Why do we even care about the things we do?
A very good friend of mine posed the question; why are fireworks beautiful? They don’t last very long, they fade, they die.
I said, in philosophical-nose-in-the air-fashion, that we are like fireworks. In the grand scheme of things, we spark, we die, and the world moves on.
And he said, no, we don’t really die.
And I said, yes we do, it totally happens.
And he said, well, actually aren’t you made up of things that don’t die? Stardust, dirt, cucumbers, rain, memes, etc.?
And I said, that sounds like a video game I used to play.
And he smiled and said nothing.
And I thought about it.
So why do we fight for political change? Why do we work so hard? Why don’t we simply accept our lot and drink and fuck and drink and sleep and wait for death? I could say “Because its moral! Its the right thing to do! We need to change the world!”
(I’m afraid of being so totally moralistic that I become dogmatic.)
Yesterday we made a mural:
Maybe its already gone.
But in the painting are represented things that exist; children playing, Keiko Fujimori, flowers, politicians, Jorge Miyagui. And now the painting exists. And everyone who made it has a picture of it. And the memory.
And that memory will go on to do other things.
One person might keep painting; their painting might repulse someone who writes an article, which is read by a man on the bus, who while reading bumps into a woman, who rebukes him and suddenly finds an inner strength within herself, who later goes on to lead a non-profit, which perhaps provides assistence to a small boy, who grows up to cure cancer. I don’t know.
This is all glass-half-full-smile-talk.
I don’t care.
So perhaps fireworks aren’t just there for 30 seconds. I don’t know.
Art and Politics aren’t useless. Struggle works.