I’ve been to a minor place
And I played the drums and got told off by another musician in the area who turned out to be nice. But he’s gone back to his world now and I am in a minor place.
What was Kandinsky thinking of when he painted his abstract paintings? Escaping the forms of the world that are replicated over and over again?And what about Gauguin when he went to the ‘exotic’ west indies and fucked lots of 14 year old girls and gave them all the clap. Hmm. I think he was probably painting with his dick. I like Leonora Fini’s quote when asked about being a muse for the surrealist painters of the time, she said, ‘ I didn’t have time to be a muse, I was conducting a revolution’. Well I like that a lot. I feel entirely disappointed upon meeting people. I wonder if she had this experience a lot? Do you?
Someone from Oregon isn’t likely to get off on oregano. Or someone surrounded by flower gardens isn’t necessarily going to realise they have a olafactory wonderland just beyond their front door. Someone with the most beautiful voice isn’t someone I want to meet because she will disappoint me. I’m sure I’ve disappointed a few upon meeting. Oh well.
And I sang in a crackly voice and I gave you the story and the ending and the solution. And you got up and walked off because you can barely stand loud women let alone a woman who knows that you are going to leave with a hard-on, like a confused puppy that’s stuck it’s dick in the wind…and the wind changed. Bonnie Prince Billy. Is he bonnie? or does he act like a prince? or is he a bonnie prince that juggles apples and dances a strange jig to the tune of a saw in a field of soft white ducks?
What have you done?
You have isolated the suicidals from each other?
You have disconnected the artists from the hours of best work?
You have destroyed unending green and blocked out the view of infinity.
You make it easy for me to hate my neighbours, we all cry at 3am in the morning from loneliness.
You have turned musicians against each other instead of seeing the parallel dimensions existing.
You have sold love and security and tricked them into buying houses made of bones and sticky tape.
You are like a Christian God,
running a damn fine show.
I wonder if Picasso painted in his sleep and I wonder what they would paint if there were no ‘beautiful’ women to paint. I wonder if they would be their anxiety in the form of some ‘gaping hole’. We live in boxes. Cardboard boxes. Even the rich ones, actually especially the rich ones. Their boxes are harder to leave. Die in boxes.
Well I am listening to Bonnie Prince Billy specifically ‘Death to Everyone’. Ahhh I think Zamyatin, Bulgakov and Ahkmatova would really like him.