Rebellion—for too long the status quo,
is, in our day, a predictable show.
Antichrist irony, absurdity
shockingly daring incongruity
no longer shock the bourgeois, you know . . .
Alone in the temple of glass with a rock,
you’re out of traditional symbols to mock.
Surrealists did it much better than you
and it meant a lot more in ’32.
You chew your cud on the cattle-wagon
overused shock-tactics (moo ! ) now draggin’
(or herding) aboard the iconoclast train
(b)lowing through boxcars your bovine refrain:
“to, um – make people think . . .” Oh Lord, how uncouth.
Nihilist narcissus—tell me, what’s Truth?
Must creative always be subversive?
I discern, in your frenzied discursive,
a dull and predictable lack of life.
While you brandish that plastic butter knife
I seem to note, in your constant thrust,
dearth of artistic ability. Must
bohemian acolytes (some yawning)
ever be deer in the headlights, fawning
before the ironic gesture? It’s sad;
the bitter is sweet but the art is bad . . .
They circle hors d’oeuvres on opening night
like moths around white wine in candlelight,
cerebrating in a modernist void:
contemporary aesthetes, overjoyed
to know once more that life has no meaning;
the planet is doomed; that kings are queening;
that chic just arrived, escorting philosophy
(Forgive us, Duchamp, for all this monstrosity).
I long for Hudson River School sunsets
Old Dutch Masters, religious art, portraits,
Red, green, or black propaganda-art? NO !
The view does not merit the price of the show.
I’m dada-ed to death, beyond the surreal.
Conceptual gimmicks have failed to conceal
your want of ability, values, and faith
In the book you despise it is written: “thus saith
the fool in his heart: that there is no God . . .”
More post-modernist textual analysis SOUTH of the BORDER
(so finish your Margarita and put on your progressive academic sombrero).
I must get this stuff out of my system before we move on to Ethiopia & Wisdom Literature…
In this next Muneclips analysis we discern clearly the bio-eliminative motif in “Hola Amiguitos”, a clarion call to feminine empowerment and an unrestrained attack on patriarchal privilege, in the context of child-literacy and bodily cleanliness. The narrator participates in her awareness of social marginalization with the schoolchildren she addresses. The toilet is introduced as an archetypal beacon of hope and a call for the economically marginalized to throw off their oppression through the constructive praxis of self-awareness in metacognition. The repeated affirmation siempre uso el jabon [“I always use soap”] may be seen on multiple levels; not only as an act of resistance to the strategies of the patriarchal oppression-machine but also as an autonomous act of rupture with the unwashed (read: un-empowered) status quo. The paradigmatic sign emblazoned on the chest of the narrator affirms this liberation of the hearer as a member of the potentially disruptive forces who are able to fabricate new radicalized identities through conscious elimination of both external and internal uncleanness. The text then moves beyond the toilet to exalt the matriarchal order and call the other/the child to a new order of shared awareness in solidarity. The recurring symbolism of the toilet must be understood as simultaneously both a tool of statist striated regimentation but also as nomadic technology to be acquired by the disenfranchised other as a means to negotiated consensus through power-sharing.
Also – I would like the side of guacamole and some more chips with my order por favor…
Yes Virginia, words DO have meaning.
In spite of all that my postmodernist professors have said,
words have meaning… especially when arranged in sentences.
Here is a magnificent text for all you cutting-edge linguistic hipsters to deconstruct, heteroglossically demythologize, and ontologically implode through polylectic subtextual analysis.
OMG– it doesn’t get much better than this! (…or DOESit ? )
Isn’t this where the expression “pull out all the stops” comes from ?
For all the saints, who from their labors rest, who thee by faith before the world confessed, thy Name, O Jesus, be forever blessed. Alleluia, Alleluia!
Thou wast their Rock, their Fortress and their Might; thou, Lord, their Captain in the well fought fight; thou, in the darkness drear, their one true Light. Alleluia, Alleluia!
For the apostles’ glorious company, who bearing forth the cross o’er land and sea, shook all the mighty world, we sing to Thee: Alleluia, Alleluia!
For the Evangelists, by whose blest word, like fourfold streams, the garden of the Lord, is fair and fruitful, be thy Name adored. Alleluia, Alleluia!
For Martyrs, who with rapture kindled eye, saw the bright crown descending from the sky, and seeing, grasped it, thee we glorify. Alleluia, Alleluia!
O may thy soldiers, faithful, true, and bold, fight as the saints who nobly fought of old, and win, with them the victor’s crown of gold. Alleluia, Alleluia!
O blest communion, fellowship divine! we feebly struggle, they in glory shine; all are one in thee, for all are thine. Alleluia, Alleluia!
And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long, steals on the ear the distant triumph song, and hearts are brave, again, and arms are strong. Alleluia, Alleluia!
The golden evening brightens in the west; soon, soon to faithful warriors comes their rest; sweet is the calm of paradise the blessed. Alleluia, Alleluia!
But lo! there breaks a yet more glorious day; the saints triumphant rise in bright array; the King of glory passes on his way. Alleluia, Alleluia!
From earth’s wide bounds, from ocean’s farthest coast, through gates of pearl streams in the countless host, and singing to Father, Son and Holy Ghost: Alleluia, Alleluia!
CONNECT/HOOK 