Lying and poetry are arts[.]
When I look in the mirror I see a mask, • with Hamlet’s doubt and Satan’s pride it’s not a double-life, • but a multitude of lies, the man wearing my reflection, • he says, ‘To become mythological while still living turn the • labyrinth into a laboratory, a life into art, be your • own victim, a sacrifice to your Self,’ art is a • trick we play on god, the sport by which man • creates himself, the magic touch that gets us off, dancing • in a desolate place lit only by slivers of moonlight, • this uncertainty is the cost of becoming what others want • when what we want ourselves is to be one thing • others are not: gods, defiant in the style of the • minor prophets, writing our own lives like they were bibles. • •
Sinful and willful, I don’t need to explain why or • remind you of the reasons for my unkindness when everything • I do is a window into the truth, blinding if • unspoken, eye-opening jagged points of view that wind up cutting • through your illusions as they wound you, art should be • a question mark, one answered by those whose hearts it • moves, not always pretty but always beautiful, since ugliness, too, • is a sort of proof that there is more to • life than simply existing, once you realize this, then you’ll • start living, kid, since being born again is child’s play.
1Oscar Wilde, “The Decay of Lying: An Observation: A Dialogue”, spoken by Vivian, in “Essays and Letters: Intentions” of Complete Works of Oscar Wilde: With an Introduction by Vyvyan Holland, published at London by Collins in 1983; page 972.