...a deathly serenade...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
A
encounters but he was always an addict; love in
the convention of a simple relationship seemed
beneath him. His work was his obsession, which
meant a person with his personality type was
guilty of setting oneself up for strife if he chose
to live in the abstract, which is the only true
existence of the Artist, as unlike a mathematician
or a Lawyer supernatural obsession could only
yield a need for more as opposed to an end
result. Perfection of Art became perfection of life
as the lines between the two became blurred to
Yashu, which was how the search for satori came
about, I muse as I sit here. As when he was
interested in something that is all he could do; at
first it was an obsession to become an Artist,
which was a notion Leila strongly rejected at the
time. Though this was something I only
understand now, and adds to Yashu’s guilt:
pretentious as it seemed, perhaps I see the true
wisdom in her words now, in that Leila held that
an Artist IS as opposed to BECOMING. Yashu
wanted to BECOME and when he did BECOME,
with critical acclaim in the British Art scene,
V.I.P wine, fame and money he didn’t truly need
with the Trust fund being wholly sufficient to the
life he wanted to lead, he still wanted more: a
higher motif of the beauty I felt he had
compromised with his ugly Life exhibition.
Yashu wanted to know how I felt about his
decision to leave London, looking at me with
bogle eyed anticipation, I told him that I felt he
should concentrate on getting himself together,
and he said I was more concerned with
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