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In a society that is essentially designed to organize, direct, and gratify mass impulses, what is there to minister to the silent zones of man as an individual? Religion? Art? Nature? No, the church has turned religion into standardized public spectacle, and the museum has done the same for art. The Grand Canyon and Niagara Falls have been looked at so much that they've become effete, sucked empty by too many stupid eyes. What is there to minister to the silent zones of man as an individual? How about a cold chicken bone on a paper plate at midnight, how about a lurid lipstick lengthening or shortening at your command, how about a Styrofoam nest abandoned by a 'bird' you've never known, how about a pair of windshield wipers pursuing one another futilely while you drive home alone through a downpour, how about something beneath a seat touched by your shoe at the movies, how about worn pencils, cute forks, fat little radios, boxes of bow ties, and bubbles on the side of a bathtub? Yes, these are the things, these kite strings and olive oil cans and Valentine hearts stuffed with nougat, that form the bond between the autistic vision and the experiential world, it is to show these things in their true mysterious light that is the purpose of the moon.


Tom Robbins


#art



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Did you know about Tom Robbins?

In 1965 he wrote a column on the arts for Seattle Magazine. He has given readings from his work on four continents performing at festivals in Australia and Mexico and nightclubs in England and Germany. Then he rewrites it again and again examining each word making sure of its perfection finely honing each phrase until it reverberates with the subtle texture of the infinite.

Robbins claims he was born in 1932. Thomas Eugene "Tom" Robbins (born July 22 1936* *Note: "The discrepancy between Mr.

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