Indestructible things are imitated by changing things. Thus, life imitates art. Brevis, longa. Clearly the world is purely parodic, that is, each thing is the parody of another, is the same thing in a deceptive form. Even should they strike you as assertions, these quotations are, then, deceptive forms of actually writing something, their combination, copula, scandalously true. Were a writer to make me say “Io sono il uomo” – rough and ready echo of “Juliette is the SUN” – words moonlight for me, the human. Is the real human artless?

Imitation - a dirty word vide perverts parody lovers, villains heroes, crooks upright people, criminals states, etc. – is irritation, being handed the cheap simulacrum instead of the real thing, for which cheat no one knows any excuse. Piles of trash imitate wealth, when did real art ever produce trash? – minds are terrible things to waste, and copies of them even greater irritation. Don’t cheat yourself: irritation’s imitation irritates? – or is that delight in deceptive form. Art puts the lie on you: Double agents, bodies meet, shakes to be, which verb harbors amorousness.

Audience you are the art. The audience moonlights the arts. Take the words: Perhaps you don’t listen, because I speak – perhaps I speak, because you listen; take the works: perhaps you don’t audience, because we show – perhaps we show, because you audience. The dance makes you dance, music the spheres. You can waddle through life like ducks in the desert or dance with gazelle elegance. Entrain empty heads to noise or put your brain in tune. Art, the volcano, dwarfs the VESUVE. Living artists its crowning crater. Eruptions spew lavaori del arte, lights up human lives, broadens human minds. Volcanoes parody topless pyramids, too, as empty bras promising breasts. It’s excess boils over.

Minds imitate body. Bodies imitate mind. Masks faces, motion emotion, action thinking. Thinking and Being is One. Naked bodies are far more arousing than cloaked, bared minds far more than conceited. Eruptions are, true enough, erections sky-high, through the roof of the mind. Art makes the audience say ‘You are the art – we are the night’, and all jointly moonlight hard for the peak of our minding. When and where minds meet, there is great joy and human hope!

The show parodies the audience, the audience the show. It is delightfully scandalous, beyond words’ workings really, to witness our own naked minds erupt. The unquenchable, the indestructible is One.

(Lars Aagaard-Mogensen, Professor of Philosopher and sometime artist, Wassard Elea (Italy) and Ignatious University, (Staten Island) NY).