Speaker
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Dialogue
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So, what do you think?
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I get to visit a museum, an exhibition featuring brand-new pieces of art every single day. All that for a bit of physical labor.
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No, no. I'm not expecting an answer. I don't think anyone else would care to look at this writing, either.
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Consider this... a complex, unsimplifiable art critique, after a visit to a gallery.
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There wasn't anything special that drew me to join this company. I didn't find it very exciting, either.
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When I was offered this Cleanup Agent job, I considered it no different from my usual contracts, except that I'll be guaranteed a fixed income.
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I thought 'of course, a corporation of this size, a Wing at that, must have stuff to "clean up" here and there'.
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I didn't care about what they did, as long as they didn't annoy me. So I signed the contract.
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So imagine my surprise...
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When this train that people take without giving it a second thought, every single day...
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Turned out to be a gallery of arts, sculpted with chisels of time!
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While I was impressed with how well they were hiding this truth from the public... three words came to mind.
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This. Is. It.
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In hindsight, I was so absorbed with chasing after and creating my own "art"...
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...That I neglected to appreciate the "art" of others.
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A shameful realization. Appreciating others' art expands and deepens your understanding of this act of creation, regardless of its genre.
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That was why my recent work had been plagued with vapidity and regurgitation.
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No genuine, vivid imagination comes forth without a touch of reality.
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I saw one that used its soft tissues to conjoin two train cars, becoming a new 'door' between them...
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One that wrapped its flesh around the plush side of the seat, embodying a new chair with extra cushioning...
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One that is an amalgam of many, taking the shape of a new organism and lurching on... Though I wouldn't classify that as 'art'. Not yet.
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It doesn't qualify even as a performance art, as there was no intent to create the 'art' behind it.
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Shambling without intent is... in the end, insufficient to be called art. It is incomplete at best.
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I butcher them. Because the company ordered me to make them easier to clean up.
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To interfere with the process of involuntary art isn't to my liking, no... But that doesn't happen very often. Besides, there is plenty to be gained from the rest.
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I enjoyed the company issued gear, too.
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Void Curseblade. Refraction Demonblade. Dimensional Art Knife... I had many ideas for the name of this blade, but I eventually landed on Dimensional Demon Edge.
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I particularly enjoyed the part where it drained me when I cut down an incomplete art without proper preparation.
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Indeed, dealing with works of art without appropriate mindfulness is itself an act of self-destruction.
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Haah... I would have loved to keep doing that kind of work...
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I would have even foregone sleep to do so.
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Shit... What are the higher—ups thinking? It's ludicrous, making me babysit these rookies...
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Hmph, look at that guy over there, blabbering on and on. Maybe he enjoys this kind of humdrum work.
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What an oddity. How does he find this interesting in any capacity when solid gold rolls into the station every single day?
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If he likes B.S. that much, he might as well do this whole drivel himself...
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Hah, as if they'd let that happen.
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Damn it, even at this very moment I'm missing out...
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