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“The inspiration for art is less important than art itself.”

If anything I think it depends how you can enjoy music personally. The source behind a song can be appealing, but it can altogether ruin what originally drew you to it. I tend to muse over what a song might be about and where it came from while I drive early in the morning to work. (while singing slightly out of tune) To seriously sit down and try and sort out its “meaning” doesn’t seem necessary.

Many times pieces I’ve written have been attributed to something in my life that doesn’t even correlate. A song that someone thinks is about the globalization of the planet may just simply be about the hot dog vender that’s opened up a second stand down the block. It’s nothing more than that….

To get into it though, if you were to say that someone can write totally from another’s perspective you wouldn’t be completely true. People may say that, but you always tend to put your own personal view on things. Even if you try there are always those assumed things that we apply and never realize they have been placed there. This is if you’re being extremely picky in regards to an objective view though.

Overall they may not have to have some root meaning in the end. If you can derive a meaning that serves you and somehow emotionally affects you …why should it have meant anything rather than abstract phrases to the author? Also if it is the duty of an artist to accentuate the mundane into something meaningful I think you’re restraining them too much. Mundane can be mundane… tripe can be tripe. Art can just state the obvious without adding to it. A song can be felt without adding a glaze to bring it to another level. Simplistic events can somehow be interpreted into so many other things. A song can be seen as: ones traumatic move to a new town, leaving a lover in search of true love, discovering life can be crap when you run out of diet soda… all at the same time.

Perhaps some songs are actually about extremely silly events. That song that makes you think of your first love is lyrically rooted in not getting a pet monkey. Suppose that song you believe is reaching out for a missed or refused love is about brushing off the affections of a stray dog. Knowing the “real” inspiration would wreck the song.

The inspiration for art should go to the wayside when all is said and done. If a song doesn’t speak to you or evoke emotion it doesn’t matter if it came from someone in the throws of a lovelorn heart.

As for Mr. Plato and Mozart….you’re right… circumstance is everything. So by that rule my above rambling can be defeated. A song dismissed one minute can be appreciated the next once the reasons behind it are known. I suppose that’s why I tend to use “shoulds”, “mays” and other non-affirmative words. Not exactly the best words to choose when making an argument. If the non-rules of art and meaning hold true though ….I’ve made no mistake.

Art and its point of derivation can be equally important! (I tend to negate my argument towards the end of any “essay”)

P.S. I’m keeping your story as well. Over time paranoia has set in from recent disappearing posts. Fuchsia’s story of Polarized seems to be lost.

P.S. You can hold onto the story if you wish.

Later days

Shawn

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quote:
“The inspiration for art is less important than art itself.”

A sunset (girl, boy, flower, rainbow, eskimo, city skyline, victorian bathtub, picasso on a post it note, photograph, myth, super hero, car, helicopter, beach, desert, dessert, mountain, man, woman, sunrise) will always be

12389465 37673412465r4585d46644 times more beautitful than a song about a sunset.

Cheesy. Perhaps.

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True. Definatley.

"No, I'm not setting a fuckin' essay question. I'm simply stating a fact."

^ ^ ^ ^

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^

^ . ^ . ^

If all our words(thoughts) were prefaced by this declaration, the world woulod be a much happier and simpler place.

WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERERERE!!!!!!!!!! W

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The idea of anything being a set in stone fact depresses me. Especially when it's about....I guess about everything. I suppose that's why I shied away from my natural mathematical talents. Knowing that there are going to be definite answers takes a little excitement out of me being alive. A sunset, even if you do record it, can evoke something more than than a song. It can work the other way around as well. You can be feeling low and that one song makes you think of something from long ago and you feel reassured while that sunset out your car window is barely noticed.

It's just amazing when you get down to it. This has been said many times before, but the way in which we each view things is incredible. My physics teacher in high school understood as well when he asked the class if we all interpreted colors the same way. People talk about being tired of certain things...for me though…. things always seem to change. My home has been my home for many years and becomes totally altered in my eyes after being away. In high school it was my sanctuary. Now it feels foreign and no longer apart of me. The sunset that I could never really see outside my window is adorned with more color than I ever really cared to notice.

Love, sunsets, music, poetry, those little rubber frogs that jump, the glow of snow early in the morning.... to imagine that anyone of them could have more worth than the another is altogether scary.

I'm happy to see you on here again Fuchsia. I don't mind you pulling a Houdini of sorts. I understand, but don't understand...and that's ok. Hope the silliness of Halloween found you. This Halloween I found myself crouched in a dark house in order to avoid little costumed tots (I regret missing it). Wish I could have been there to hand out candy or maybe in my current state of mind cherry cordials. Just have this itch to draw and feel artsy until the wee hours of the morning. If it wasn't for that pesky Tock I would still be sketching away...fancying myself as a male Joonesque artist without her Benny.

Slowly I began to realize that amongst the cubicles my boss was lingering near. Quickly I managed to finish a line or two before…

Later Days

Shawn

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I have yet to go forth and make oh-so cool grilled cheese with my iron. My stylish blazer has an appointment ahead of the bread and cheese though.

As for miserable circumstances I feel ya! I've gone for the Finding Neverland method of viewing the world. I try and keep myself grounded outside of reality as much as possible.

A netflix rotation of indie flicks set in Glasgow and my ancient guitar help too. I'm stuck in my pseudo childhood home for a wee bit longer before I can finally explore the world and bid farewell to my university existence.

We may be miserable, but at least we have the music... as well as movies that inspire us to make culinary masterpieces!

Also, somewhat of a strange coincidence, Julianne Moore was sited at the Regina/ Rufus show in NYC a few days back.

The tollbooth has appeared yet again. Lessons have been learned and knowledge has been gained. I must take Milo’s example and bid farewell for the moment. Tah tah for now.

Cheers and Later Days

Shawn

P.S. Geogaddi, where art thou?

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Benny is fortunate. He lives in a reality where romantic gestures and starched grilled cheese can exist without being labeled as pure insanity. If one were to profess their love through a sonnet to a girl in an upstairs apartment the Red Baron would fly in and take him down. Woodstock would understand though. Throughout literature you see epic gestures of love that are taken as something beautiful. Our reality labels people, mainly men, as jerks and perverts if they follow the same path. Has it always been this way? At one time in real history did people actually behave with such passion? Was it looked upon with loving eyes or with a cynical view?

Don't really mean to change the subject.... just had this rolling around in my head. Do people recognize real passion nowadays or do we mostly write it off as purely being obsessed?

I suppose you could also say that romantic ideals have stunted some people. This idea of true love and romantic sentimentality may be holding some back from finding any sort of happiness.

Ok...now where was I... oh.... Mr. Keaton. I had not remembered his grilled cheese concoction. Mr. Mom always reminds me of my security blanky that I held tight as a kid. As well as my own Dad's ill fated and disastrous attempt at dropping me off at school. Movies have saved me this year and my love for them has been saved as well. My T.V. watching ability has dwindled to nothing... I'm far from broken up about that. “I Love the 80’s" kept me sane during my Dave Attelesque moments when my bed just wasn't lumpy enough to sustain my slumber. I've gone cold turkey... it was rough. This took place during my week of wandering in NYC. No need for T.V. there.

In its More Than A Hundred Acre Wood I found the sadness in two quarrelling Ivans and the Envy and social dogma which can tear apart a family. (a robot can aid in it as well) My thoughts seem to be meandering too much. I suppose stream of consciousness should be that way. No rhyme or reason should rule... people want to derive some I suppose... even when none was meant to have existed.

The life of Benny seems pretty at the moment. As I attempt to dwell on the life I could lead as a budding Benny I'm also trying to think of a question worthy of Turturro. Without any real explanation my thoughts keep turning to Steve Buscemi. The Cohen brother's troop of regulars always tend to pile in when one is mentioned. Excuse me while I briefly examine IMDB for questionable inspiration.

...

....

...

.....

I can't seem to muster a decent question. "How is it working with Benny?" "Does the Dude really abide?"

Should better questions make its way forth I'll alert you. Whether this happens though is in the hands of the Whether Man unfortunately. At least not the hands of the Terrible Trivium. For if it were up to him we would spend far too much time tunneling through a rock side with a needle. My pick hand wouldn't be able to take the abuse!

Later Days

Shawn

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Sam never was. His historic real life counter parts are lunatics whose love was never returned. His real life counterparts are the sane who rationalized themselves into love.

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Charlie Chaplin was a beautiful. lovable. brilliant. little tramp, who divorced more than his fare share of wives and could never be happy with one love. Sam is a projection of a projection. And one more copy of a copy of a copy is going to deplete us all. (as we all learned from Mr. Keaton in "Multiplicity")

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Sam and Joon Never would have worked out any way. Opposites attract. Two crazy people don't work. Just like two Hollywood starlets usually do not find love with on another. I love "Benny & Joon" (i convinced my friend to make grilled cheese ala'Iron on stage for an acting class), but i love it because it could never happen. A movie draws me when it can keep half of me in reality and half of me in a romantic dream land. It shows me that living in a normal house in a boring town can bring me crazy happiness.

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People find love in mental institutions, yes. They are not however attractive, youthful, magical, vibrant. They are insane and worn out. Sam is a real person, but i would never watch a movie about the real Benny

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I like to see my self as the real life Seth Cohen from the O.C. (played by Adam Brody), but i would never try to sail to Tahiti, profess my love to a girl out of my social caste, or run away from home.

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Maybe The violins never new how to sing. They are worn and tattered in their glass cases, but were built for kings that never bothered to learn their scales. Romanticized by our historians, filmmaker .....song writers. Maybe the rowboats were kept docked because a young man was afraid of the water. And his bedside painting was merely a glorified projection his father commissioned a painter to portray.

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A Brilliant painter with a vivid imagination. Nothing more. How can a rowboat sail out of a painting when it was never untied.

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So maybe the inspirational source can be overrated. Romanticized. Maybe I was wrong.

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I don't envy Sam. I've gotten over envying the insane. From now on I think I will focus on envying the rich. That is a factor of my life I have more control over. Not much more, but a bit......

........

.....

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Either I will make my riches, or o will drive myself insane getting there.

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It is a win win situation.

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" I can't write, but I can Edit"

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I always mess up some Mundane detail. Well names aren't really my strong suit. Im more of a faces guy.

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In my last post I was in somewhat of a crazed manic state. I'm supposed to be in NYC right now... barely making it by on tips thrown in a coffee cup and playing where they'll let me. In real life I'm here in my hometown morbidly waiting for my father to pass on. There’s no place I’d rather be. This may be why I was unintentionally referring to Sam as Benny. This may make my ramblings a bit more coherent. Strange are the things that come to the forefront of ones mind when things happen in the way you least expected.

I’ll post more on Ricci and Turturro later, ma peeps

Later Days

Shawn

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It was nice having the witty banter while it lasted Fuchsia/Muriel. Hope you find what you're looking for. As for me I'm left not knowing what to post. After a few days and what will admittedly be my first viewing of Buffalo 66 I should be able to form my personal responsa on things. Take care my oh-so-cool peeps of the forum.

Later moments

Shawn (the guy who looks like he's been speaking to himself on this thread Smiler

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Here I am again.... seemingly posting to a thread in which I'm ranting with an unseen poster. Felt I should post once more if this thread is going to die.

Art is everywhere, no matter how mundane something is.... it can be art. My water cooler acrobatics that occur during the placement of a new water tank have been my most recent expression. That was about ten minutes ago. Currently it’s the manner in which I'm maneuvering between a flood of calls in a walled in enclosure (my cubicle) and my ongoing attempt to form this post. This sentence is currently being formed while talking to an employee in another state. Life for many is monotony in an overwhelming abundance. You just have to find something artistic in all you do. That's what I do myself. Not trying to preach some "art doctrine". It’s my way to enrich an existence until a niche is found or has found me.

Calls are slow now...... boredom could set in. I've started a chain of Red Vines to use as a straw. Nagh.... they're starting to dissolve in my water. A book looms near.

Just had a 20-minute call --- lost my train of thought, which has been derailed too many times throughout this post. My streaming consciousness has lessened in bandwidth. Perhaps this is goodbye dear thread. And perhaps I've overused perhaps in my recent bag of words. The king of Azaz would be sad at my neglectful tendencies in not using other words.

Later Days

Shawn (with an "awn")

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