Wednesday, June 1, 2011

The Artist and the Theorist

“Spin, spin, Satan”

As the pentagram in front of me rotated in a counter-clockwise motion, I couldn’t help but think how silly the whole thing really was. I liked the image for what it reminded me of; it was the music I listened to, and the things I liked in those lost halcyon days. I never believed in the occult or in the existence of some sort of demonic being. I did rather enjoy offending those who were frightened of those things though. What did it really say about me though?

“I want it, but I don’t know why. I don’t think I’m going to regret it, I just don’t know why I like it.”

The man in front of me was not interested in my stories or the introspective journey I had embarked upon. He was only interested in whether or not I could afford his services. I assured him that I could. As I lay there on my stomach, trying desperately to relax and not think about what was actually happening, I pondered the choices I’ve made in life. Do I really understand anything that I do? I don’t suppose it really matters.

“Why is it that self-awareness seems like a fraud?”

“What?” he said, stopping his work momentarily.

“Nothing. Just thinking aloud.”

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