Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Your Trash Is My Art

Contemporary “culture” has little to tempt me; indeed, I gaze upon much of it with a combination of contempt and revulsion. This may be attributable, at least in part, to the rapid advancement of my decrepitude, or there may in fact be some legitimate foundation for it – for example – contemporary “music” may possibly be as wretched as I think it is, likewise TV, and so on.

Culturally, one of our biggest problems is that – from the very start – we are raised to be consumers – not creators; we are bred to be entertained, not entertain-ing. Where we excel is in our ability to be disappointed, to be bored – to survey the landscape and find it wanting.

I remember this developmental phase, I was judge of heaven and earth and did nothing to deserve my status except imagine that I did. Then – thankfully – I was introduced to the concept of making your own fun. That is – if you find yourself at a boring party, make it interesting. There is only one person responsible for making sure I have a fascinating life – me. To extrapolate – there is only one person responsible for making sure the world has art I can really enjoy and respect --- if I wait for others to do it I will die with a frown on my face.

The Age of Trash

The age of stone
Is quite well known
The Renaissance
Was song and dance
The age of steam
Has split the scene
This is the age of trash
Cellophane, toxic waste
Styrofoam and plastic
Poisoned water, poisoned air
Litter glitter
Lines each road
Trashy storefronts
Checks cashed here
Raylene with her order pad
Falling arches, beehive hair
Almost pretty long ago
Truckstop hash house
Chrome nightmare
Buzzing neon lights
You make it seem all right

Alistair McHarg

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