November 23rd, 2008
You know what the problem with you is? You think too much, you’ve got your head in the clouds, you need to come down to earth. You’re too literal, too much a dreamer, you make poor choices, you’re not as smart as you think you are. You never learn, when will you ever learn? You over-analyze things, you don’t think things through, you want everything to be easy, you don’t try hard enough, quit trying so hard, you make everything too hard, life just isn’t that hard.
Do you know that Wim Delvoye has a farm in China where tattoo artists cover pigs in elaborate tattoos? They put the pigs on high tables where there is no chance of escape, and spend hours puncturing them with needles. Afterwards, they show the pigs in art galleries and exhibitions. People show up – they pay to see this. The pigs then get slaughtered, and their skins are sold to the highest bidder. Delvoye, whose other art includes birdhouses dressed in leather, and x-rays of people taken in the act of coitus, has been wildly successful.
There are no accidents, everything happens for a reason, life is a folly, a fool’s game, there is no rhyme or reason. Accidents happen, buck up, be strong, find your bootstraps. You’re on this earth for a reason, better days are coming, look ahead, don’t look back, learn from your mistakes, learn from history. You’ve got to stand up, stand tall, back down, back off, be gentler, take some pride, you’re too proud, don’t be so arrogant. Look out for #1, remember there’s only one you, don’t be so self-serving, remember you’re not that special.
The other week, a 13 year-old Somali girl was raped. When her family filed a complaint, they sentenced the girl to death by stoning. They buried her in dirt up to her neck, and let a group of men and boys throw rocks at her until she was dead. I know, it’s the culture, right?
You’re too strong, it’s not all about you, no woman is an island, pick yourself up, dust yourself off, stay strong, be stronger, tomorrow’s a new day, things will look different in the morning, get real, face problems head-on, think of something else, think positive, luck will come, think it and be it, the world is your oyster, the world doesn’t revolve around what you want, give yourself a break, put your nose to the grindstone.
Right here, in America, a woman didn’t want to be with her husband anymore, so he threw acid in her face. She lost her eyes, her nose, her ears, her mouth. That’s not our problem, right? I know. The thing is, see, it really is. . .the same human impulse to injure someone, to leave a punishing mark, exists on a smaller scale all around us, and we cover it up in self-blame and platitudes, and create this false paradise where our minds and emotions – that thing called spirit – is so disconnected from our physical bodies that it supposedly can’t be affected by any actions except our own. It’s this lie, ingrained and long-told, that is killing our compassion and ability to empathize.
You need to love yourself more, you don’t love yourself enough, be humble, you’re too confident, you come off as a bitch, you’re intimidating, look people in the eye, don’t stare, don’t be so intense, laugh more, smile more, if you smile too much people won’t take you seriously. There are no problems, only solutions, no obstacles only challenges. Try, try again, keep trying, if you had any talent at all you would have made it by now, why don’t you find something else to do. Rise above it all, take a breather, be realistic, pay attention, heal yourself. See, the problem with you is. . .
You can’t afford that kind of thinking. No one wants to hear the pig’s side of the story. They want bright and colorful amusement. Something they can laugh at, make a calendar of, display on their coffee table, or frame on their wall. A conversation piece, a knick-knack, a little something to gab about at the water cooler.
I would rather rescue the pigs and damn those who collect tortured skins as art.
Don’t be an idiot. Pigs cannot buy their own farms; artists can and do. Stop making excuses. All any of us can do is find our own version of the painted pig, parade it around, and hope it’s successful enough to buy us the freedom to do what we really want to do.
You’re really fucked up. Wim Delvoye is fucked up.
It’s a fucked up world we live in, and see, that’s your problem. . .