What our modern art tells us

I've been reading Rabelais and he plays with the latin quotes. For every inane thing that he says, he has a latin quote from a noble Roman or a pious church scholar. So I had latin on my mind when wrote “esprit de corps”.

Okay, it’s French. I fucked-up. And I made the dizzy statement that “I’m better read that Bukowski”. Which meant to imply a High Bukowskian Truth: scholarship doesn’t make the man. Niether does psuedo-scholarhip which is my forte along with some authentic this and that. Basically, I read Bukowski when I need a corrective dose of raw sincerity. Otherwise, my mind is flush with operatic arias. I like the voice-in-the-wilderness novels. The more vainglorious the better. But there has to be a note of truth and, like I said, Bukowski is the tuning fork and the Big Daddy of All Correctives to a runaway imagination.

A man should never take his own measure. Are the dues I’ve paid long or short? Am I a cunt? Am I a well-read guy for a Detroit Polak? Am I an authetic veteran of relentless clusterfucks? I think that the problem with modern art is the lack of personal experience. In which case a painter or writer takes an off-the-shelf stance recommended by the market, the fashion and the herd. Instead of the stance that’s all his own. Tested in anonymity.
 

Skygazer

And in the end...
Hey JJ, maybe you should just have a wee lie down before you hurt yourself? Stop being so hard on yourself. So what if you got something wrong in you post (it's not a shooting offence I don't think), there's nothing wrong with having a ' runaway imagination' maybe you just need to slow down and perhaps also do a bit more reading of your topic/subject before writing about them (e.g. Hunter S Thompson). Reading your posts is like being on a runaway train, but, like sex in the back of a car: it's too fast, awkward and vaguely unsatisfactory, no doubt you will get better.
 

Skygazer

And in the end...
So cynical! the show pony prose and hyperbole is just youthful exuberance, he'll calm down, either that or require sedating;now I feel rude for saying that. Hope you're ok with that JJPrzbyski?
 
I think that the problem with modern art is the lack of personal experience.

This would've been a good post. But even then it's a cliche and flat out wrong to suppose that experience makes the man any more than themelessly and restlessly reading a bunch of bullshit. what kind of experience is lacking??
 
Love. Love. Love. Hate. Hate. Hate. It’s just a matter of bobbing and weaving through it.

I should tell you about my boxing match in South Florida where the fat-asses in the seats yelled, “Get in the ring, sissy.” I’m sure that they bet against me. After my bout, I saw a White Golden Gloves champ named Jimmy Daniels knock-out a Black Golden Gloves champ named Tony Foreman. A month later, the victor killed his girlfriend. The last bout of the night featured a bozo who danced into the ring. Shadow-boxing. Bowing to the crowed. You could tell right away that he was psychotic. When the bell rang, he wouldn’t go near his opponent. At every brush of the gloves he’d back-off, shadow-box and raise his hands like the Heavyweight Champ of the Universe. Finally, the ref stopped the farce and the psycho hugged his opponent as if they’d just been through a toe-to-toe war.

I was wondering, by the way, why Daniels was so glum after his victory as he shared Pepsi-Cola with his dark haired girlfriend at the concession stand. I’d met he and his dad while getting my hands taped. His dad was a Golden Gloves champ too, and one of those brutally handsome types. When Jimmy busted out of jail, his dad hired the getaway plane in the Everglades . The cops nabbed them both at the last second. You could tell that they were very close, the way that dad taped junior’s hands.
 

Skygazer

And in the end...
Love. Love. Love. Hate. Hate. Hate. It’s just a matter of bobbing and weaving through it.
Now that's a pretty good line for you, young JJPrzybylski, (the absence of vowels here is pretty daunting by the way). Liked the lack of overblown, blowsy, dripping with bling grammar. Is it yours or did you pinch it??
 
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