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i dont want art

i do not want to listen
to tiny soundscapes tickling my
cochlea to the unexpected as if to suggest
as if to suggest, literally anything
imploring me to listen
dumb brushstrokes and blocks of colors
figurines and silhouettes evocative
of evocation
a feeling of some times or place
or both
a voice, a thing that sounds like language
trying to place me in the mysterious
words to describe
the shitpudding of today
a reinvention of an artist
and their voice
a recapitulation of names
namespaces

a melody you can
barely remember
an emotional stamp buried in the
heap of emotional stamps of the
oppressive nature of today.
in fact i don't even
want this thing im writing right now
just to be left alone
a naked mind under a bare tree
being nothing, but not
Pessoa's stone, not
Ginsberg's emptiness, just
one that is not referential
PLEASE i beg of you.

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