kernel

If one likes simple art, it is not that one is simple but complex. If one likes complex art, one is not complex but simple.

That too is too simple.

I think this was my understanding and recant of the simple view of you express how you are. No, you express how you aren’t, how you’d like to be, how you’d not like to be. The relation isn’t so direct and simple. You don’t read (necessarily) who you are, looking into mirrors of self, but past self for new, for larger than self. Reading and writing is a stretch out.

In short?

“One’s aesthetics is a counterbalance strategy.”

I’ve made a couple rambling blog posts and a few conversations to get to that understanding.

To unpack…

Poetry is communication, is a strategy of exploration of expression. It is in context psychologically and in life pattern.

Whether hobby or career, the aesthetic one writes or reads is a communication with self with what one needs for balance. What one has, one may reach to get more of so that each aspect of life is run thru with the pattern. More often, there’s a pattern and outlet which keeps the person rounded.

Literature can be the missing aspect. If one feels rattled, one goes to lyric (for) calm. If one has too much (oppressive/suppressive) order, one goes towards that which jostles it. If one feels too much disorder, one goes towards controlled forms.

One can’t predict the rest from the piece of literature because it is an offset measure.

The literature speaks to what is unseen. It complements the other parts of life or expresses in a way one doesn’t in other parts of life. It does not describe what is being done elsewhere so much as what isn’t.

If one has too much story, one seeks the antidote, anti-narrative, disruptive, just as the most sedate middle class flatness brings into being murder mysteries. In violent times, we create artistic calm. In calm times, personally or culturally, we offset with revolution.

Perhaps I’m imposing a constructed rule for the universe on what is only the case for me. It is particularly true for me. I continually reach for one kind to bring myself to a stable alert state, not muddied in same-same.

Sometimes I am haiku and seek more of the same because I want to completely sink into that immersive bath of long phase with the same.

But unconscious works against too much of the same, automatically correcting from extremism, keeping the tick tock ticking to and fro. For example, while night cinema can accurately echoe the day, most often I’ve become used to my unconscious expressing counterbalances; a tranquil day often brings nightmares and a nighmarish day brings tranquil dreams. It seeks to not let me forget what the day didn’t give. People I don’t see appear in dreams. People I do see, don’t. If I’ve seen everyone, then the cast of dream created extras star.

If I go to bed hungry, I dream of food. No sex? Sexual dreams. A day without computer? Typing all night. The only exception may be water. Drink a lot of water, dream after dream of fountains, rivers, laundry, rain and even pointedly, dreaming of getting up to use the toilet. Until I get it, and get up.