rulebook, right here, says that’s out of bounds.
Could you answer that, Mr. Messiah?
“… That book is an outdated doctrine!
In need of revision!
We have to change with the times, after all.”
Thus, the ugly head of conservatism attempts to hide behind the mask of change.
It will take someone more willing to accept a lie, someone weaker for that to work.
I’m seeing straight through you.
No surprise there.
These eyes of mine have borrowed the sight of our forefathers and the wisdom of the sages of man.
These eyes have been trained,
Through my mind’s will,
Through my soul’s yearning,
Through the world’s habits:
I can now see.
Call it the truth.
Or even, the convictions of a crazed, young soul.
Convince yourselves that I’m not convinced.
Tell yourself that I’m crazy, because I can’t prove anything I’ve ever said.
It won’t change me.
And you’ll see yourself lagging behind.
Falling back, back, back.
What to do?
Listen up.
Otherwise, this is goodbye.

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