Minimalism: The Black Dot

10 Comments

1. That was so deep… I’m going to go make my own work of art. It’s brown and bigger than a dot… the canvas is a white porcelain bowl.

2. Thanks for passing that along. Added it to http://tech.arlingtonlibrary.org crediting your blog for where I found it and the artist, as well. Really stunning.

3. he did a really good job, eh?

4. I love those motion thingies. So cool.

5. Thanks, Kevin!

6. That was pretty cool, even if it did sound vaguely like a Dr. Seuss book.

7. Where is marquis

8. When I finished watching, I felt a sudden yet deep sorrow that I was too young to have attended Woodstock…….

9. Thanks, Onmyphone. 🙂

   Ahem. Okay. My turn.

   Anniversary
   (A true story)
   by Marquisdejolie

   On the anniversary of your return
   to this toxically antiseptic purebred mongrel aluminum-sided
   country of ingeniously lobotomized pastel-colored Greed clones,
   You decided IT.

   With the high infidelity-travelling worst class religious
   three-piece suit disguised mind masturbating fascists
   and their herpes infected quiche-eating debutante consorts
   scavenging through your pockets,
   And their by-product puke-haired sexless New Wave psuedo intellectual
   soda pop sophisticate sons and daughters
   with THEIR neo-liberal arts concept of cheaply-paid-for individualism media broadcast through your sensibilities,
   And the tired Catholic recalibrations of politically expediant
   mass market tested logical positivist back door morality
   shorting out your heart and brain,
   And brother veterans’ ceaseless whining to and panhandling from
   the guiltless ridden draft-deferred de rigueured shame accountants
   embarrassing you to your patriotic core,
   IT decided YOU.

   With ALL decided,
   you stepped into your over-mortgaged
   imitation life father knows best den,
   sat in your favorite recovered lumpy
   hand-me-down Gerber-stained lounge chair,
   put the barrel of your NRA approved
   Brazilian-made blue metal .38 in your mouth,
   cocked the hammer,
   and fired.

   In cold October.
   I miss you.
   And now,
   my Octobers
   are colder.

10. .

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