Damn you, Warhol! Or: why modern art sucks.

I believe Andy Warhol killed modern art. While he was original, and insightful, too many people have used him as inspiration in negative ways. They use his example to defend their laziness, and lack of artistic vision.

A blank canvas mean you have no motivation, talent, or desire to put forth effort. It doesn't matter how you explain it, you didn't do anything. It simply proves that you put nothing into it, and people are gullible enough to buy into it. No artistic vision, pure corporate greed.

Obviously, some people are totally fine with that. They buy a worthless "painting" for an exorbitant fee, and their "friends" admire in awe the trendy, new "art." Simultaneously, Claude Monet does a triple axle in his grave. 

Simply put, most modern art is 3% talent, 10% effort, 87% bullshit.

Thanks, Andy. Asshole.

Leadership

I have noticed something about myself, especially in regards to leadership.

When it comes to crisis management, I am the calm in the storm, the man with the plan. However, I lack foresight, so outside of the crisis, my leadership falters. When there is a problem, I am fully capable of setting my team to correcting it. Without a problem, I tend to get bored, distracted.

As it stands, I could make an excellent adviser,  terrible ruler. A great lieutenant, poor general.

Now that I know the problem, though, perhaps I can begin to correct it.

Finality

Death is what gives life it's beauty.

While the beauty of death, itself, is debatable,  it is truly the juxtaposition of death that flavors life.

Imagine, if you will, that there is no death. You have infinite time to do an infinite number of things. Eventually, perhaps quickly, those things you cherish begin to lose their luster.  Some people would journey into true debauchery, just to elicit a response. This happens to some, even in the presence of death.

It is, however, with that could finality slowly, ominously, looming over us that we can enjoy our lives. Why? Because we have no other choice.

Songs I want played at my funeral

"Go to Hell," by Carcass.
"Save Yourself," by Stabbing Westward.
"The Final Countdown," by Europe.
"Everything Dies," by Type O Negative.

More to come.

10 things you may not have known about me

1) Even though I work in the automotive field, I don't really like cars.
2) I sometimes find myself staring out of windows, with no paticular thought in mind, much like my cats.
3) I would love to go to the Shoalin Temple, to study kung fu. I'd even consider living there for a couple of years.
4) Gay people make me uncomfortable, but only because they're better dressed than I am.
5) I prefer to be bare foot, if I can.
6) I tend to be easily distracted, and not finish thin

Pop Music

Having listened to some current pop/r&b music, it hit me. There are many things about it I should like, but I don't. Use of unusal insturments, such as a flute or jazzy sax; or an odd break down. But you know what? I still can't like it. Yeah, some of it is amazingly catchy, but usually annoyingly so. I just can't seem to find a redeaming feature to it.

However, if they ever used a harpsichord, I may change my mind. nothing sunds as sexy as someone stabbing a piano with a harp. And I actually like the harpsichord!

Souls

A crushing darkness descends upon me, dragging me down into my personal abyss. The weight of ages further bending my back, forcing me to bow down at the feet of cruel masters. My hands reach for salvation, but the threads of fate wrap tight around me, binding me into eternal servitude.

How long have I been here? My fingers bleed, but I know not what caused it. I work in this dreary silence, without light, never tasting the fruits of my labor. All that I have is ripped from me before it is even mine. I sense the joys of others, but take no comfort in it. No, I have only solitude.

A bleak landscape stretches before me. I cannot see it, but I know it to be there. My legs are too weak to carry me. There could be salvation, or just sustenance,  nearby, but I will not reach it. It is not from a lack of effort, but the chains of guilt and responsibility that hold me fast. I try to cry out, but my lips are cracked with thirst, and my throat parched.

So it is, that I came to be here. Waiting. Wishing for the cold, final embrace of death. An end to this, that which shall never end.