The Abstract Art Gallery
Broken, confused writer Jack Thomas puts the images in his mind on display in this "Blog." He dives into personal experience and his observations of the world to share his take on morality, childhood trauma, creativity, relationships, sex, politics, religion, violence, reality and more. Using countless formats from narrative driven short stories, to poetry, to song lyrics and philosophical explanations.
Listening to the strings play alongside the keys. The melody is simple and elegant like a flower, but a subtle one, the calla lily. The wandering mind craves creativity. It energizes the body, floods the brain with endorphins in anticipation for artistry. The only way a mind drenched in madness calms itself.
By Jack Thomas
Read More...a single sentence. When I focus and understand the way I wish to be understood. When I’ve found a way to download all of my insecurities and fears into some visual discussion with myself.
When I can’t I face other structured words. Dig deep in search of the meaning, of what I can take back from that one sentence that’s haunted me, that’s still there waiting for my full attention. Waiting for me to arrive with an assured solution brought back from my endless searching, for me to say “I’ve got it!” and lead the way.
The problem I can’t seem to resolve is when I’ve found something useful and become intrigued. When words in unrelated work have value and are seen worth my mental space. I’m drawn away and I find that I dwell on this knowledge more than where my focus should rest.
The twisting and turning begins, and clever comments are added here and there, I say them out loud to assure my tongue trusts what my mind believes. Minutes turn to hours, hours to days, to weeks, to months, before I know it these words share all my efforts and have an entirely different meaning and purpose to the worth they should be assisting, but they’re valuable. They’re equal, but different.
But then I’m stuck again. Not knowing where to go is no excuse for inaction. I find more words, and learn more, and study more, and work harder. Before I know it, I’m surrounded by incomplete pieces running my life, consuming every second. There’s no room for other things in my life other than these words. The words get the game and play along, careful to not disrupt order, and this level of cooperation sucks me...
Read MoreIt’s pathological.
The total absence of divisiveness.
Undeniably a diseased illness. The surreal stillness of filth. Equilibrium is ideal if you can attain it, but regret maintains its chill. Down defenses and the manipulation is made obvious.
By now you’re thinking either this is a truly profound revelation or completely meaningless gibberish. Well, you’re right.
By Jack Thomas
Read More...Christian Jehovah and the Islamic Allah are both the same? What if Mohamed and Jesus were related? Or the same person? What if the strings from String Theory exist inside of the quantum fabric of Quantum Theory? What if they are both simply two possibilities inside of an infinite construct? What if that construct is simply one side of an endlessly reflected fractal? What if this fractal only exists as a projection from pure consciousness? Well, then those you disagree with are exactly the same thing, exactly the same person. The same consciousness.
If we simply took the time to improve who we are. If we took the time to open our minds and see the similarities between our arguments instead of the differences we’d be face with the undeniable fact of being more identical to our “enemy”. The ignorance leads to bliss when it means denying the reality that what we hate and what we love are different extremes of the same concepts.
We’ve learned to navigate using our emotions instead of rational judgement to the greatest of our objective ability. We are vastly underdeveloped as thinking creatures and have a long way to go before we understand all information as just more information instead of it being correct information and denying whatever we believe to be wrong.
We are the vast human failure. The ever sinking shit of the world. The cancer that eats our planet’s flesh, gradually poisoning its outside as we...
Read MoreWe give you the power, and the control. You are forced to lie one day, you know, “for the sake of the people.” It’s to protect them from unhappiness. For “the greater good.”
“This isn’t important information anyway. This means nothing to them other than meaningless concern.”
The second time happens because it worked the first time and this next problem is as bad if not worse.
“Maybe mass hysteria isn’t the best idea. It’ll remain secret until we know for sure.”
The next lie is to cover the time you slipped and said too much. Now to not lose the trust of the people you must maintain the big lie. The people must not be confused into labeling you a liar. They might give the power to a true liar. They’ll give it to someone like who they believe you are. They can’t tell the difference. Because you served as the final example of what it takes to lead the people. Lies are what they know. Some still believe you are honorable and do things in their interests....
By Jack Thomas
Read More...Saying the same thing, though. We’re all thinking in formatted thought, bought by the money at the top, and dropped by our foolish hands as we say “we’ve got this”, telling our brothers to piss off and go fuck themselves. Shelf themselves, to never be themselves, because we don’t agree with their honestly, because we fail to stand apart, and we know we stand in line, and we know we fear whatever is outside the next time we step out of it. We fear what’s outside the next time we look through window and what we see on the other side lives or behaves differently.
Deception is the easy part. Apart from the itty bitty pity fit into lazy sitting shit, it’s all manipulation. A nation under stress, or a stressfully underdog nation. Either way, patience isn’t the next step. Waiting is the path to regret.
Double tap the dead body and find yourself behind steel bars of your own choosing.
It’s no longer random. It’s not unplanned. Your reaction was decided by the greats. It was planned by the marriage of the true minds. The leaders you stand against used your ignorance to force you to stand against them, so the followers who disagree line up behind him. Your hate fuels your misery.
As a curious madman said briefly, randomly, but strategically, “it’s choreographed but made to look spontaneous.” Planned with a random appearance to throw off the pattern...
Read MoreI don’t believe in writer’s block. The thought of there being nothing to write or knowing there is but being unable to find it is irrational to me. As a writer there isn’t anything not worth writing about.
Writing is about learning how to tell a story, even if it seems like the wrong one to tell. The craft comes into play the most when the story isn’t inherently a good one. The writer then brings out the good of the story.
If they don’t find the story they dig inside themselves and write of the search for it. They’re faced with the obligation to learn how to share the experience.
Writer’s block can’t be real if you can write about writer’s block. It simply can’t.
It’s no more than a fictional concept.
Being a writer only happens through the act of writing.
By Jack Thomas
Read MoreBehind closed eyes await demented demons.
Silver tongue slivers of toxic tasteless ideals.
Intoxicated doses of fantasies provoked by the previous night’s regrets.
Self-medicated doses of ‘fuck it’ right to the veins.
It’s how to destroy loathe of the mirror.
But once the body is buried, it doesn’t matter how much “fuck it” is thrown on it.
The rate of decomposition does not matter, it’ll always return.
Nightmares do not only occur when asleep.
And no life is a paradise.
Most are tragedies.
Turning away from the mirror comes easy if you see your reflection each time you blink.
By Jack Thomas
Read MoreThe smiles we paint over our frowns come with no resolve or solution.
No resolution can evolve.
The profusions of happiness dissolves.
Delusions of psychological intrusions call out.
Protrusions of our guilty disillusions remain stout.
Illusive contracting exclusive retracting commenting static tastelessly banter.
Faceless chatter that matters not, present incentive included.
Diluted flavors ask for exclusive favors of secluded labors.
Whores of the day spray chain-linked hatred.
Whores of today say thick dick lies to fit dickless cries of those unwilling to try.
A leader to feed the flies swarming in tears, unable to die.
Fearful, but unable to say goodbye.
A tempting stand stands stable under the table, hiding the truth.
Fueled by bullshit and the misconception of false representation.
A nation of fools, drooling in unison because it’s cool.
Because school doesn’t teach how to paddle in the pool.
The drowning search for oxygen starts again.
By Jack Thomas
Read MoreAnother year for people to start off with a million resolutions they’ll forget about a week from the 1st. Their promises to themselves will go uncomplete as they continue life as exactly the same person they were the year before. Ritualized self-deceit. It’s like Christmas except there we lie to children.
By Jack Thomas
Read More
...So your heart stops beating, you get buried. Worms eat you. Their bodies use you as nutrients to maintain itself, thus you become many. You’ve become, a bunch of worms.
Okay, so the worms will eventually cease themselves, get eaten by birds, fish or rot away. Then you’ve become the soil or ocean bacteria. You’re still around. Where did the nonexistence part occur?
Maybe I’m being too literal. What if it’s meant in spirit? In that case you either go to hell or heaven right? Reincarnation? Aliens take your life energy back to their universe? You stay in limbo? But you continue to exist in this form.
What of consciousness? You move to the next dimension? The previous dimension? A higher plain of awareness? The all? Back to the unification of the global consciousness before collapsing down to a different perspective? This is all still happening, it’s not nonexistence. If it all plunges into darkness, then you exist in darkness. And whatever consciousness exists to perceive this darkness, or lack of the all, will project a universe within itself because perception still occurs...
Read MoreIt’s a strange feeling when you want to write, but have no idea what. To stare at the blank page, the blinking cursor. Although there are no words, there is no quitting either. There is no reason to stop staring at the blank page because the writer knows...
By Jack Thomas
Read MoreEach season comes with some reason.
Freezing to please the diseased isn’t pleasing.
The cease of pleas and pleads of deeds drops seeds of greed.
Fleets of fleas, armies with feats like cheats run the streets.
The weather withers whether we batter those that rather be bitter.
The heat of anger and the standard banter bank the slanted rant.
Chaos and madness face-off for status.
For control the dice rolls.
Loopholes on payrolls avoid truths told under no paid tolls.
Over the shoulder looks show the older hooks put there by the bold, the crook.
The boss places taste lost in costless fake tossed process, all nonsense.
Flimsy flattered finished frozen frosting finally falls free.
Eyes reject incoming lies and far information tries to reach and enlighten, make wise.
We rise and together avoid our demise disguised as a prize.
By Jack Thomas
Read MoreI feel trapped. A self-made prison cell, stuck in hell. An inferno composed of doubts and hopelessness.
A place of misery where all I know is my addiction. All I know is the itch is present and I have to scratch it. I can’t help myself, I can’t control myself. No one can pull me out of this place.
It’s torture. It feels like losing sanity. Losing logic and reason.
The people around me are slowly pushed away by my selfish behavior. I’m too weak to fight this desire, but I need my fix, I need it so bad. I can’t think without it, I can’t exist without it.
My hands are red, tired, beaten up. My fingers hurt. It’s killing me. My mind is breaking apart and I struggle to so much as define what’s real from what’s not.
But nothing else matters, no one matters, all I see, all I think of is this fix.
Desperation fuels me, gives me energy to search and fill the emptiness, kill off what’s left of me. The desperation fuels me to leave who I am written in stone. To bleed me onto solid rock, to draw the hieroglyphs of my psyche on any canvas for all eyes to see.
The ache that I’ll end up alone, lonely, and discarded from...
It’s pleasant to not be alone in my bed.
Her heartbeat keeps me warm.
I’m clear minded and with purpose when I’m with her.
We lay there, pillow under my head, her head on my chest, and we wait.
No thought other than how her arm feels across my chest.
I can feel her smile, relax, be happy.
That’s enough for me.
That’s really all it takes.
If I can keep her this way, if she can be this person forever, and this moment never ends, it just keeps going and going… I’ll be happy.
I’ll be fine.
If I can find the formula and assure we stay like this, in this state, this mindset, I’ll know for sure I’ll be happy.
Only if she is.
Whatever it takes.
Is it love? Perhaps.
By Jack Thomas
Read MoreTo the masses protesting—I regret to inform you: there’s nothing you can do.
Donald Trump is president. We live in a weird moment in history.
One day, we’ll tell our grandkids that a reality TV star ran the country.
But hey—good news!
You don’t have to worry.
He can’t actually do most of the shit he promised.
Fire all his workers? He’d go broke….
By Jack Thomas
Read MoreThe art is simple. It’s power.
A game of chess, but the pieces breathe. Pawns with pulses.
We fight because we’re told there’s something greater.
Invent a villain. Call them the wolf.
Sharpen the pitchforks. Light the torches.
It’s open season.
The suits don’t speak.
And if they do, don’t expect truth.
By Jack Thomas
...less confident in the story because of the flaws found while reading, I can’t think of repairs for my hopeful masterpiece.
The laptop closes and I move onto the next day. Again, I do the meaningless routines of daily life, speak to people I hate, wander the streets in hopes of inspiration. I light my surroundings ablaze and beg the flame for inspiration. Perhaps it’ll jog something in my memory. I land in front of the laptop and the fumes do their job well, not the one I anticipated, but, you know, clouding things up. Now I can’t focus, but I’ve committed to the writing time and I plan to sit here and write until I’ve completed my commitment, regardless of whether or not something useful, pointless or anything at all lands on the page.
This cycle of aimless wandering goes on for days before they mutate into weeks and evolve into months. Nine to be exact. Nine months of this torturous aimless, uncertain wander through life, through the words, through the pages. Somewhere down the line I turned the word count off until I was confident the story was told. I finally turn it back on and discover the word count...
