Kitsch, the ignoble offspring of civilized man, woman, person.
Kundera was an artist first, he was a philosopher second.
The artist philosopher painted, an immemorial portrait;
a vivid image of all that ever is "kitsch". His canvas was knowledge,
his brush was wisdom, and his creation should be likened to an
evasive pig in a starving peasants arms. This creation,
this work of art, this greased and wily pig fleeing
for its life. "Kitsch, the non thought of received ideas"
Like a hammer striking the nail on the head or perhaps,
a light bulb turning on instantly one comprehends
life in relation to the status quo. Modern Man
and the notion of unalienable rights. Civilized Man
and the notion of peace.
The dissonance of existence... to think.