It is such a morning when I did not remember I have slept.
It is such another morning I woke with the fundamental question of
survival.
An ambitious spider defied the norm,
spun a total length of 11 feet, in two sections, aiming to build large,
yet exhausted.
I questioned again,
why do I art?
It would be selfish to work for the primitive satisfaction of hands and
mind.
It would be blind to work for the earthly substance.
It would be forgetful to work for the celestial elevation.
why do I art?
Does one must breathe when a respiratory system was given?
Does one must fight or fear when a sensation of death is near?
Is free will as free as one assume, without obligation to a reason of
survival?
Did the ambitious spider spin for a meal
or
for her experiments of new ways to spin?
Her adventurous 11 feet straight lines in two sections most likely
failed the supper,
yet achieved a recognizable hell of useless
admiration from an equally impractical artist.
