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The things that we are remembered by
Today; I didn't want to get out of bed. I went back several times, pulling the sheets around my face, burying my ears in the pillow to shut out the world. It didn't work. Why? What is it that terrifies me? ... Mundane responsibilities! Doing "things" ... "things" that I must "do"! "Things" eating my life! Precious, Precious time! I resent these THINGS! I do not wish to say what they are. I will not soil my tongue! I will only describe these hated things as "the compulsory motions necessary to exist in this physical world." (clues are; they involve brooms, soap, pens and dog crap.) How many hours are taken up each day with these fucking things???!!! Hours and hours and hours of drudgery, mindless boring endless duties to perform! OH GOD! ... Will it ever end? ... NO! Well, not "NO", "yes". Yes, when you are DEAD. BUT THEN IT WILL BE TOO LATE! The "THINGS" will have done their work and eaten a HUGE part of my precious life! WORK ... there it is, the word. Work is a CANCER! I, being of unsound mind and decrepit age, find myself frozen with fear at the prospect of these menial duties. Any and all forms of work makes me want to retch and VOMIT! According to the Catholics I grew up with, punishment for our sins has doomed us all to "WORK BY THE SWEAT OF YOUR BROW!". I assume that means that before this punishment we were creatures free from the burdens of this mortal coil ... Dream mind beings able to float freely and OH, so clearly and cleanly through an Eden Ether Dimension but then suddenly, CRASH!, we are all turned into blobular piles of sticking flesh who must lurch about, leaving trails of dead skin, fecal matter, urine and other rotting compounds in our smoldering wakes. Our leavings pile into gigantic smelly dust bunnies and lakes of boiling nocuous scum! THIS IS OUR LEGACY OF FILTH! THIS IS THE CURSE OF ALL CURSES! We must "DEAL" with our environment! There must be a GOD because only a GOD could devise such an ingenious curse! And to add insult to this injury, we must clean it all up! Because if we don't we will wallow in our own shit like pigs and die of self-consumption! BURN! burning up time and energy making the things we want to happen, happen! I'm at the store; Since I am consumed by thoughts of death my thoughts provoke me to think, "If I waste all this time waiting in line at the checkout counter while the, ( X=person ), in front of me articulates (his/her/its) collection of coupons, what will I have accomplished? What am I doing here? Is my life is to be consumed by a prison of "compulsory functionality"!? WHY MUST I BE FORCED TO LIFT MY FEET TO WALK!?!? WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS???! The IMPORTANT things, the ONLY things that make me worth a shit, grow cobwebs as I mop hallways that lead to my DEATH! Perhaps to you this all sounds like much 'A-Doo' about nothing, a silly complaint. More whining and complaining from Connett! ... Well, yes. Since I have recently started to immerge from the drug addled cocoon spun around me these past many months, I have again begun to see the world. It is the SAME ONE I LEFT! I should probably continue the medication prescribed my doctor, but NO THANKS DOC, that is even WORSE! I refuse to make myself even more stupid than I already am! So now, again, my eyes have opened and I see the HORROR! No more can I float in a cloud of complacency. Now I must live again, possibly for the LAST TIME! So, who cares ? Are you "OK" with creeping around on all twos ? Are you "OK" with doing all this "STUFF", this 'WORK" that must be done, but you would really rather NOT do any of ? How would you feel if you had only a few months or a year to live ? How important would those minutes in the grocery line feel to you then? Most of you that read this think that you are immortal. I don’t mean literally. Most of you just don’t have the concept of death yet. You are young. It is fleeting ... GRAB IT AND HOLD IT CUZ IT'S GONNA SLIP RIGHT THROUGH YOUR FINGERS! You have yet to watch your friends begin to die around you. I have come to an age where there is death, dieing and the sorrow and pain that comes with these things all around me. The obvious truth is none of us has any idea when death will visit. The sooner you figure out that your time is precious, the better. For me, writing this down is important. Not only as catharsis, but as a duty. If I can persuade one person that time is a precious commodity, or even get you to think about it, my time has not been wasted. That’s what this is about, wasting time. You, who fritter away the hours; You think you are simply resting. The better to act when the time comes, or for no reason. And soon you find yourself powerless to ever do anything again. But is your time precious ? Do you do anything that justifies your existence ? Do you give a shit? Is it enough that you survive day to day, contributing only your foul leavings to mark this world? It’s not your fault you were born, right? So what the fuck do you owe this stinking planet? NOTHING ? It may be some obsolete conditioned mind reflex that compels me to feel I must contribute. Is my art a contribution, or just a mental masturbation? Is it important to see through the eyes of an artist or is art as meaningless as taking a crap? ... A valid question. I know that there are many people, perhaps even MOST people, who don’t give a shit about anything. All they care about is their own personal comfort in this time immediate. And if they step on someone else to get where they want to be, so be it. THEY DON'T CARE! Do you care? Is there Evil? Is there good? Is there a God or a Devil? If you truly believe that death is simply the dark non-existence of nothingness, then why do ANY THING in this world for ANY reason? Those who believe in nothing are truly free to do what they will. The only obstruction to any goal to a true "nonbeliever" are those more powerful than themselves, and only if those powerful ones are in their way. You know, like the COPS! … but I digress. If you have read this far, you may find the following of interest. The other day I received a letter from an old friend who is dying. Have not spoken to her for over 10 years. Below is part of it, and my response.
... her letter ...
John said you wanted to email me...that's cool. I ... my response ... It seems to me that if anyone owes anyone any apologies, it would be me owing you one, not the other way around. I think the real truth is that neither one of us owes the other an apology. We were just who we were then. The world is full of blind numb people full of the potential to be more if only they would find a reason to sit down and ponder their lives. At the time you and I met and became friends, we were still, (I should speak for myself and not make assumptions about you, please forgive the liberties I take), we were still seeing life as something to take rather than to give. I know in my case the word “selfish” applies. I thought of myself as an honorable man, but now I look back and I see that I was not. I hope that I am a better man now. However, being honorable is a difficult thing to be in the world we live in. The opportunities are there, but everything has a price. Money must be made and more times then not the things in life which are really important are sold in favor of comfort in the time immediate, and a false feeling of security. Even at this moment I sit here writing to you using stolen moments. These moments have already been sold and as each one passes I can feel it go like drops of water through my cupped fingers. I try to capture them, but cannot. No one can. That’s why I paint I suppose. Also, I paint because what I say in my artwork is mostly truthful, (mostly) It’s as about as honest as I can get. And as I get older, honesty about myself seems more important. When I knew you, it was more about self aggrandizement, an “ego trip”. I can capture moments in time by painting them, trapping them on the paper or canvas. The truth is I am afraid of death. I don’t know what it holds. That is one motivation I have for creating my art. I believe I will live on through the paintings. I want to paint more and more because I feel that If the paintings say enough, if the images are strong and of vital interest, they will live on after me. In that way I will gain a form of immortality. Is that perverse? It seems like it is however, I’m also able to teach people something through my works. That “something” is simply to think. To stimulate thinking in ways that are not the “norm”. Is that important? I think it is. I think that people should try to see things in ways foreign to them. Otherwise, the senses begin to shut down. People should be challenged so that they can continue to grow intellectually and emotionally. That’s something useful I can do. In my mind, that justifies my existence. Going
to some shitty job working to pay the fucking rent is harder and harder
for me, but yet … money must be made. So. I also try to sell
my art, and I have reached some limited success in that. It’s
difficult to sell what I make. The “truth”, (even the
truth as I see it in my limited sphere of existence), is a hard sell
in this world. I
will try not to be foolish in the years I have left to live. With
every death of a friend or a family member, I see my own mortality
more clearly. I do not take my life for granted, not as I did when
we knew each other. It’s hard not to be a fool as it seems to
come naturally to me … but I will keep trying. COMMENT
ON 04/19/04 WEBLOG ENTRY VIEW COMMENTS ON 04/19/04 WEBLOG ENTRY (1)
Click the image or HERE to see a larger version.
(click image to see large version) BAGGED! This drawing represents the frustrations of being repressed. BAGGED is symbolic of being forced to conform. The feeling of being BAGGED is the feeling of aggravation caused when you realize the hypocrisy of YOUR obedience to rules of a system that serves the many, but NOT NECESSARILY YOU! Systemized BAGGING suppresses the growth of the individual, YOU. Being BAGGED is having NO CHOICE. More accurately, you are tricked into BELIEVING that you have no FREEDOM TO CHOOSE. The BAG represents societies manacles. You’re insidiously and systematically painted into a corner, you are BAGGED! YOU HAVE BEEN BAGGED the first time you compromise your honor. You "copped out." You went against your convictions. You betrayed your idealism. You chose "THE BAG" over the consequences of standing up for what you believe. Mainstream Culture CONDITIONS US TO DO THIS, to COMPLY. It is the HIVE MENTALITY which teaches us that any means which will benefit the many, EVEN at the cost of the individual, is justifiable. WHEN YOU BUY INTO THAT, YOU BEGIN TO LOOSE YOUR INDIVIDUALISM. YOU BEGIN TO LOOSE YOUR IDENTITY … YOU ARE BEING BAGGED! We are BAGGED BY OUR OBLIGATIONS TO CONFORM TO THE DEMANDS OF OUR CULTURE. We are unable to control everyday situations which ought to be simple IF we were to base our decisions on a simple code of honesty, ethics and honor. BUT INSTEAD we are tricked into weaving a tangled web of deceits. We give in to the pressure of the BAGGERS, and we end up getting BAGGED! If we refuse to YIELD to the demands of society, we will get BAGGED BY THE AUTHORITIES! Do YOU ever feel BAGGED? If you are conscious, and have a conscience, you know what it is to be herded into "THE BAG." CONFORMITY IS IN THE BAG If you lose who you are through conformity, you may never find yourself again. The further and deeper you allow yourself to sink into the reality that is prepared for you by THEM* ... Prepared and dished out on Television, Radio, Movies, the 6 O’clock World Wide Propaganda, the less there is left of YOU. It’s easy to give in, EVERYBODY wants you to conform, to be a TEAM PLAYER. ONE OF THE GUYS, OR ONE OF THE GIRLS, OR ONE OF THE GANG. BUT WHO ARE YOU WHEN THEY ALL GO HOME AND YOU ARE ALONE? Are you YOU, or are you? Are you sure that you have not become what they invented for you to be? Have you been … BAGGED?! ARE YOU IN THE BAG? THEIR BAG?! A BAG OF CRAP FED TO YOU WITH A SILVER SPOON WHILE YOU WATCH STAR SEARCH AND WISH YOU WERE A STAR TOO!
BEING BAGGED and BAGGING IS SOMETHING THAT HAPPENS EVERY DAY in a
civilization of conditioned conformity. AND NOW YOU ARE BAGGED AND READY TO PERFORM THE DUTIES DICTATED BY YOUR MASTERS! *And who are "THEY" you ask? WHO HAS PLACED THIS BAG OVER OUR HEADS, BOUND OUR ARMS AND SILENCED OUR MOUTHS? WHO IS IT THAT CONTROLS OUR VERY THOUGHTS? WHO ARE THE CREATORS OF THESE BAGS IN WHICH WE ARE BAGGED? To find out the answer to this question … you must either; A., DOWNLOAD A COPY OF THIS IMAGE for FREE. (click here), or B., BUY an extremely great looking 17" X 22" PRINT FOR $25.00, SIGNED and DATED by R.S. Connett (click here) ... (sorry, the original was sold, BUMMER!) Then, you must take this image home, place it in a prominent position and stare at it until the TRUTH IS REVEALED TO YOU! It may take many hours for you to understand THE SECRET OF THE BAG. However, I guarantee, if you sit alone and stare at this piece of art long enough, you WILL understand what it is to be BAGGED!
Chaos
is all about me, unrelentingly hassling and haranguing. The phone
won't stop ringing! All the news is bad news. All my e-mail is spam,
and I am a pawn of the spammers. The fools and dolts around me have
nothing worthwhile to say, but they won't stop talking! No rest. No
break. No safe haven or harbor. I am a prisoner of this world that
I have created. The hours are made of non-stop pandemonium. Twirling
madness, the air is filled with nails, shards of broken glass and
shit, screamingly faster speeding encircling me, orbiting me and cutting
as it all twirls about me, faster and faster and FASTER! There is
nowhere to hide, nowhere to go. Nowhere to avoid the onslaught of
traumas. My wounds have no time to heal before fresh ones are cut
or hammered into and onto me. I am covered with filth and blood. I
am the great, great, great grandfather of a scab. I am damaged beyond
repair. I will NEVER be the same again. My ears are roaring with the
screaming voices of the fools and idiots that control my life. I must
get down on my bloody knees and pay homage to these idiotic devils.
I'm the bloody puppet, and morons yank my strings to bring themselves
infantile pleasures. I am their slave, their bitch, their hostage.
In every way they are my inferiors, yet they control me. Each move
I make, or sound I utter creates ripples in time and space from which
are conceived colorless and bodiless embryos. Newborn devils. Newborn
fools begot by the fools who are born of the fools who devour my time,
my blood, sweat and my tears. Victimized by the unending chain of
events, unstoppable negative energy twirling around my make believe
existence, as though I am in the eye of a cyclone of this idiotic
disorder! A mirage of relief waits in a bottle or in a crushed pill,
a temporary hiding place that abruptly dissolves and melts away. Then
the onslaught begins anew. All I can do is dream of vengeance. I dream
of the day when I will cut the strings and avenge theses crimes against
me. I pray to whoever will answer my prayers that this vengeance shall
be realized! My vengeance will be the sweetest vengeance that I could
possibly have … Freedom from these things called people. These are my days … This is an apt description of my time. This time. RIGHT NOW. 04/19/03 @ 3:23 PM PDT.
In the last month I have begun to sell my artwork on EBAY. At first I just auctioned my prints, discounting them a few dollars. Then I began selling original drawings. I've been selling original drawings now for two weeks. Some are little more than sketches on scratch paper, but I sell them cheap, as low as $16.00. Some people like to have original art when they can afford it. So, hey, that's cool right? Apparently some people who have a problem with me selling my art on EBAY and write to tell me i'm "SELLING OUT". Some asshole even made an entry in my guestbook and signed my name, (misspelling it ); Hi,
I am a washed up drug addict who has fallen through every hole of
failure that exists. I sell my shitty artwork on E-bay, and nobody
ever bids on it. I am one of the most terrible artists on the web,
and my opinions are actually quite boring. I need to find a job. Hey! I'm sick and tired of working at jobs I HATE! I've been doing that for 35 YEARS!!! If I can sell people art work and make enough money to pay my rent and keep some beer in my refrigerator, I'm gonna do it. Is that a COP-OUT!? a SELL-OUT!?! Who the hell wants to work? I DON'T! I'm a lazy bastard that would rather not get dressed or leave the house. I'm a misanthropic reclusive hermit who yearns to be a drunken shut-in. I would like to sit around my house watching TV, eating, drinking beer, popping pills and making money doing it. Hey!, Is that too much to ask?
And for those that would rather have a larger, full color rendition of one of my paintings - Check out my PRINT AUCTIONS. My prints KICK ASS! The colors are great and NOBODY has ever complained. If they did, I would just give them their money back! Check out my feedback from people who have bought my prints and originals - click here. CLICK HERE TO SEE ALL MY ART AUCTIONS I ALSO SELL ODDITIES FROM MY PERSONAL COLLECTION FROM TIME TO TIME. CLICK HERE Here is a letter that I received today asking me, ironically enough, what I thought about 'SELLING-OUT'. Read on to see my response; ------ The letter ------ Hi
Robert, ------ My reply ------ Sell-out - Someone who has betrayed a principal
NEW ARTISTS STATEMENT: CLICK HERE
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