(Apologies to W.B. Yeats / The Second Coming

~Written during the 8-year Tectonic Reign of Deathstar Ye$Men,

to Which the Bloodied World Remains: In Gran Mal Aftershock)

Turning and Spinning in the Widening Mire
The Congress cannot hear the Precedent;
Things fall apart; the Party cannot hold;
Sheer Conarchy is loosed upon Democracy,

The freedom-gouging tide is loosed, and everywhere
The Standing of America is downed;
The best convictions are too polite, while the worst
Are full of obtuse intensity;
Surely some Reason is at hand.

Yet there instead, the Patriot “Act”!
The “Patriot” Act!

Hardly are those words out
When an Orwelled image out of Posse Comitatus
Troubles my sight:

Somewhere in the martial curfews of this seminal Treachery
A shape with Oz-lion body and the head of a borne-again fool:
An ‘Aye’ blank and clueless as the GOP itself
Is moving its leaky Trojan Agenda, but who knew?
While overhearing guffaws & careless cheering
from the belly of the beast, that all about it now should
gather threats of patriotic fillibuster, lighting & passing torchfire.

…Wounded cowardice drops again; but indignant courage
finds unexpected stride, in the edifying irony
that a Sitting President was on his Game after all,
as if afloat, fishing! entirely untorn,
glued from National Nightmare to “My Pet Goat.”

And what Hellbent Vision Thing,
its Truthless Power come round at last,
$louches towards Liberty to be Borne?

- "Artist General" Michael Masley



REDUX: In A Row Less Given To Scatter
"An Artist General Take" On This Article:

"Our image of the creative class comes from a strange mix of sources, among them faux-populist politics, changing values, technological rewiring, and the media’s relationship to culture – as well as good old-fashioned American anti-intellectualism."

~ Scott Timberg / "No Sympathy For The Creative Class" / Salon,com


Of A Faith On Intimate Terms With Reason--

For an unshakably sensitive devotion
enabling a lavish inner lifestyle
earned & savored against the odds

winning eloquent concessions
in the quantum argument
of Something over Nothing, having
in the MIND's eye, at once BOTH
"cones" & "rods", empowering imagination
with necessarily urgent depth, clarity & nuance...

Envy, but none for the common courtship
of a disinclined Audience,
imagined of Posterity
like a pain-killer on contact with too much neglect,
disdain or enduring indifference
from the currently-alive...

Out for conversion by force NOT
of arms but of heart, mind, soul--plunged
through the looking glass darkly
in love with the moment's creative event horizon,
to fend for higher self
absent obvious resource or warning

"Look @ Your Life--See?--this Muse",
they'll scoff: "is your IMAGINARY

Hello! GOOD Morning!
Bobble @ the tipping point, fringe of the grid then!
Bruised from the get-go, bet lost--bid too LOW,
bumped in the night by the working world's
late-fee, no second-chance
utility off-shutting, foreclosure-bristling
sharp-elbowed jealous-godly MaRcH:

Adverse circumstance? Form follows function,
Busting a move! gulped in passing like a mouse into owl
--by the dancer's dance, transmuted, in space: silent pivot;
in lifetime: up & gone.

The perfect axis of the dervish remains the eye of the storm
and the reflex of power corrupted--

the blunt-force course of tyranny from left to right--
is to center-stage the collapse of that exemplary core
through disappearance, murder & prison...

"The parts they play don't FIT here!

NOT the Tank they'll stand in front of
with their arts.

OUR Big Picture is clear (worth a thousand
lies, PHOTOshopped).

Heaven is a post-slaughterhouse
promise! The Pig FLIES, Got It? And here the lipstick
too, must APPEAR: strangely real.
Who re-falsifies our guided truth: dies.

So what but savagery, to oppose
the epiphanied charisma
of the clock hourless for hours on end,
the calendar dayless for weeks--
the brave & generous stand of an inner life to die for
laid to rest in a potter's field
buried in a pauper's grave...

remixing similes
like metaphors of Lorenzo's Butterfly
--less is never more!

posthumous renown's gnarled conviction
--impoverished brush-strokes on a Masterpiece
rising through centuries clear to snow-clad peaks
of world culture & A Suddenly International FlaP
over rightful sovereign ownership...

True, Ego braving Creative Career creaks
with all-too-much of not-enough in its hold!
choice of battle is a thing it learns
to be either big or small enough on demand,
by sudden turns
to let a ready moment of arrogance rescue wounded pride
only long enough to drop it back to invincible humility
in the course & performance of fresh creation!

While many over-given to look down
on the artists of their culture ARE indeed
better-fed, clothed, housed--more comfortably

Feel THEIR pain--ponder the existential depths
of that frown at the wheel--observe
the payment made for the life
they so anxiously receive: what it takes, what it took--
their understandable failures of nerve--

on display in rush-hour grid-lock--over penalty
for late arrival
to work all day in a box
they eye the clock to leave. That look.

See? how Truth proves the heresy of the dogma
and Providence
loves irony!

--Artist General (2012)

BUT IF NERVE FAILS? IT'S OVER." --Wyatt Matturs, CEO, Chutzpahductions


"I'm Artist General And I Approved This Message"

No comments:

Post a Comment