The highest art is propaganda.
Virgil and Shakespeare: propaganda.
Eisenstein: propaganda.
Leonardo: propaganda.
We only think of bad propaganda—
Or don’t parse it as propaganda—
Which makes it good propaganda.
Never forget that this is obvious.
In truth the Latin “propagation
Of the faith” well paints the need
For spirit, theme, or breath in art,
Purpose flowing like a spring breeze
Or even screaming like a hurricane.
In The Tempest, for example,
Shakespeare invented racism.
There is no void of faith in art:
Just dull, muddy unconscious,
Faith of algae and mosquitoes.
Purpose is the hot artery of power,
The canyon-carving rapid fall.
In regimes where art is seditious
Or otherwise bereft of purpose,
Daniel is already captive in Babylon
And the wall he will write on is built.
Nothing is bigger than propaganda.
Nothing is older than propaganda.
Nothing is finer than propaganda.
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