"The reason Milton wrote in fetters when he wrote of
Angels & God, and at liberty when he wrote of
Devils & Hell, is because he was a true Poet
and of the Devil's party without knowing it."
William Blake

Was Lot's wife a songwriter?  Was she looking back over her shoulder at the glistening gates of Pandemonium, as they were consumed by flames?  Was she mourning the loss of her personal library of tuneful, if infernal observations?  Did she forget to pack her vintage Telecaster?  Was there an audience in Sodom, a great horde of unrepentant degenerants for whose bad decisions she provided a soundtrack, and which appreciated her work?  Was she pining for the feeling of soaring with her voice on burning wings?  Or did she simply want to sing her beautiful lullabies to hell, one more time before she left?

Is that why she was judged?

"Remember Lot's wife."
Luke 17:32

I was very happy to make the "Untitled Lovers" short-film video, because it knocked "I'm So Beautiful" off the top of the list of videos on my YT channel.  I like the video for "I'm So Beautiful" very much, and wouldn't have posted (or finished) it if I didn't.  But on the surface, it looks bad.  What if "I'm so beautiful" is the last thing I'm able to say in this life?  Am I willing to die on the hill of "I'm so beautiful?"  Even if, among other things, the title is a snide mockery of narcissistic people who believe the world hates them for being beautiful (whether it's true or not), it doesn't look good on the surface.  I'm so beautiful? 

What a douchebag.

Of course, "Untitled Lovers" is full of erotic, if not pornographic, poetry, and while I think both songs are beautiful (whether the title declares it or not), I wouldn't want the sentiments they contain spraypainted on my tombstone, or chiseled into the side of a freight train.  No epitaph in any form.  "She's horny and I'm beautiful."  Not a timeless sentiment.

Yaknow?

So I made the video for "Lay Low" last night, another highlight from my discography, and it turns out the sentiments it contains are even worse.  "Worse" meaning, more horrible.  Not bad in an artistic sense, and not poorly done or disingenuous.  But simply, fundamentally horrible.  Meaning horrific.  Terrible.  As in "terror-able."  Horrible.  Horror-able.  Able to be horrored.

Of course, there is a difference in slashing through the flaming vines in your heart with a machete made of drugs and bad relationships, and reveling in the vines themselves, wallowing in the fire.  It's not the same thing.  I've written about the differences before.  But still it bothers me.  I look back at the flaming, destroyed city of my discography, drowning in brimstone, and I think about what William Blake said about Milton in The Marriage of Heaven & Hell, and am unsettled by the thought.  Am I "of the devil's party without knowing it?"  God forbid.

It's easier when you realize that statement applies to everybody, whether they're true poets or not.  The world is the devil's party.  That's the reason for the conflict.  The cheating, death, and lust.  The aggressive drunken violence.  The dead birds scattered in the parking lot.  It wasn't God's idea, to make the world a living nightmare.  We brought it on ourselves.

"The lust of the goat is the bounty of God."
Proverbs of Hell

I couldn't agree less.  How about, "the presumptuousness of the poet is the foolishness of hell."  You may attribute that line to the Proverbs of Smog.  The wisdom of the Proverbs of Smog is the wisdom of stupidity itself.

And I have the scars to prove it.

While Blake's Proverbs of Hell contains frayed newspaper clippings of undeniable wisdom, such as the observation that "excess of sorrow laughs; excess of joy weeps," it is in fact a great example of why poetry, art, and writing are NOT divine acts worthy of worship or reverent devotion.  It's just some things some guy once said.  Even if the poet or the artist was brilliant, his or her output is still just the birdcage liner for the eagles of eternity that, hopefully, never spend any time in the forgotten cage of yesterday's mistakes anyway.  The eagles, perhaps, that "never lost so much time, as when [they] submitted to learn of the crow."

Who's to say that Blake is not the crow?

Him, probably.  And English teachers.

And people who idolize the arts.

All the more reason to disregard him, throw off the shackles of outer darkness from your own heart, and walk away.  Remember Lot's wife, don't look back, and begin divorce proceedings with hell, with the devil's party, now.  Even if you were never a believer in the party.  Even if your work is stained with the carnage from fighting your way out of the fire.  Even if that carnage stands as a warning to others, not to make their beds in hell.  You don't owe them an apology, and you don't have to pretend there's anything holy about denying the reality of your past, or that Proverbs 25:20 doesn't apply to "people for whom the outer darkness lies within," but now that you're out of the path of destruction, don't look back.

God forbid, people might actually get the idea that you believe in it.

See you in the air,