The idols of our self-assurance are made of the bones of dead ideas and tightened by the skin of irrationality. Kneeling before it, we mumble mantras in “a defense of custom” as Tom Paine highlighted. Sharp, new, edged weapons of reason must not touch the flammable wooden god before whom we bow. His shadow falls over us and we defend him, even while the light swings and his shadow flies away. The acquisition of knowledge and the usage of cool reason is almost unheard of to many – instead of embracing the open landscape, leading into unknown avenues in their own imagination, most would cling to the idol, who is tethered by fraying ropes to their own fading dreams.
Matters of taste certainly are vexing when one is forced to endure the debased taste of others, who claim higher authority on matters which stir ones subjective creativity. Someone who claims such a salient title is much like the man who pours oil into lanterns but fails, constantly, to light it – thus he misses the entire point of such an endeavour. The sound of a snapped matchstick follows his footsteps, as he empties boxes in a failed attempt to put wood to flame. Music matters no more than other ART. Tears can be raised from frozen veins to leak down the wooden cheeks of any beast, with the right chords of Bach, Rachmaninov, or Metallica. The heart itself is unseen and thus subjected to an onslaught of prerequisite knowledge which are jumbled keys in a pot, poured over ones head after facing a locked door. It will click, it will turn and suddenly the light of beauty will wash over. There is no requirement to unlock the door, only that the chord and the key are found, that the mind is willing and all claims to “knowledge of beauty” be positioned alongside astrology, alchemy and other quackery.
Those who say “life is beautiful” are as fearful as those men who admire a lovely woman from afar, whilst music plays and the dance floor is clear. Instead, it is necessary to take her by the hand, lead her deftly on to the floor, surround yourself with the silence of an audience, and prepare a dance toward an unknowable end. This is the only way to lead ones life and it should serve to remind us that other suitors would sooner have our life in their hands, rather than see it foisted pragmatically within our own.