'A Brief Surrealist Essay on Enmity'
Rationalising the hatred you endure, you sigh. Beauty is a crab devoid of brooches. Like Rimbaud's
Ophelia, great visions strangled your words. An axe was held tightly in cold fingers. It struck your
Standing on stage you gaze around. Scent of damp grass swoops like dusk. You are hated because
you are human. Who is hated more than the eternal child?
Words are crystals; they cry out in a tonic symphony. An experiment in colour is something like a
shaft of light in the void of this pitiful verse. When the slug bends, something falls. The cacophony
Streaky bacon is death. Smell of cooking flesh. Burning life. Killed fortune. Spiritual locusts
Your heart was always alive. This is what they hate more than anything else.
The crass virtues of this artless world are not for me. Birth is crude, life is crude, death is crude; art
is the exception. What is art? Where does art's soul lie? What is an artist? Enmity is hoarded by
artists just as property is hoarded by the artless. How is enmity connected to artistry?
What is art?
Art consists of three things: beauty, mystery and insight.
Where does art's soul lie?
The soul of art is mystery. Mystery is to art as certainty is to science. Beauty is the body of art;
mystery is the soul; and insight is her mind.
What is an artist?
The artist is the purveyor of art. 'Art conceals the artist far more than it ever reveals him.' Great art
is possessed of mystery more than insight; consequently, any knowledge of the artist's person
gained through insight is buried beneath an avalanche of mystery. When the mystery is sufficient to
eclipse the insight, and when the work of art's beauty simultaneously towers over the mystery, the
end result is an intelligent enigma. This is what artists create.
The artist creates an intelligent enigma and in so doing he reveals and conceals himself. With each
work of art, his mind becomes incrementally elucidated and his soul recedes from view. To the
observer, a true artist possesses no soul.
How is enmity connected to artistry?
A man with no soul inspires fear and loathing. Nothing, except for the artist, is more deplorable to
respectable society than a man with true intelligence. A truly intelligent artist cannot fail to generate
enmity. In fact a truly intelligent artist must generate enmity.
Nothing is more painful than the truth. Whilst truth is not an absolutely essential component of
great art, insight is; truth is the shortest route to insight. Irony may render the truth more palatable.
Humour might even make it acceptable. A magnificent lie may lead to exquisite 'insight' but the
truth will destroy this before the artist's death. If the artist wishes to live forever, he ought to be a
purveyor of truth. Hence, the artist should be familiar with both irony and humour.
When the truth becomes acceptable to society, society is necessarily eroded. What is society but a
specious set of values (the darkness) crying out for a shaft of bright white light to illuminate the
truth? In so doing, art reveals the hypocrisy, destroys those values and leads us inexorably towards a
form of malignant social disarray known as 'the modern world.'
Thus the artist is the enemy of society. He is the enemy of society's men. He is the enemy of
humankind during his lifetime. He becomes the hero of humankind once he has successfully
reshaped society with his peers.
Society hates the true artist but not as much as the true artist hates society.
Good style is to be found somewhere between beauty and gross indecency.
Great art is to be found somewhere between bad art and gross indecency.
The purpose of life is to realise there isn't one.
The purpose of all art is to realise the purpose of life.
The purpose of great art is replace the purpose of life.
This flimsy life is but a flickering flame in the rain. A paving stone tripped me up. I cried.
**100% fake Morrissey
Published on February 13th 2012 on MorrisseysWorld