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letra de fartbox artbots - hipgnostic

if art is just expression
our hearts there from inception
is it smart for us to mention
all the arduous inventions
sparked from l-st for much attention?
is there an extended definition
for the intended repet-tion
of expended expositions
ingenuine intuitions
and pretended erudition
that rescinds true inhibitions?
like painting for commission
it’s a pain to force conviction
it strains my brain
distorts my vision
teleports me to an inspiration prison
a motivation schism to displace all rhythm
i embrace all wisdom
but when faced with a mission
to create when i’m fenced in
i can’t wait to break the gates
to make a brazen great escape
and graze on patience
weightless, on a sp-ce-scape of ambition
it raises suspicion about the fame
that is given to the vain and the visionless
insane narcissistic list
of painfully talentless musicians
out of balance with fict-tious touted prowess
while the loudest are the proudest
countless crowds surround them, boundlessly
thousands seem astounded
singing around them
pounding the ground with feet
confounding me, their sounds are weak
there’s bound to be newfound degrees
of profoundly compounded speech
to propound on each mind to teach
drown in this sea of rhymes
or reach for safety lines from desire beach
real writers speak, but silently
real singers shine where eyes can’t see
real painters move, glide seamlessly
real artists die to become free
blinks come in threes
the sum of dreams that someone sees
when sleeping peaceful
except greedy people
with their fetal pineals in a state of upheaval
who could fly a bald eagle
through the eye of a needle
before they entered the steeple
of their mental cathedral
they’re gollum, not smeagol
you can call them all evil
but the real problem deals
with their unequal hemispherical
spiritual-physical dichotomy
commonly discussed in philosophy
a misadjusted psychology
that probably oughta be
a problem worth contemplating
see, we talk of all these stipulations
brought to us by uncreative
fartbox artbots for corporations
are they artists or wh0r-s for satan?
is good music just noises
formulaically poised upon templates of your choice?
or is it the voices of god
anointing our souls
with an audible and joyful phenomenon?
could an automaton compose its own antiphon?
build its own parthenon or pantheon
sappy songs or even entrancing psalms?
is it our hands or our hearts
that shape the state of our art?
when the fate of our dark complacent ways
take a sharp evasive turn from the sharks
who aim to subjugate art
we may just find a new start
our minds will surely embark
on a journey uniting with heart
or else they’ll market our farts

- hipgnostic

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