Art exists for all. Art should be available to all. Art is a basic human right. Art is an expression of the shape we live in. Art reflects the state (of mind) that creates it. Art stamps our existence on the mindscape of our world. Art is a territorial act. Art asserts our dominance over the natural world. Art is the survival-act of the leisured world. Art insists that I exist. My art matters to me and your art matters to you. You are your own most important audience. Art scribbles patterns onto a chaotic world. Art is the shapes the eye of the perciever sees in tea-leaves, shadows, reflections in moving water. Art lives in the eye of the perciever and dies in the hands of the creator. Art hurts me more than it hurts you. Art burns pain into light. Art is surgery for the soul. Art is an act of aggression against the psychospere of the world. Art bites. Art shreds. Art presses an eager tongue into the private parts of your mind. Art remembers what you have forgotten. Art fills in the gaps in your memory. Art sees you through the frost on your windows. You can't hide from art. Art catches your eye across a crowded room. Art loves you with the sick devotion of a stalker. Art follows you home at night. Art keeps trying to get your attention. Art tracks you down and corners you. Art is the enemy. Art stops you getting on with life. Art makes unrealistic demands. Art insists on heaven, true love, sunshine, everything. Art eats the mind. Art opens the ground under your feet and the sky over your head. Art hates you. Art builds your mind around you. Art holds your hand and points to giraffes and fire-engines. Art closes your eyes and only shows you itself. Art fucks you up and means it. Art separates you from your life. Art cuts you up. Art reassembles you. Art doesn't care where the pieces end up. Art doesn't care about you. Art exists separately from you. Art opens its legs for strangers and tells you mockingly what it was like for them. Each act of art murders a piece of yourself. Art is a social disease. Art is infectious. Art is the cancer of personality. Art (de)rides on the sicknesses of society and reinfects you with the pain of life. Art is pointless.