the art of pretense in the stream of consciousness

There is much talk about truth and honesty in art, of art being an expression of who you truly are. But really, the magic of art lies in pretending, such consummate pretending that it lets you be someone else for a while. In that pretense lies liberation from this cage in which you are born and bound to die, the cage of yourself. In that pretense, in that fantasy of not being yourself is knowing yourself. For being a man is being three, the one that does and the one who thinks and the one who watches the one that's thinking. To be an artist is to be aware of this bondage that you didn't agree to but are born to, and the restlessness to be free of it. Perhaps it is a death wish, but perhaps it isn't. It’s merely that self in us that’s hungry, the self that wants to be everything and be everywhere and feel everything, even if the cage doesn't allow.

Poetry is being lived everywhere. Everyone’s in a movie. Art is living is art. And it’s a great privilege to chronicle it and give this formless substance a form. When you’re talking about yourself, you are really talking about everyone, all those faceless prisoners, in different cages in a great big prison.