Art is what you make of it

Not a single spill of sweat was shed that day, only empty words spat out from their uninspired devising.

'We'll get across,' said the four-eyed curly from behind. 'Let's just do our best and we shall push through as usual.'

And as usual, she was despicably worthless in my eyes. Her challenging eyes looked at everyone with strong intent to push her convictions notwithstanding theirs aside. She was selfish as fuck and dumb as a mule. She always spoke highly of feedbacks, do this and do that, that works and this does not, but unbeknownst even to her is that she herself is imprisoned in her own robust mockery she calls flesh. To me it is but chicken stuffed with too much jelly and the blob now struggles to burst forth from her gastric balloon. She speaks with a voice resembling to that of a frightful duck, opposite of shrill and confident, and moves like a penguin deprived of the will to bend the hip and pelvic regions. She loves relaxing while standing up resting her arms on the side of her abdomen, obviously because it was cold and flabby and it made sense since it was the only place in her entire form that her range of motion was most likely uncompromised.

This pathetic excuse for a woman stood still while noticing another woman colleague arriving on the doorstep still with her heavy garments intact. She was tardy yet again, not to mention her absence from the day before. Unlike the stout abomination before her she was anything but. This woman was indeed full of grace and charm, her breasts bosom underneath the sporty tights I saw as she unbuttons her furry sleeve, showing her pale complexion and long legs were alluring and majestic. Her talents evade even her own grasp, although it is highly evident she is aware of that potential. Her imperfections are what make her incredibly attractive attracting even someone like me who is not slightly ranked even in her league. She was younger despite having her countenance deceiving anyone with her highly mature ways of conversing. She was the kindest of all the bunch and would never allow anyone from that group to sway her humanistic reprieve. Contrary to the idiocy of the mule she was more than intellectually capable to handle her own sense of awareness to the understanding of everything that surrounds her. One could very well be surprised to see how amazingly smart she really is if given the opportunity to test her wits and comprehension. She may not be the prettiest of them all, her eyes bulge like blueberries at the most inopportune time, her teeth crooked from the sides to the next, and most of all she has a bloke living with her every single night (curses!), but she ranks highly amongst the chain of women befitting the imagery of the Madonna.

She came up close and listened closely to the discussion as the mule continually spoke as if on a high horse and begging to follow her every command, I could notice the female from beside me snoozing off in a second and quickly awakened by her own loud snoring. The others nodded to her repeatedly but I truly doubt if anyone has fully understood a word she uttered from her rubbish bin of a mouth.

'So that's it,' the mule concluded, thankfully, shrugging as if she herself was puzzled by her own suggestions. 'Let's just try to do it over again and see if something changes.'

Another woman steps forward. 'But you know, we could try something else if this is not working. We can't waste resources and time if this isn't leading anywhere. I mean, I like the idea but it's not as if it's perfect. It's still complicated no matter how many times we think about it.'

I would just like to add that this woman is arguably the most attractive within the group albeit slightly generic and borderline dull.

'I agree, but we need to make sure we keep it simple. We know they'll say "oh, this is so complicated!" but as long as we believe and like what we are proposing then there is no harm done,' said another lovely darling from the corner which I would like to introduce soon.

I figured I should already speak at that moment, people find uncanny yet paranoid ways of understanding my silence. I normally avoid getting involved in all of this since I find any of their suggestions highly irrelevant in the first place. Before getting that urge to speak I normally don't have a clue what to add to the discussion except already repeating what was already said except making it sound a bit better, at times vague. Sometimes I add things that may be out of place and adding confusion to what is already unresolved which leaves me all the more frustrated because everyone just spits away that suggestion without having to listen to everything and allowing me to finish.

The discussions and devising would go on for another hour or so and would keep on going for a week. None of it is really valuable to the understanding because everyone hardly asks for opinion except for a chosen few, and so the development remains stagnant unless one breaks away from the convention, usually my attempts are poor but the intention is there hoping someone catches attention. It is a recyclable convolution of rubbish that is only taken away when an outside element breaks into the party and establishes another rhythm to the group. There begins a moment and never ends, only adding more insult to the uninspired creativity of the same group battling out with each other over and over again trying to avoid comparison with an outside source at the same time taking in whatever it is that has been discovered not by their own volition but still to that of something foreign, thus hypocrites in their own right. Comeuppance and leverage is their sole weapon and the will to impress is what that transpires and conspires in itself. The greed manifested to the soul of the creation and the discord of not having that opportunity to be the centre of attention.

Originality is dead and improvisation is anything but entertaining. It is the behavioural aspects of these human characters where I find my inspiration now, and perhaps my calling as well. The art of performance still has a deep place in my heart but the image of caricature found within these entities are highly amusing to pass up albeit distressing, heartbreaking and gut-wrenching.

Art is what you make of it.