Peanut Butter Trysts: art

Showing posts with label art. Show all posts

Le Sigh

"Can I Live"

Forgettin all I ever knew, convenient amnesia

I suggest you call my lawyer, I know the procedure

Lock my body can't trap my mind, easily

explain why we adapt to crime

I'd rather die enormous than live dormant that's how we on it

Live at the main event, I bet a trip to Maui on it

Presidential suites my resedential for the weekend

Confidentially speakin in codes since I sense you peekin

The NSX rental, don't be fooled my game is mental

We both out of town dog, what you tryin to get into?

Viva, Las Vegas, see ya, later at the crap tables

meet me by the one that starts a G up

This way no fraud Willie's present gambling they re-up

And we can have a pleasant time, sippin margaritas

Ge-ge-geyeahhh, can I live?

Can I live?

My mind is infested, with sick thoughts that circle

like a Lexus, if driven wrong it's sure to hurt you

Dual level like duplexes, in unity, my crew and me

commit atrocities like we got immunity

You guessed it, manifest it in tangible goods

Platinum Rolexed it, we don't lease

we buy the whole car, as you should

My confederation, dead a nation, EXPLODE

on detonation, overload the mind of a said patient

When it boils to steam, it comes to it

we all fiends gotta do it, even righteous minds go through this

True this, history school us to spend our money foolish

Bond with jewellers and, watch for intruders

I stepped it up another level, meditated like a buddhist

Recruited lieutenants with ludicrous, dreams of

gettin cream let's do this, it gets tedious

So I keep one eye open like, C-B-S, ya see me

stressed right? Can I live?

Can I live?

Ha-hah, Roc-A-Fella y'all

i wish life would stop trying to bitch slap me into submission

it wont succeed I'll just be a fiercer bitch.

Seminal Seminal Seminal Seminal Seminal artiste, Jean Michel Basquait is finally getting his moment in celluloid history!The film was directed by Tamra Davis using old footage of the genius, apparently released on the 21st of February, its a must see if you're at all interested in expressionism and real depth in modern art...

('The Skull'1984) my favourite piece EVERRR

Its about time for this to happen the man's been gone 21years and yet he's still stuntin on hoes accross the art world!The fact he was part of the Factory mayhem and madness sometimes overshadows what an amazing artist he was which is to be expected considering it happened to alot of the 'creatives' that got over-shadowed by the enigma that was Warhol...

sometimes the MYTH is easier to consume than the ART..

Fun Fact: we shared the same birthday.. even though we were born 28years apart and he did died 4months before my birth...

Arty Shit

If I Were Tickled by the Rub of Love

BY DYLAN THOMAS

If I were tickled by the rub of love,
A rooking girl who stole me for her side,
Broke through her straws, breaking my bandaged string,
If the red tickle as the cattle calve
Still set to scratch a laughter from my lung,
I would not fear the apple nor the flood
Nor the bad blood of spring.

Shall it be male or female? say the cells,
And drop the plum like fire from the flesh.

If I were tickled by the hatching hair,
The winging bone that sprouted in the heels,
The itch of man upon the baby's thigh,
I would not fear the gallows nor the axe
Nor the crossed sticks of war.

Shall it be male or female? say the fingers
That chalk the walls with greet girls and their men.
I would not fear the muscling-in of love
If I were tickled by the urchin hungers
Rehearsing heat upon a raw-edged nerve.
I would not fear the devil in the loin
Nor the outspoken grave.

If I were tickled by the lovers' rub
That wipes away not crow's-foot nor the lock
Of sick old manhood on the fallen jaws,
Time and the crabs and the sweethearting crib
Would leave me cold as butter for the flies
The sea of scums could drown me as it broke
Dead on the sweethearts' toes.

This world is half the devil's and my own,
Daft with the drug that's smoking in a girl
And curling round the bud that forks her eye.
An old man's shank one-marrowed with my bone,
And all the herrings smelling in the sea,
I sit and watch the worm beneath my nail
Wearing the quick away.

And that's the rub, the only rub that tickles.
The knobbly ape that swings along his sex
From damp love-darkness and the nurse's twist
Can never raise the midnight of a chuckle,
Nor when he finds a beauty in the breast
Of lover, mother, lovers, or his six
Feet in the rubbing dust.

And what's the rub? Death's feather on the nerve?
Your mouth, my love, the thistle in the kiss?
My Jack of Christ born thorny on the tree?
The words of death are dryer than his stiff,
My wordy wounds are printed with your hair.
I would be tickled by the rub that is:
Man be my metaphor.

The Kiss

BY PABLO PICASSO