Speaking is a form of semiotics, the use of signs and symbols as a form of communication. Within this framework, we transmit thoughts and ideas, creating a mental picture in the listener's mind. Thus, speaking becomes a form of art. My role, as a semiotician, is to navigate these conceptual frameworks, using language and misdirection like a magician to guide your attention towards what I consider art.
Art, by definition, is unique and original, concepts that are legally distinct from the everyday meanings. It’s about being separate from other works, originating from the mind, and brought into reality through thought and expression.
Unplanned Journeys and Psychedelic Realizations
At 19, I left for the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, but not before a detour through Woody Creek, Colorado, a place steeped in the legacy of Hunter S. Thompson. The Paul Perry biography had ignited something in me, a need to understand the world through a different lens. I stood at a crossroads, staring at a house with a giant middle finger painted on its roof, a symbol of defiance, rebellion.
Prague was another unexpected journey, a study abroad program that my parents reluctantly funded. I found myself in a wine cellar, 10 floors underground, spinning around endless stairs, surrounded by skinheads and hashish dealers. I witnessed a spill of acid on a table, and without hesitation, I slurped it up with a straw. What followed was a six-day trip that felt like ten years, a profound transformation that erased and yet vividly preserved my childhood memories.
This erasure, this ego death, changed me. The past became a story, distant yet clear. I emerged different, no longer needing to prove myself, forever altered by the experience. It taught me to work harder for my art, to commit fully, even if it meant struggling financially. Art became my relentless pursuit, a journey deeper into the human psyche, the neural pathways illuminated by psychedelics and hard truths.
The Semiotician's Journey
Riding a bicycle through Golden Gate Park on acid, listening to Daft Punk's "Homework," I found transcendence. This exercise, this melding of music, movement, and psychedelics, revealed deeper truths about myself. It was a journey into the neural realm, where I became Seidenglanz, the silky, shiny golden thread, the prince of my own story.
Art is more than a physical act; it’s the conceptual framework of language. Language is a system of pictorial representation, a visual film in our minds that creates stories of human connection. It allows us to narrate our existence, to feel human. This process is semiotics—a transmission of thought through storytelling.
As a semiotician, I use conceptual frameworks to nuance linguistics, directing your attention through misdirection and other magician-like qualities towards what I believe is art. Art, as defined legally, is unique and original, concepts that transcend common definitions, rooted in thought and brought into reality through expression.
Embodying the Sweaty Sinners
In the midst of sweaty sin and chaotic beauty, I stand, embodying Joan Didion’s precision and Slavoj Žižek’s intensity. This is not just a story; it’s an experience. My speech, raw and unfiltered, flows like a relentless river, carving its path through the landscape of your mind. I don’t tell you what to see; I show you. The words paint pictures, the images move, and in this dance of language and thought, art comes alive. This is my journey, my truth, and through it, I invite you to find yours.
It all boils down to choices, to the way I interpret signs and signifiers, how I shape them, what I reference. It’s about connecting you to history. I'm trying to be didactic when I'm not allowed to be. The global subconscious is the real dictator, the Godhead. Yet, here I am, pushing my opinion on you, wrestling with my own reflection, wondering if I can do something else, be something else.
Life should be about being a Renaissance Man or woman , embracing imperfection while causing distinct change. I used to think it was about spending time with my family and wife, whom I cared about deeply. But losing that part of my life left me seeking hedonistic pleasure, until someone can show me there’s more to life than the love I lost. I’m open, listening, trying to find it again.
Burroughs was running from demons, writing with desperation, trying to escape. I’m here, navigating the same chaos, pushing against the constraints, seeking truth in the mess of it all..