Morality, society, and skilled artists

. . . . . . . Morality is like obscenity: You’ll just know it when you see it. It defines most people’s daily lives. The only ones in society who seem to have trouble with the concept are the poor artists. These guys can’t seem to wrap their minds around the overarching rules that everyone is supposed to buy into. Maybe the artist is handicapped in some way, and the beautiful things he makes is a compensation for a lack of morality in his brain …

. . . . . . . Let’s face it: artists are weirdos. They’re not normal. They do things like Angelina Jolie and Billy Bob Thornton: exchanging blood in vials for the other to wear around the neck. {cont.}

. . . . . . . There is a crazed fanaticism to the artist. He looks at the future and sees death, destruction; and he thinks to himself, This is not so bad …

. . . . . . . The artist is a solitary sort because he so rarely meets another true artist. I’m in that boat here at the Cradle; I have a variety of followers, but I don’t sense in them the kinship of another somewhat deviant, black-hearted techno-barbarian like I am.

. . . . . . . The morality of the present order is the bourgeois morality. It is built on a false ice pond, a thin pond, of prosperity. Remove the prosperity and the bourgeois moral structure sinks.

. . . . . . . The deviant artist is proud of himself. The Christian mythology says pride goeth before the fall, but the artist believes the whole world is made up of pride like emotional molecules.

. . . . . . . Morality … it’s a useful starting point for understanding where things went wrong. As soon as we had an industrial society, we had the capacity for providing for artists on a large scale. Yet this solution was never implemented.

. . . . . . . Instead of offering a helping hand (a much-needed helping hand) to the starving intellectual and creative elite, money was squandered offering a little bit to everyone. When the Soviets wanted to cook the Olympics, they scoured their entire country for elite athletes, starting at the grassroots base level, and then trained them up to be Monsters of the amateur sports world. Imagine a similar program for the creative. Wouldn’t that be special!

. . . . . . . Today’s artist would sell his soul for a patron who would provide the freedom to do more “what-ifs.” The artist, at heart, recognizes that he’s weak. He needs to pair with a sympathetic conqueror to make his dreams come true.

. . . . . . . And what would such a conqueror look like? Probably, he’d be a lot like them. Not necessarily would he be a failure at the arts himself, but he might be a popular producer of common culture (pablum) for the masses. The conqueror would probably be attuned to mass vibes — that would be how he got to his position in the first place.

Catxman sez: Militarily, the Soviet Union was outclassed by the Americans the whole time. In any nuclear exchange, it’s doubtful that all of their nukes would reach their targets and explode. In any conventional war the Russians and their captive peoples would fight for shit. The reason they fought well in World War II is because their lives were on the line. Hitler actually meant to actually slaughter them. In World War III, America and its allies vs. the Russian bloc, everyone would know NATO meant the USSR’s citizens no extra harm. It would be the same result as the first Desert Storm in Iraq. NATO warplanes would bomb the fuck out of the tanks and radar sites, and Russian troops would come out with their hands up. Americans would be gentle conquerors, in that scenario.

. . . . . . . The obscure artist who toils in the shadows would be vastly overshadowed by the conqueror’s mighty form. But he would learn to drop to his knees and worship the conqueror’s newly come form.

. . . . . . . Life is all about the totem pole of social positioning. If the artist can become #2 behind the conqueror-and-family’s #1, he would be more than satisfied — he would be ecstatic.

. . . . . . . What kind of world would the artist create if he were king? Everything would be permissible. It would range from the vanilla to the most twisted de Sade version of reality.

. . . . . . . The artist would be unleashed. But the common people would never accept that. That is the impenetrable wall between the artist community and the normie world. The artist doesn’t care what another artist does so long as he’s good at art. The bourgeois doesn’t care if you’re good at anything as long as you conform to their ideals. It’s a total mismatch.

. . . . . . . I don’t think artists are a wonderful group. I think they’re a necessary, vital group. My support of artists’ greater-deviancy-than-the-average stems from my hunger for spectacular things in the world. I want air zeppelins bursting into flame in the sky while fireworks go off around it as a demonstration of a living artwork in action. I want tattooed dragons with magic sigils on their bodies, applied by artists. I want all the things technology is capable of making, when technology is at a level that it seems like magic. I need artists for this. I can’t do it all on my own.

. . . . . . . That’s it in an essential nutshell: the artist can make the world more interesting. Even his deviancy is amusing to me. The Catxman’s Third Rule of Art is make a jarring piece of art so that you shock a dull body out of its complacency. My enemy isn’t the pedophile, it’s B O R E D O M.

Catxman sez: This is where women come into play. Women make excellent playthings. As beings with agency, they suck and are the pits, but as toys they work out wonderfully well. Any advanced techno-barbaric society is going to have women at its heart in accordance with that principle. One of the things such a world would hold would be gladiator stadiums where hot chicks went mano-a-mano with each other with swords and tridents, like in the olden Roman days, but with tits. I crave to see this. I want to be a closeby spectator watching life fluid fly off in droplets as she whirls around, fighting for her life. And if she makes it? She gets to breed with me, Catxman.

. . . . . . . Boredom makes me tired. It saps me of energy. It’s like sitting at the back of the bus, staring at all the zoned-out faces. They’re fucking zombies, for chrissakes. They need an electric jolt to the asses. Art is that perfect electric jolt.

. . . . . . . That’s why I back the groundbreaking artist, because he can improve the overall situation.


6 thoughts on “Morality, society, and skilled artists

  1. I’m not fucking domesticated and I almost got a tattoo once. I agree with the boredom bit; I write, compose, read, garden, cook, shop, chop firewood, and I still fucking bored.

    1. Whoa, calm down there cowboy. I didn’t mean everyone. I’m very used to being a square peg in a round hole and recognize that my best work — that which goes over best with my audience — is middle-of-the-road vanilla spiced with abit of danger, abit of edge.

      For that reason I assume that I’m largely alone in my belief-system and the way I think. I know there are others who agree with me out there, somewhere but its hella finding them. If you’re one, great. If not, oh well. I still call all my viewers “my lovelies” because I want as broad a viewership as possible.

      — Catxman

      1. Hey – I wasn’t being uncalm I was being silly! So sorry to pluck the wrong string. It takes a while on the this blog thing to adjust and when an interesting new person comes along (such as yourself) I sometimes misjudge and throw shit but at least I get noticed. I’m not on any social media thing – not even the phone – so I’m not that savvy with all this stuff.

  2. The artist would like the extinction of the human species, he would like to remain totally alone, without all these human beings talking and gossiping about him, without necessarily having to say or do something that someone likes. The artist would no longer want to see anyone, he would like to live in a world only with animals and nature, and no longer having to prove to someone why she is not like all the others. Because always talking about her abuse as a child has tired her too, so much does not matter to anyone. Everyone who knows her does not know, does not see her pain, does not see it even if she writes it or paints it or puts it in other forms. So she would like them all to disappear and for the world to finally be free from those men who do harm, who abuse and rape girls and boys. Nice to meet you, my name is Amleta and I am an Italian artist. 🤗

    1. Hey Amleta. How’s it going?

      Yes, abuse is something one wants to put in the closet and leave alone. But sometimes it’s better to talk about it without running it into the ground. A little clean air can clear up a musty room.

      1. I’ve talked about that in some of my posts. Art saved me from suffering and from death. I used to draw and paint, I overcome my pain in this way. But sometines it hurts again. I do some dreams about my abuser, because I’ve never known who he was. I was too young abd I never see his face in my nightmares. I had psychotherapy for 3 years, vecause of my panic attacks, and now I feel better but sometimes it hurts again.

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