As You Were. Carry On

Carry on! Love is coming! Love is coming to us all!
–Lyrics to famous Crosby, Stills and So On Hippie Love Generation Anthem

I have to give Freud credit for this one. He was right that the Oedipus Complex was real and it’d clearly alive and well in America. Of course we’re now at the Saturn eating his children stage as enough of these rebellious youth. We’ve got them tranked out on their computers and VR helmets and computer chatrooms and total brain death (more opiates for the people than they know what to do with.)

Anyone recall Oedipus? He kills his father and wants to you know what with his mother?  Homer wrote about Oedipus in the Oddyssey. He goes down into Limbo to fight the Black Snake of the Himalayas with Tintin. Gets back home after fighting bad guys for years  and every guy in town has been tryin’ to bang his wife. I know a couple of vets told me the same story. Women! You tell it, Brother Homer! Guys too! You cannot trust these people. Don’t trust anybody. As Pynchon said, “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean you’re not being followed.” Most likely someone from Homeland Security, which is pretty much anybody with a portable computer or smartphone.

Homer Freud the Boy Wonder… That’s the title of my latest graphic novel. You should read it. I wrote it down last night but lost it on the way to the Bay of Mandalay to put my money in the the wide open eyes and wide open hearts and wide open minds of the good people of Las Vegas. Last time I was there with Hunter Thompson things were weird. Now you don’t even need the LSD to have your mind blown, but your dick as well on any given streetcorner if you call the number on the handbill the homeless person without teeth is giving out up and down the strip. Or take a ride in Las Vegas. That’s where they used to test the atom bombs and we all watched in wonder. Nuclear Radiation? What’s that? Is it anything like the Global Warming that doesn’t exist?

But this isn’t the kind that normal people want to discuss. They’d rather just watch it day in and out on TV and laugh and laugh. Then put on their pink pussy hats, pick up their Black Lives Matters signs and head off to make it all go away. Can’t wait for Impeachment hearings. Trump resign like Nixon? Don’t count on it. He’s the Bill Clinton type. Both of them used to head down together with Kevin Spacey to boff willing sex partners on sex slave island.

But who cares if you’re a democrat. As long as Bill balanced the budget and bombed Yugoslavia into obedience and on and on and on. Hand off to Brother Obama. What was that Bill Maher said about his being a House Nigger? I thought that was a term that Cornel West reserved for Brother Obama.

Satire is no longer possible as art people are too moronic to know what you’re satirizing. Couldn’t possibly be them as they’re the great geniuses who find all of this human degradation so hilarious, illuminating and they are naturally against it, as the biggest monied collectors in the world pay them top dollar for being against it. It’s just great. But throw tomatoes at me. Ignore me. Call me a phony. Call me mentally ill. I’ve heard it all. Believe me it’s music to my ears at this point. At least I know I’m not normal, like you are.

First came the first Homer. Then came Homer Freud. Then came Homer Simpson. Then came  Bob “Homer” Dylan getting a Nobel Prize for providing the musical background for our Noble People who now rule the world with an iron fist belonging to Donald Trump. Good job Bob and the rest of the Peace Generation. I can’t imagine who else that could have pulled of a loss to Donald Trump other than the deeply hated Hillary calling Trump supporters degenerates. Has any person running for public office anywhere in history called half of the voters in an election degenerates? That kind of language was reserved for the artists opposing the Nazis during the Weimar period if anyone recalls.

Not that it matters. At least not to me. I quit. I don’t want to have anything to do with any of you anymore. And I could care less about hearing from any of you on this blog. Believe me. I’d say the lot of you should be ashamed of yourself. But narcissists don’t know the meaning of shame. Shame is for the lesser people living in squalor who should be ashamed of themselves for hanging around with signs and various mental illnesses you need to get out of the neighborhood so you can put up your next cool hipster coffeehouse complete with trendy high rises.

I haven’t seen any of the anarchist rebels wanting to overthrow the system doing much hanging around with the impoverished and homeless mentally ill either. You don’t want those kind of people showing up at OWS or it will bring down the cultural quality of the entire gathering, not to mention dampen sales of Banksy and Shephard Fairey t-shirts.

Guess what? I’ve given up hope that America has any future at all. Sue me. Why have I give up? Because for thirty or more years I’ve tried to talk to anyone I could about our senseless war policies. Our greed and myopia. Our treatment of the poor. Our lack of any political alternatives. And what has been the invariable response? And this response came at me in places from the Socialist In These Times to the ultra Liberal New York Review of Books. It was “Shut up! Who do you think you are exactly, asshole! You don’t even have a gallery you loser!?”

Frankly, I don’t think I’m anybody at all. I have no airs or pretense that my works ranks up there with the Old Guys. But I’m unwilling to stop trying to make the cut, like everyone else I meet in the arts. Like Townes van Zandt I’m just waitin around to die. But depressed? No I’m not depressed at all. Why should I be? We all have to die. Too bad so few people stop to think about this and what it will mean when their turn comes to do so and they have to look back on what they did with their lives. I feel ok with what I did with mine even though I am a “failed artist.”

It doesn’t bother me. I’m not envious of the big successes. Their work is crap and they don’t look all that happy. Why would I be envious? I never got into making art to become famous or anything of the kind. Doesn’t interest me. Unlike AbEx and so on I never had any interest in being in MoMA. I don’t like the work that’s in it all that much. Not a big Cézanne either. Ensor, Henri Rousseau, Grosz, Ernst, Delvaux. Modernism and all it’s flatness and broken up shapes and what not? Spare me. When I see that stuff, yeah I get depressed, just like the people who made it.

It works in music, as music is all limbic brain. Emotivism. That Dionysus stuff doesn’t work at all in fine art. Show me anyone in the past throwing paint around. Pollock talked about following the Native American sand painters. Why not the Tibetan Buddhist sand painters? Don’t make me laugh. What a farce. But keep on playacting it. Pretend it’s all some big breakthrough into some new era of deep human cosmic awareness.

Heres a beautiful tune.

Meanwhile the rest of you can sing along to this. And after that the Clinton Theme Song by that other great rock group of eternal youthful hopefulness… .that somehow never dies no matter how many walking corpses are the ones singing it. Like Bill and Hillary and their supporters.

A moment I’ll never forget … without wanting to throw up. But for you optimists all we need is to get through the impeachment of Trump. Getting rid of the Supreme Court and taking back both houses of Congress. On to the next election. I might suggest a few people talk some basic common sense, cut down on their consumer addictions, and Al Gore and Bill McKibben might stop jetting around the country talking a lot of horse manure that keeps them in plenty of money to pay for their plane tickets. But what the hell. Fantasy is better than reality, particularly when you get this kind of cultural glory along with it.:

About trueoutsider

I'm an artist.
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