mystical bullshit

[theriveriswide]

matisse, see
he was a colorman;
more so than van gogh, they say.

but vincent...vincent,
he was just so much more...
i don't know...lyrical

touches a deeper place in me
than the m-man.

not that color isn't good and all;
but i don't think that

anyone's quite been able to
capture atmosphere
like van gogh.

and besides, could henri
see thirty-seven shades of
green in one tree?

shit. he's more like rothko
to me. modern consciousness
(or unconsciousness, rather;

freud's certainly left his mark
on our souls, and who can blame
him?) bottled up in strict
journalistic summation.

yeah, that's it;
rothko, matisse, mondrian
are journalists.

cut it down, cut it down;
get back to the roots of things
before ye get caught in the
strings.

but what is it that we're
missing?

can you answer me?
can i answer me?

is there a me to answer?

and why is it that we should
doubt our self-integrity so
fully, amid our cities
of sand and glass and clay,
and monstrous imaginings made
reality;

but there is no reality so
strong as illusion.

thus, should we doubt the self,
or doubt the doubtor?

and that's what missing in matisse -
there's always someone THERE
other than you

but vincent painted from that place
beyond the you
the 'you' we're all accustomed to.

mystical bullshit? you decide.