Absurdity is rampant, all you jelly bean mongers out there (and aspiring monger-types who just haven’t caught your big break yet (it’s coming, trust me))!
The point here is the absurdity of even doing anything at all, let alone to the point where we can press our most sacred thoughts into lasting pellets of intuition and wildly disseminate them–in perpetuity–across the universe.
Effort would be considered the lion’s share of the process; it’s not the transcendence of this field of shapes and arbitrary sets of value, no, how could it be? For we are but simple field mice, content to labor our way through all hours of the day, afraid to look up or take pause.
Fear of the finite, the decay, the ruination of our children within, we clutch to anything resembling the womb.
But to state these maladies is only to bring attention back to that stale old paradigm, failing to uplift, only presenting symptoms of the perpetual problems while offering no solutions. What are we to do? Dive into some kind of fantastic phantasmagorical wonderscape?
Gretchen Ann simply needed to demonstrate the breadth of her innate yodeling abilities. Never once a formal student of the craft, her superb tonality and unapologetic virtuosity always brought her audience–usually herself–to the verge of emotional breakdown.
WHARVED 