now my standby shitty little underclass camera
so awful i take the time to make sure you can see
what you can hoard and bottle so neurotically
now what else foes one ' care' about?
well obviously with such real pestilence sweeping even quietitude, aside
nobody had the time ( too busy with sortin' SIX skips when one of the above up 'n died)
to propper care about the local environment
furthermore to the soul such sickness heaven sent
underneath fake 'caring' facade,
theres always some sickhead's hoarded ' vintage' leather trouser collection, to 'care' for....first.
Its a free world. " let it be"
said my friend under our palaver tree
Thing is, twenty years ago, raising then a new-mind ones responsibility,
the 'artists' begin to crawl in to the asidelands, sniffing out truffles to be had,
not from ' nature' but their London mate's dying dad
who long ago had some pad
hidden away in The Marcher lands
" oohh..lower rents we can afford...
and safe tourist wanky art we can do Lord
of nothing too much like reality"
So.... as society in once only bigoted, bullneck rural fringes, which fair dinkum in a distant past did have some semblence of cooperative
and not too sexist, just about functionality
(" he knows if he breaks down back from the pub theres only one free taxi")
' progressed', evolved..into wonderful enlightening ART...
the 'artists' came ( running away from the Portobello Prozac dealer's unpaid bills,
his nasty lil' pacifying pills
didnt work on him, either)
"great fine... some culture for our local kids!"
but then you realise, fifteen years ago this is nothing new
all they ever paint is ..fantasy
sad, as surely ' hoarding' sickness, is such an interesting reality
big bucks innit, if anyone dared... if you ask me.
As for three years i have been telling
hundreds of pastichian painters of a ' reality' long long gone
whats REAL 'art' Turnerworthy,
the installation, of just how upset they are deep down when one even mentions this reedculous bucolic fantasy
or even " hey ...dickhead Grayson Perry
on Start the Week spring '24
said he makes tons more gold pissing on the front door
of his rich and established wank-hoarding clientelle!
( footnote: as ' gender' will be
in real history
Podger's train ride i watched in Hellstoned
her moaning about fluid sexed up identity
ehhhh..... hoarding disease aint so fluid...
fairly long term, fatal, carried into perpetuity
even if the joists don't go, its so lonely!
nor is the ... lets just say yesters he didnt remember all our chat, either
local territory middle aged well to do
dad, still just a sad druggy.....
in rural hideaways, fewer CID
to get the dealers who love to ferret out kids like his
and..... especially in the ' country' ...
now to me thats what actual art should be
at least pretending to ' reflect' upon, reality)
