Foolish Monkey

Foolish Monkey
MAGIC TOWN where the old never die, Connecticut,
January 31
*************************** "I find that I am so excited I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head. I think it's the excitement only a free man can feel, a free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain" -Red in The Shawshank Redemption by Stephen King *************************** WARNING: I like to noodle. can't resist. and once is never enough either. ***************************

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APRIL 9, 2012 3:17PM

Art is (for Zanelle)

Rate: 9 Flag



some say that art

is a fart

of the heart

for the smart by the crazy

also the lazy


some bouyant, some sinky

some crayon, some inky

can be warm as a minky

making patrons all thinky


whether paintings or poems

or urethane foam

art is balls of brass

an unending gas



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this is for fun. I couldn't help my brain. I had read zanelle's post and went back to work because whenver I spend any time here, I end up staying here for DAYS and nothing gets done and I am in the MIDDLE OF SPRING CLEANING AND I"M SICK OF DOING IT AND I WANT TO FINISH IT ALREADY FOR GOD'S SAKE!!!!

so while I was cleaning, this intruded on me. crept into my brain. everything I do should be this easy. of course, one hopes for better, but sometimes, you get what you get.
Just got here from zanelle's post , where i said something
terribly clever..uh..cannot remember it now..anyway:
even though it was just fun,
spontaneous silliness,
this poem has some fine sociological observations:

of the heart

for the smart by the crazy

also the lazy"

The rhyming seems kind of natural, because the message
is so true, here: mentally, physically & financially
impoverished oddballs
at the extreme margin of society
make stuff that smart rich people love to hoard...

& thinky people wanna deconstruct..

spontaneity captured in materiality...
sold in the marketplace...
odd, this "art".
odder still making it.

see? when I come here, I end up farting around here. it's ridiculous. and I have seen dust hanging off the ceiling.

it's disgusting.

and spiders. my husband found a nest of black spiders.

TORTURED SOUL!! that's me.

back to work.

thank you james, my local angel.
I was on the way to Z's blog after this, now I am lost, again!
we're a club.

and my ceiling dust celebrates another day!
Well said, and it rhymes!
Class dismissed!
Spring Cleaning seems wonderful to me. I am so glad the cold is gone. I am barefoot now without slippers on. Yippee. You are doing a good thing and the reward when it is all clean is worth it. I guess. Maybe we should just all let it settle around us like hoarders. Just let it all pile up and engulf us. Safe in our wombs of junk. Thank you for this wonderful poem. It means so much to me.
I can't resist.
I resemble this.
Sign in P.U. cab.
No blouse
No shoes
No bugs
No hug
No get
a P.U.
Hi you Monkey. Work has been impinging on my leisure time, so I have not gotten to zanelle's post. I liked this quick sweet funny poem.

What is art is a question people often ask and debate, but I don't think there is answer, or even that the question is relevant. From an artist perspective, there is sublime mystery in creative practice, and it does not bear the weight of analytical scrutiny. If I'd thought about it too much, it might never have become my life, and for that, I am grateful beyond measure.
Back to rate, and P.S. your avatar looks quite saucy in her bright red hoodie!
:::taking a bow::::

thank you thank you!

generalissmo, I am grateful!

ASH, hey hey!

Zanelle, I used to find spring cleaning wonderful. this year somewhat less so, as we skipped autumn and now I am paying the piper so to speak. there are enough cobwebs and dustmonkeys floating around to qualify as a haunted mansion, minus the mansion of course.

Oh Art James, I love me some pickup trucks. The rest - in the summer, I'm real okay with.....all, except the bugs.
later for bugs!

there's a big black leggy winged something flying around here the last couple of days. I thought I caught him by hand, but by the time I got to the sink he had flown free, slimey little bastard!

chances are, I'll outlive him. (fingers crossed.)

Hey you Heron! I don't even think about what art is. I don't care.

I'd someday like to do a post about this, how so few "definitions" matter. It's living and making and loving and that's it, ultimately.

you know it when you see it because it calls to you - speaks directly to you and your experience with art. when I say that I am thinking specifically of the first time I saw george baselitz. I thought, "where have you been all my life?". I thought, "I know you".

I think this kind of appreciation applies to all art and all people. you will "get" what your eye and your mind and your heart tell you is art. it's a learned cultural experience coupled with intellectual recognition. yes, there are rules. but they don't apply to everyone and all things. what rules do?

ultimately, one embraces what one "understands"
"Spring ... with its spirit of divine discontent and longing. It was small wonder, then, that he suddenly flung down his brush on the floor, said "Bother!" and "Hang spring cleaning!" and bolted out of the house."
Hey ! Monkey ! Leave those webs alone !
OMG your Great!
........(¯`v´¯) (¯`v´¯)
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