Placebo Nocebo

Consider this: everything is art. Art is not the flat surface of a canvas, or the supposedly dimensional form of a statue. It protrudes and stirs and creates a forth dimension to the world, immesurable. Beyond the poetry on the paper it is the shape of each letter and and the pronounciation of each syllable. Art is not purposeful. It is the fringes on a mat or the bow in ones hair. Art is coherent only in the reflection of the individual idea of what art is. The perceptions impressed upon us by art is likewise impressed upon art by us. Because of this, this following text is entirely free to be interpreted and understood (or not understood) as each mind allows. Think nothing of the structure of common prose. This story is as much my brain child as it is yours.