to have visibility is to grasp survival primordially,

i want to exist where i don’t have to be conditioned,

to be levelled completely

the instinct not to exist outside out of the fringe entirely;

not show up at all

because to find and to keep visibility in this manner is to destruct self. be never taken seriously for the work i want to leave behind— be remembered for.

and what if the season changes and you are not longer into me? the offerings i had to make is simply not enough to sustain these ever-evolving terrain. it’s a dry heave against a brush stroke; an echo repelled. an overt sense of hyper awareness. to push back against the audience is to alienate. but what if the entire point is not to engage? the grandeur of a thinker, a writer, a poet or a philosopher is that they didn’t go on a press tour with every work they bore. that is the ingenious beauty of great work. it is to disappear completely. to separate self from the art in its entirety. forsaken not for ambiguity, or record-keeping— but to continue to evolve, to transform in gratuity. to leave ego behind. for emily dickinson perhaps to be a recluse was not an aversion to perception; rather an objection to conformity. it is to save the artist from not being propelled downwards by providing an explanation for their work. it is to forage for goods and return by sun dawn when the ravenous mouths come hunting. it is not by any means that the signifier or measure of great work is heralded by the amount to which is promoted to the public.

why must i conform?

why must the burden of these silver concrete blocks weigh me down?