Culture is created therefore by literal dirt on the bottom of my shoe. By the very nature of being. Well, that's great. But eventually the word loses all meaning. It becomes a filler for "this thing exists at least ephemerally in the world we inhabit... how... monumental."

If anything is art, then all judgement is moot. It's pointless for any of us to even engage. Agree. Agree. Disagree. Blah. I may as well throw my mooty mud into the mix of debate. To me, there is not a singular emotion this piece evokes other than a self-indulgent egotistic lump of cement articulated with, (reviews await), likely, essays of arbitrarily cloying fascination. It's fine as a thing that exists. Whatever. But it is equally a sinkhole of value.