Y'all Go On Get The Haterade Out...

It's another Masterpiece.



I call this one...Allan.

Rejection!

Martha hates my artwork.

This weekend she was telling me we needed something to balance out the cabinet that sits on the left side of the couch along a big wall in our living room.

I offered to do a painting...for free.

"It'd really have to be a big one honey."

"It's no problem Sugar...I'll just get a big canvas."

"Well...I really don't get your artwork."

Uh huh...don't get it? I've told her 5,000 times there's nothing to get.

"What...just look at it?"

Yeah...you just look at it. There's nothing to get.

So she knows that's a cop-out and a thinly veiled way of saying..."I hate that **** and it is not going on my living room wall."



Really?

I am real...really I am

I just got back from the Sister's. We get together for supper every Thursday.

I'm standin' in her kitchen wonderin' why we're havin' chicken when she promised me this morning we'd be havin' breakfast for supper....I'm thinkin' about grits when she says to me...

"Where did you find that hideous painting?"

"I painted it."

"You painted it?"

"Yeah...so it's hideous huh?"

"No..NO...No...it's good...I just you know..I thought it was a real painting."

"It is a real painting."

"You know what I mean."

"I'm sure that I don't."

"Like it was painted by a real person."

"I am real."

Well what to think about that?

Evidently I've created something real...which is nice even if it is really hideous.

On the other hand...it's realness is exactly what caused her to think I hadn't done it.

hmmmmmmmmmmm

"Hideous? Really?"

"Well no...I just..I thought it was a real picture you know? Seriously."

Post #5

Y'all should be gettin' an idea of what's going on here.

I'm surrounded by lovable people who claim to find me confusing and even sometimes depressing (depressing?...seriously?), and who are genuinely deficient when it comes to aesthetic taste.

They're not dumb either...



That's one of my dearest friends there...you think he's dumb? Look closely at the picture. He's wearing a beret OK?

Still...he haaaates The Fall...(I say he hates The Fall because that's how I have interpreted his refusal to listen to them after a couple of bars)...and he's the one who made up some story about noticing but not noticing my my pi'tures.

As far as I know their ears work o.k.

How can they miss the rhythmic groove of a song like Wings?

Y'all think they're just being obstinate..or what?

Post #4

"I've tried not to bang on too much about Mark E. Smith of The Fall but if we do secede, he will be on the banknotes, the proud but self-satirising laureate of 'northern white crap that talks back'."
Stuart Maconie, Pies and Prejudice

BANG!BANG! THE MIGHTY FALL!



The Fall Wings:
Day by day.
The moon gains on me.
Day by day.
The moon gains on me.

Purchased pair of flabby wings.
I took to doing some HOVERING.
Here is a list of incorrect things.

HOVERED mid-air outside a study.
An academic kneaded his chin,
set in the dust of some cheap magazines.
His academic rust, could not burn them up.

Recruited some gremlins.
To get me clear of the airline routes.
I paid them off with stuffing from my wings.
They had some fun with those
cheapo airline snobs.(Are any of you seriously gonna try and deny the greatness of this?)

The stuffing loss made me hit a timelock.
I ended up in the eighteen sixties.
I've been there for one hundred

and twenty five years.
A small alteration of the past.
Can turn time into space.

Ended up under Ardwick Bridge.
With some veterans from the U.S. Civil War.
They were under Irish patronage.
We shot dead a stupid sergeant,
but I got hit in the crossfire.
The lucky hit made me hit a time lock.

But, when I got back.
The place I made the purchase, no longer exists
I'd erased it under the bridge.

Day by day.
The moon came towards me
By such things.
The moon came towards me.

So now I sleep in ditches.
And hide away from nosey kids.
The wings rot and feather under me.
The wings rot and curl right under me.
A small alteration of the past.
Can turn time into space.
Small touches can alter more
than a mere decade.



O'er grassy dale, and lowland scene
Come see, come hear, the English Scheme.
The lower-class, want brass, bad chests, scrounge fags.
The clever ones tend to emigrate
Like your psychotic big brother, who left home
For jobs in Holland, Munich, Rome
He's thick but he struck it rich, switch
The commune crap, camp bop, middle-class, flip-flop
Guess that's why they end up in bands
He's the green piece in us all
He's the creep-creep in us all
Condescends to black men
Very nice to them
They talk of Chile while driving through Haslingdon (Deny this line at the peril of your own credibility)
You got sixty hour weeks, and stone stone toilet back-gardens
Peter Cook's jokes, bad dope, check shirts, lousy groups
Point their fingers at America
Down pokey quaint streets in Cambridge
Cycles our distant spastic heritage
Its a gay red, roundhead, army career, grim head
If we was smart we'd emigrate
____________________________________
Baffelingly I am surrounded by people who haaaaaaaaaaate The Fall...Really?

Not only are they denying the greatest mind in English (as in English English) letters since Orwell...they're denying what may be the only example of organic English Rock-n-Roll. This is Bo Diddley playing CAN covers for Fat Possum Records...spontaneously arising like magic from Prestwich.

Why do y'all hate rocknroll?

Give it up...They are the greatest of all Time.

Post #1

My corner of the house.
The Missus doesn't share my taste in Art, but what can you expect from a woman who claims to not like The Fall.

Really Sugar?

My best friend was in here last night...he hadn't been around since I hung the pictures.  He didn't even notice.  What are you gonna do....he thinks grits are best made with water and that butter is optional.


How did I come to be surrounded by cretins...lovable as they all are?