Upon Waking this Morning

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A King once decided that he would send for every psychic and oracle in the known world, and would when they arrived at his gates; have them swiftly executed.

Every one of them came.

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No man shall ever be more steeped in servility than the artist. No oppression will ever be stronger or more ubiquitous than that forced on the servant of Art. Yet artists are tremendously selfish. The most solipsistic despot in history could not hope to ascend to the loftiness of our self-service. Everything exists for us. We exist for Art.

Art bows to naught. The Artist bows to naught but Art.

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When I die and am set to rest in the earth, may it be beneath a headstone reading:

Here lies Adam Barck.

Who will the world revolve around now?

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