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The art of futility

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  Creation doesn’t save. Art stabilises. That’s why art continues after belief has died. Not because it promises something— But because consciousness cannot stop itself. The will to create isn’t heroic. It’s involuntary. A reflex. The art of futility A spoken monologue I don’t make art because it matters. I make it because consciousness produces excess. And excess demands release. That’s the first lie we’re taught—that art points toward truth. Truth doesn’t need us. It existed before our gestures and will remain after our silence. Art isn’t revelation. It’s a regulation. An overdeveloped mind can’t remain idle. Thought accumulates. Pressure builds. Expression becomes a discharge—not a message. This isn’t noble. It’s biological. Paintings. Texts. Sounds. Images. All variations of the same maneuver. Not transcendence . Containment . Once you see this, ambition collapses. Influence. Legacy . Relevance. These are metaphysical debts art can no longer pay. The work is finished the mome...
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Photo Bali Night Sanur

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Even as the junk silently roles in, your normal can be revitalise Depending on mindset and inquisivity Flowers can bloom for you Sculptures can mentor Trees whisper Leaves comfort Between cloth and stone, your essence can beam When released from duty As permission is given to self-forgive Breath in  Pause  Then exhale
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Celeste Judgment

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What follows is what is determined In the judgment, the decision, the point The pleasure of ending The pleasure of starting The wonderment of Yes and No The knowing of winning The learning in loss Here right now In judgment Create your future Own your intended legacy Describe your foreverness Invest in your decisions And then your time will begin In the measurement of Celestial Time
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Celeste in Contemplation

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How to feel absolutely renewed When transforming from regeneration Methodically and slowly as it goes From what happened to a continuous re-event In this box of instantaneous events Where past and present compete Wrapped by a transparent membrane All is safe From those who say You are altered You look different Your appearance and personality has changed So begins the lying to self Of moral injury Ethical transgressions And traumatized Pounding flashbacks Lost of trust And finally resting in a residue of failure
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Photo Cullen Bay Utensils

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I want the direct experience And devour it in full And in the presence of my time I do not want incomprehensible transcendence Nor do I want the just of divine intervention I want to profit whilst bathing in enlightenment Make profit whilst demanding entitlement Bask in my overwhelming brilliance And wanting to hammer the life out of itself Questioning the thing in itself To employ the utensils of power To challenge our spectrum To become limitless
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Photo Java Time

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When flying into Java You see the passing of time What was now What will be now The transience of change The possibility of immanence Soon to be death Soon to be rebirth Magnificence and devastation
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