Alex
2007-02-19 21:25:11 UTC
OLD DUDES IN METAPHYSICAL JUNGLES
"Art has absolutely no existence as veracity, as truth."
"The individual, man as a man, man as a brain, if you like, interests
me more than what he makes, because I've noticed that most artists
only repeat themselves."
"Deep down I'm enormously lazy. I like living, breathing better than
working."
"I don't believe in art. I believe in artists."
--Marcel Duchamp (1887 - 1968)
Old dudes in metaphysical jungles
Remind me of Marcel Duchamp's urinal--
It's not the functionality that
Makes the thing you piss in, beautiful
But the context of the object itself,
For even a toilet bowl has its intrinsic appeal,
For if you're desperate enough,
You might mistake it for a woman--
Round and cold like porcelain,
With a toilet freshener like some sweet perfume
Concealing her natural smells,
As you lovingly embrace her before
Going to sleep.
Of course, Marcel retired after perpetrating
His "art" on the ignorant public,
And I would not admire some urinal
In a men's room or in a museum--
A pissoir is still for pissing
No matter how you dress it up as high art--
And the old dudes in metaphysical jungles
Would probably agree if they still wash
Their hands and mind their p's and q's
And cross their t's now and then
And occasionally roll their r's--
But the circus goes on undetected even now--
With all the claims of omnipotence
And omniscience, we are still too damn small
For this universe,
No matter what trousers we wear and how we
Call our loves--snookums or snuggles--
And go about our daily boring lives,
Looking for something mystical in women's
Panties and brassieres, or something
Metaphysical in our private parts,
But death comes to all of us
Like one, two, three... poof!
And all the time we kept slumbering
Does not matter--
That old lady you met at the church
Might have died a month ago,
And pretty soon you will not remember
What she wore or what she looked like--
It will be another gaping hole in your memory,
And you will not know what she wrote
Or who she loved, and what she waited for
All her life--
And her grandkids will not remember her,
But life is like that--not metaphysical or fancy--
And we all crap and piss in much the same way,
No matter where we go when it's over.
So I'm not concerned as much with metaphysics,
For the truth lies in embracing life
And the genuinely good moments it affords us.
February 18, 2007
--Alexander Shaumyan
http://www.shaumyan.com
"Art has absolutely no existence as veracity, as truth."
"The individual, man as a man, man as a brain, if you like, interests
me more than what he makes, because I've noticed that most artists
only repeat themselves."
"Deep down I'm enormously lazy. I like living, breathing better than
working."
"I don't believe in art. I believe in artists."
--Marcel Duchamp (1887 - 1968)
Old dudes in metaphysical jungles
Remind me of Marcel Duchamp's urinal--
It's not the functionality that
Makes the thing you piss in, beautiful
But the context of the object itself,
For even a toilet bowl has its intrinsic appeal,
For if you're desperate enough,
You might mistake it for a woman--
Round and cold like porcelain,
With a toilet freshener like some sweet perfume
Concealing her natural smells,
As you lovingly embrace her before
Going to sleep.
Of course, Marcel retired after perpetrating
His "art" on the ignorant public,
And I would not admire some urinal
In a men's room or in a museum--
A pissoir is still for pissing
No matter how you dress it up as high art--
And the old dudes in metaphysical jungles
Would probably agree if they still wash
Their hands and mind their p's and q's
And cross their t's now and then
And occasionally roll their r's--
But the circus goes on undetected even now--
With all the claims of omnipotence
And omniscience, we are still too damn small
For this universe,
No matter what trousers we wear and how we
Call our loves--snookums or snuggles--
And go about our daily boring lives,
Looking for something mystical in women's
Panties and brassieres, or something
Metaphysical in our private parts,
But death comes to all of us
Like one, two, three... poof!
And all the time we kept slumbering
Does not matter--
That old lady you met at the church
Might have died a month ago,
And pretty soon you will not remember
What she wore or what she looked like--
It will be another gaping hole in your memory,
And you will not know what she wrote
Or who she loved, and what she waited for
All her life--
And her grandkids will not remember her,
But life is like that--not metaphysical or fancy--
And we all crap and piss in much the same way,
No matter where we go when it's over.
So I'm not concerned as much with metaphysics,
For the truth lies in embracing life
And the genuinely good moments it affords us.
February 18, 2007
--Alexander Shaumyan
http://www.shaumyan.com