A violent rise of energy is just the ideal antagonist to being stuck. That creative itch that nags at you for a lifetime becomes a rash easily enough when you cannot satisfy it with an outlet. The fucking midwest is like a stretcher, fastening your limbs for protection while at the same time restraining you from saving yourself. Art, in the middle of the United States, consists of a framed picture of a barn in the wintertime. Art, is a sketch of fruit next to a bowl purchased at Marshall Fields in the fifties. Art is a mix of squares in a quilt pattern, which more importantly has a practical use in the winter.
Practical is not something many Art Schools teach. Practicality is almost the opposite of Art, if you were to simply the term to expressionism. Yet here, in the midwest, it’s practical that is celebrated, and not the opposite. That’s why the racist attitude towards Mexicans does not exist here. People have no problem with Mexicans taking lower-income jobs, that’s practical. They just don’t understand why Mexicans won’t learn english (impractical).
Practical is the reason mid-life crises exist. Head-down, full ahead speed at the most practical life is a great way to miss out on real experience. Straight through college, data-entry jobs, kids and a house, taxes, death. Not the ideal list of exciting life-choices. Yet the people of the midwest launch themselves towards these goals as if they were the bees knees…that phrase brought to you by the midwest. Then in the middle of their lives, it’s always the same “Oh Shit, what have I been doing?” It’s time to look back on their lives and wonder why they were so practical. Then they buy a car that makes their dicks feel bigger…
Practicality breaks the spirit and promotes the bored. It puts helmets on our football players. It puts the rubber in sex. It’s the reason we haven’t got jet-packs.
Jet packs. I’ll rest my case here.
So, Practicality, fuck it.
