Albion, Art, Trickster

Mister Jar-Man…

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The train of time… And memory… Runs all day… And all night… The stops it makes at night… Turn out to be dreams… Their veracity… Is uncertain… Or at least… Less certain… Than the already uncertain… Day stops… Our station tonight… Is Nineteen-Ninety-Three… And we are en route… To the Tate Modern… In London… Long Don Juan… If you prefer… The art gallery… Is formed of an old… Three storey warehouse… Which is now wearing ‘black-face’… The floors of the the ex-warehouse… Have been removed… Creating an enormous inside space… From each of the four walls hang huge canvas’.

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Each painting is covered… With different coloured oils… Predominantly… Low spectrum colours… Have been… What can only be described as… Smeared over… The entire canvas… There are also what appear to be a somewhat frantic scratching… From the clawing of hands… Within the texture… Of the paint… Eventually it becomes clear… That a word has been etched… Into each of the paintings… The word on the first painting is… Arse… The word on the second painting is… Injected… The word on the third painting is… Death… The word on the fourth painting is… Syndrome… Such is art!

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A last statement… From the artist… Mister Jar-Man… Who was evidently… Less than thrilled… To be on the way… To meet his maker… And in such circumstances… Understandably so… Would his rage have been assuaged… Had he suspected… That his condition… Had been manufactured… By the people… Whom he professed… To serve?… It seems unlikely… Nevertheless… Hazza the man-boy… Who failed in his duty… To both crown…  And country… Has recently taken to the airwaves… To insist we have both duty… And obligation… Symptoms or not… To take… The latest test… Does this sound familiar?…

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