On art.

The gist of this thought coalesced while I was taking a 30-second dump before a shower. Anyway, the thought regards the popular dichotomy of form versus function. Some say that the function of form is to please. Not exactly. The function of form is sex. I was thinking about a fashion designer whose career I have been speaking of as an inspiration for my recent work, in terms of her work being somewhat off-tether amidst what is regarded as proper, she is Betsey Johnson. Nevermind my recent work. So I was thinking about her work, and contemplating the forms, searching for functions. And it became apparent that what selects for attention-grabbing iconoclasms and idiosyncracies is simply mating activity. The reason goldfish, and peacocks, and tattoos, and high heels, and latte art, and lala-mui-isms, and large cars exist in their forms, is fashion, and fashion is one human expression of sex. Some say beauty. Some say that our brains' evolution of an appreciation for music has no purpose - that music has become accidentally beautiful. No doofus, of course it has a purpose. The ability to communicate across noisy channels sometimes requires codes, secret channels, and hidden protocols. That is where all of our abilities to execute art come from. This leads us to an necessarily controversial proposition: the function of art, is sex.

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