Three nameless, faceless crosses | Portrait of an atonic god © David Noir
Three nameless, faceless crosses | Portrait of an atonic god © David Noir

Three nameless, faceless crosses, the image of an atonic god whose effort is limited to repeating the cycle of an eternal genesis

Brought to life, the god I imagine takes on the face of a small porn film. No time to sit in the heavens or to halo himself in mystery. Three short warm-up rounds, a spurt of cum and then off he goes. Not there to give pleasure. The pleasure it brings, the relief it gives, exists only in the imagination. There is no need to suffer it more than necessary. The time of existence of my god is that of a hand job. For the rest, I take care of it myself. Creation is serious business. I don't entrust my happiness or my glory to anyone.

Freedom | Creation | Freedom

  • It is a trinity that owes neither to Christianity nor to the Republic.
  • It is a devotion with no place of worship other than his body and his presence on this earth.
  • It is a worship of pragmatism, for poetry is born only in the comfort of a mind that does not listen to the mottos of others in order to attribute them to its own life.

Ingredients: You need freedom to create and again freedom to get rid of the creation that liberates you. The principle is cyclical and without accommodation.

Chapter 1. The God factor | Free delivery

The art is not a tool in the service of a religion, even if it is his own. If in the past it has given the illusion of being so, it is no longer necessary for it to take refuge in the cavities of social niches, pretexts for maintaining its existence, or to espouse its forms.

This is not how it happens © David Noir 2017

In the land of art, democracy is not the law

Or if you think so, then democracy is not what you think it is.

Making art is a way of life, but also a job, often not or poorly paid. Not really considered in practice. A beggar's or swindler's activity. Living art is not the same as making art products. A sculpture, a canvas, a novel... none of these materializations constitute art. The works are not art. They are from art, nothing more. They are objects, the dross of the body and of thought, the excrement of an artistic activity.

Opting for artistic creation is choosing to live without fear or complex under the regime of a totalitarian ego

It is psychic, that's how it is. Thought has the demands of its fantasies. You have to follow and walk at pace. That's how it is. The substance of this is not shared, not debated. It is the products that are shared. Art does not surrender itself. It displays its anger and its joy, then dresses up with an insolent morgue that says it's me. It is his only way to resist a world that hates him.

The free will of an artistic act that wants to be free is to assert anything and to crown it with the title anything as the ultimate value at that moment, out of childish joy, out of intelligence, out of a thirst to work towards the utopia of a free world. Art, like any submissive divinity, must reject even more strongly than it is rejected; hate more powerfully than it is hated.

If some people think they can detect something tangible, something that can be described; if they think they can recognise a familiar form, a landscape, a story, they are mistaken. The appearance of art is there to give the change to those who do not believe in it, like a god who sometimes incarnates himself to demonstrate his existence and impress those who doubt it. But, just as in the religious process, the deity in question can only prove their delusion to believers. The others will always ignore it and not care. The gods are powerless to reveal themselves to anyone who is not willing to worship them.

Chapter 2. Le gai bavoir : dégobiller ce qui n'est pas soi

But what is a god? Answer: NonsenseThat's the point. Any object, entity, concept or matter can be a god. A tree, a totem, a crucifix, a voice, a symbol, a wind direction, a meteorological phenomenon, a coincidence of events... and legends, of course. The peddling of stories is not only the result of divine manifestations; it is also an essential support. Son of so-and-so son of so-and-so son of so-and-so who said who said who said...

Contemporary example: Workers hate multinationals that exploit them but demand to work for them when suddenly, by the divine caprice to which their status entitles them, on a whim, these companies reject some of their staff. Suddenly they don't want them. The churches brutally begin to destroy their parishioners. The working-class worshippers then demand, by demonstrating, the tangible proof of the existence of what they believe in: the labour market. In this scheme, labour is embodied in a sadomasochistic relationship between power and misery.

Art chooses other paths. The same is true for those of its followers who follow in its footsteps. They only overflow with themselves and regurgitate their own substance because they are full of themselves.

Black hole of desire: living in the skin of a god subjected to an art of self

Social relations follow the same pattern as the labour society. The two religions are twins. Women are scorned, homosexuals are beaten, children are raped, the motorically disabled are not invited in. Everywhere the icon of the woman, of the child, is glorified and everywhere only the idealised image is adored. It is the feminine considered as a matter to be degraded in all its states of right. We idolise only to hate.

The Bloody Marilyn is still going through the stages of his submission, a perpetual way of the cross. Too bad, it was not necessary to be caught because the crime of being catchable is the only one that truly insults the god of others. The feminineYes, that's what gets caught... hand in the cookie jar, head in the purse, ass over head on the horizon of tomorrow.

For the society of men, the female being is unforgivable for being taken. Whether she is a woman, a man, a child, a submissive of any kind, her offered posture forbids her to come out of the debates and romps with her head held high.

Some submissive people are fighting, struggling and will continue to struggle to change what is not changing. To make the laws change. For indeed, sometimes the laws change, but The law of men does not change.

It is useless for us to defend ourselves by claiming, like proud slaves, a future conquest that will not come. The revolt just makes the inbred bourgeois laugh.

Rebellion is the ultimate weapon of those who one day will want to dominate in their turn

No, dominating is not my cause. Sooner or later you lose your mind, your internal coherence and your strength.

To feed, to absorb until it dissolves is the prerogative of those who know how to let themselves be taken. The submissive who understands this no longer suffers his state. He rejoices to grasp his nature and to know at last where his power comes from. Yet this power, like the Messiah for others, will not come. It is already there, shameful, almost invisible. It resides, since his coming into the world, in his state of weakness. He sits in the cruelty of his indifference before those who would like to believe but do not know that they are seeking to confirm their ignorance. In short, he knows in his heart what others choose to ignore. Especially not knowing that I don't know what guides my will to power the one who dominates thinks naively in secret.

Chapter 3. Three crescents with faces: the illuminated sides of a hole

It's not just a few topless girls who bring it up; there are also guys who don't want this slavery to themselves; men who don't define themselves by the consequences of having only their genes. But the World doesn't care. The World has become a consciousness far beyond men. No one knows who this World is anymore. The important thing is not there.

The important thing is and must be that a certain order under pressure bursts. An order that on the surface would like to be taken as the reflection of an inner coherence. It is therefore from the inside, by osmosis and mature empathy, that it is a question of undermining a force as deliberately deaf as it is real.

It is therefore a question, at every moment, as much as possible, of not allowing adherence to a model. It is a question of being a cancer and not a Valkyrie. And anyone who wants to actively defend himself from the attractive adherence to a model, whether it be familial, ideological or political, has no choice but to give up his fatally social life for art. Again, not for making art at the risk of sustenance of the societal market if solid precautions are not taken, no; simply to live art. Nothing could be more opposed to a art of livingThis will never be more than a flashy advertisement for a false implication.

Nothing else, in the end, but the radical rejection of an immature and infantile imagination of the simplifying idea of the prevalence of a god over the very imperfect nature that governs our impulses and our ability to reflect, to get out of it.

For to believe in a mystical symbolism, be it religious, warlike or social, is already to betray what is healthiest in oneself: the interest in one's own independence of judgement and spirit.

The attempt to degrade the imposed order through an exclusively ferocious and vengeful struggle sometimes leads to a fleeting form of freedom, but always irreparably to carnage before later recovery by a handful of individuals who will not have dirtied their hands. The fruits of painful neuroses can only nourish a society that is still primitive and all the more sick because it is slow to evolve.

Whether it falls in a torrential downpour or implodes and diffracts into as many particles as there are humans to receive them, the order thus destined to return again and again can only become benevolent if it is tamed, domesticated and instructed by a process that passes through itself. Otherwise, it will reappear eternally from elsewhere. In the gaping crater of a moon enucleated by Méliès's rocket, ready to return to us covered in honours and glory, as if this new universal and charming order could bring back something other than an old eternal order in its holds.

Only consciousness is capable of evolving. Nothing else in us changes. The roles will never be reversed and those who dominate will dominate as long as the most resistant and often the most thoughtful do not prefer to keep quiet rather than jump on old moons as soon as their fat, full faces wince at the desire to make fun of them.

When the gaze lands, it knows how to find the right angles and light angles to cut the big grotesque balloon that is handed to it as a target into quarters. The observer no longer behaves like a conditioned attack dog, but wonders in which shadowy zone he will be able to infiltrate effectively, like a microbe.

Similarly, when the submissive, himself unfortunately conditioned, seeks strength in assimilating the methods of his torturers, he finds only humiliation in response. For even if he could grasp them, he would not know what to do with the instruments of the dominant; no more to fight with them than to rule them. He is not a predator, gnawing at his teeth in anticipation of his reign coming. No, he knows the content of true peace and wisely never lets the simultaneity of its facets be seen, like a shimmering but discreet star. He opposes by working, by fleeing, by returning; by exhausting an adversary who ignores his state, by the endurance of belief in his singular temperament. No, he does not boast.

His confidence in his ability to think through art is right unalterable. And that's enough to live what it has to live, say what it has to say and do what it has to do.

(to be continued)

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The magician Dose, god of art vision junkies © David Noir 2017
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