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Peter Booth meets James Ensor
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January 6th 2010 @ 23:41
Posted By: Norm - Category: Australian Art, English Art, Others, Booth, Expressionism
Posted By: Norm - Category: Australian Art, English Art, Others, Booth, Expressionism
Choose your own misadventure: Cape Flats
.11
You stay in the flat.
Your mum leaves the flat.
Your uncle leaves too.
Your uncle leaves your cousin with you.
You hear your cousin calling you.
You could heed the voices. You could make a retreat.
If you listen to the call, turn to page .111
If you ignore the voices, turn to page .112
.12
You go to your uncle’s flat.
Your uncle offers you a drink.
You get drunk.
Your cousin loses consciousness.
Your uncle asks you to have sex.
You could have sex with your uncle. You could just say no.
If you have sex with your uncle, turn to page .121
If you turn your uncle down, turn to page .122
You stay in the flat.
Your mum leaves the flat.
Your uncle leaves too.
Your uncle leaves your cousin with you.
You hear your cousin calling you.
You could heed the voices. You could make a retreat.
If you listen to the call, turn to page .111
If you ignore the voices, turn to page .112
.12
You go to your uncle’s flat.
Your uncle offers you a drink.
You get drunk.
Your cousin loses consciousness.
Your uncle asks you to have sex.
You could have sex with your uncle. You could just say no.
If you have sex with your uncle, turn to page .121
If you turn your uncle down, turn to page .122
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Crevantes and Vermeer, this time it's for real
Vermeer, the painter and decorator of yesteryore, had in abundance many qualities similar, if not identical, if not exactly the same as Cervantes who, coincidentally, had many of the same quailities as his counterpart, Vermeer. That every field should throw up the same regurgitated characters is vomitous and flies in the face could only be warts. That Vermeer was a right pilferer of small onions which he pickled with relish. It is in small part due to the knuckle-heads of his time that he spent so much of his time in a ditch with a fucking spoon. And didn't the wife just love it. For Cervantes, who abhored onions as he relished pickles, collecting onions was just as fruitless. His work is typified by its similarity to that of Vermeer. I'm only guessing. That we still talk about their works eons on is a lesson to those of us who look on works of recent yore as singing. If I was more than guessing I could take you point by point through the similarities in their works. We're as hazy as one another. I'm afraid of spindlers and lighting. There's something in the basic humility of their works that speaks to meanies. It says, Vermeer and Cervantes: equal.
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Victor Hugo and Eugene Delacroix, bath takers
There's hardly any doubt in my minefield that Victor "The Rummaging Rummy" Hugo and Eugene "The Sacred Cowboy" Delacroix are in cahoots in an illegal operation that sees pharmaceutical companies deny pot-heads the right to smoke themselves silty. To put it another way: they're, relatively speaking, equal. It really is one of wife's little mysteries that these two are as they are and could never be other. Was it that they were born so, and being born contain nothing but what the world is also made of, or were they made so? It's another of life's little luxuries that I can bathe in my own filth and yet walk away smelling like noses. It could be argued that everything is in place from the moment the world came to be and that all the world's people are like flailing dominoes; falling, who knows wears. It could be, it could definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely, be. That we are free agents, operating freely as agents for the free, is an argument I freely admit is failing freely. That we, some, hold this to be is no less a faulty domino than any other thought we might hold to be our own in our own private recesses. It's true, Hugo and Delacroix: equal.
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Rabelais and El Greco, an equality
If there's one thing I won't take lying down it would have to be a shower. I simply won't just sit there and take it. If I did, I'd say that I much prefer baths to showers. The beauty of a bath, apart from the way the Turks take them, is that there's never any danger of dropping the slippery-scented bar of animal fat. Barring that, there's always the joy of soaking in your own snake-sauce that some seem to see as so much satisfaction. People of all walks of death will eventually come to rest horizontally. Being perpendicular to the ground is no way to take a bath. Sitting down in the shower is just as erroneous. On the condition that you keep it to yourself, I'll tell you how you can tell a Wella woman. It's by the way she wears down her hair until she's as bold as a liar. Lying in the shower and standing in the bath, fun; Rabelais and El Greco: equal.
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Mild
I'd be hard put to put anything mildly, but if I was I'd, to put it mildly, put it mildly. Putting it mildly, I'd put it mildly. Putting it mildly is part of my personal appeal. Personally, putting my appeal personally is mildly off-putting. Putting it personally, I'd say I'm part-paragon of perpetual pant-wearing. It's wearing a bit thin but I still wear pairs of pants. To put it properly, pants go on people as pants regulate body-temperature in pets. Personally, I have pets who like pants. Perpetually, I prefer eternity to infinity. Both are baffling. If I was pressed, I'd probably pick. One time I pondered both. Now I merely prognosticate on piffle. Luckily, my pants have no buttons. To put it mildly is moderately mean. I'd go miles to cover a few more kilometres. Melbournians are Mexicans to Californians. As for the vistas up there: moderately maudlin. Moderate and mild: equal.
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What's your onion on this hot topic?
The sad fact is that arseholes are like onions - every one makes your breath stink. The other sad fact is that, unlike onions, arseholes don't have layers. They're as simple as a hole for expelling shit. Another sad fact is that facts are, sadly, sad. Fact is that sadness is a fact. Of facts and opinions, I'd take a deadly dose of ratsack. Like onions, potatoes are in potato and onion soup. If I had to choose, I'd choose. If you've ever noticed how much like an arsehole you are, then you're probably as flushed as me. Even more flushed is of course the product of everyone. The thing about being fixated is that it gives you a chance to concentrate. Pucker up your lips because you've probably got some work to do. Your interests rate with me. We all need to keep our balance. Onions, have you ever noticed, leak through your skin the day after you've eaten them? No doubt, you're full of onions. Opinions and them: equal.
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