Art is life.
It’s the podcast on your rush hour; the radio jingle you’ve heard for the twelfth time in one-fucking-hour but still makes you want to buy the damn thing; the audiobook; your Spotify time-capsule playlist with those songs you forgot about that take you back to your univeristy days; the anything you binge watch on Netflix/Amazon/YouTube (even if you just watched the first five minutes of Emily in Paris and did nothing but bitch to Twitter about it, it’s still art); it’s the TikTok dance routine you mocked but now end up doing because it’s ~iRoNiC~; it’s the Bend and Snap; the Here’s Johnny; the iconic kiss in the rain from The Notebook you wish your partner would re-enact; it’s the first photograph of the man on the moon; the touring shows that teach children big topics without them even realising; the musicals that rap about the six wives of Henry the Eighth; it’s Fleabag, The Great British Bake Off, Jools Holland’s Annual Hootenanny; it’s Shakespeare, the opening bars of Beethoven’s Symphony №5, that book on Hygge that makes you feel cosy.
Art is life.
Poetry was made while soldiers fought in the Great War.
Art is life, and we will not be re(s)trained.
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