But, babe, I gotta ramble…
So…? Let’s rock a really groovy-hard one for the road, baby. A favourite of all Time and Space…
I’ll be back again. We’ll go walkin’ through the park every day! Come what may! Every day!
The ‘Joker’ is a tortured soul?
This is REALLY bad.
He looks really afraid and bewildered — no doubt heavily medicated — to me? There’s something in his ‘ness’? He doesn’t know what’s going on anymore than the rest of us? He’s broken?
The ‘monster’ show isn’t materialising for me, yet again. Vilifying this young man will not serve us well. No. Not at all. He needs help. We need help. This is a monstrous scenario. Our society — all of us — are implicated here. We’d best step-up.
Maybe there are few real ‘monsters’, only monstrous scenarios? What if they’re all just sad, pathetic, broken people? Broken beyond reason, comprehension?
Who broke them so badly? Who? What? Where? When? Why? How?
The help being offered many is no help at at all, Batman? Someone should have seen this coming? It would seem those who did stood idly by?
They chose to do nothing. Then said, “Oh, we knew something was wrong.” They let him down. They let us down. They let everyone die. Don’t make he same choice they made. If you choose not to decide you still have made a choice. Don’t be indifferent. It doesn’t look good on you, baby…
And… Everyone is destroyed. Just. Like. That.
The victims. The kid. The psychiatrist. Their communities… The Batman. It’s ripples reverberate ever outward. All because no one acted to help the boy. Maybe they even helped push him over the edge? I dunno? I think someone, something did.
The sleep of reason produces monsters. Let us try to understand this boy, this tragedy as best we can. Try to heal it and each other. Lest we become the monsters we fear so ourselves.
We can do better than this. We must.
We’re burning daylight.
Anyone else have these silly, euphoric moments where Life and Music — especially the Beatles — consort in perfect synchronicity? I’ve had a quite few. This is one. The first one. It’s a James Bond (Austin Powers?) moment, too…
I was waiting at a bus terminal to transfer and listening to my cassette Walkman when I was younger, so much younger than today.
Bus arrives. Everyone queues. I’m an ‘after you’ kind of girl. So, I bring up the rear.
Mix-tape ends. Flip it. Press play. Look up. Everyone’s on? The driver is waiting on me. Smiling at me.
Oops! Sorry, dude!
Make to step up.
The moment my foot touches the stair the James Bond Theme intro to Help! by the Beatles starts!
Bah! Bah! Bah!
“Do-do do do-do-do do-do do…”
I smile. Suppress laughter. Flash my pass. Wink. Nod.
Bond, Jane Bond.
The driver smiles back at me just as large? Can he can hear it, too, I wonder?
Wade down the aisle…
“Do-do-do do-do do-do-do…”
Size up all possible threats as I go. Double Agents? Assassins? No?
“Bah! Bah! Bah!”
Everyone smiled back? So? It’s all good. I’m clear. Haven’t been ‘made’.
“Bah! Bah! Bah!”
I plunk down into an available seat toward the back at the exact moment the Lads shout…
“Help! I need somebody!”
Whoa! It was just getting way too Cosmic! WAY.
“Help! Not just anybody!”
I burst out laughing! I just couldn’t ‘help’ it!
“Help! You know I need someone!”
It was an entirely impeccable coincidence!
Perfect!!! Groovy-good! Holy 🐮!!!
Felt like I was in a Bond movie, — or, the as yet to be created: The Spy Who Shagged Me? A silly spy musical with the Lads?
Sometimes, when I’m feeling extra silly and cheeky I introduce myself as ‘Bond. Jane Bond’ because of that.
I ❤❤❤❤❤ it when the canvases of Life and Music harmonise at once in flawless synergy. Très bien ensemble. Beautiful.
Hey, cats and kittens, here’s some Help!
This is a wonderful blog! Check it out, cats and kittens. Behold ‘Hold It Now’…
Art can feel like a very serious affair sometimes. We have built austere institutions in every major city to exalt its importance. Billions of dollars are spent annually trying to acquire its cultural cache. Art represents taste, prestige and social class. So, if an art object can symbolize status in society, what does a multimillion dollar inflatable rabbit cast in stainless steel say about society?
The bunny in question would be Jeff Koons’ Rabbit from 1986. Art historians and critics have argued about the validity of Koons’ work since its inception. It has been dismissed as sensationalist kitsch or praised as postmodern pop that holds a mirror up to society’s guilty pleasures and vacuous need for consumption. However you view the importance of it in the canon of western art, there is a certain pleasure of seeing yourself reflected on the highly polished surface of a multimillion dollar inflatable…
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Jackson Pollock, Number 8, 1951, Black Flowing
Iron Maiden’s inferno
Midway on the Midway
An illustrated man appears
Licking his skin
Rough yet smooth
Hard but soft
I taste them
Consume their salt
Mark his chest
Cacophonies of sound
Kaleidoscopes of colour
Conflagration in the night
Aphrodite, FriederichswerderscheKirch, Schinkel Museum from bradpsculptor.wordpress.com (I am unable make a link? Sorry.)
Demonstrating Love or sexual behaviour is part of the human condition, being alive. None of us would even exist without it. When do we classify it as whoredom, perversion and when is it an expression of Love, union, sexuality — divine? How can this expression — in its purest sense — be wanting, unacceptable?
Why not speak of Love? Act of Love? To speak and act of Love steals power from hate. There is much talk of hate. No? Think about it? How often do you encounter that word each day?
Uh, yeah. It adds up, hey?
That word should be the taboo. Not sex.
Colossal volumes encompassing myriad mediums have been devoted to the captivating Aphrodite alone — from cults to mythology to fine art to music… on and on she goes. She has enchanted the hearts and minds of man for an eternity it would seem.
How much Love could we all inspire if we were to — to paraphrase — wipe the dew off our spectacles, see that the world is moving and let Love reign, my conservative friend?
The Blue Violinist, 1947, by Marc Chagall (1887-1985)