radiant freaks

After an unseemly war, indeed any conflict worth its salt, holding hands with the foe in a see-through wrought iron creaky elevator makes for the perfect imaginative indignity. More so when the mechanism is empty of surplus pounding hearts, black widow spiders on heat and coy venomous snakes.  Yet when bereft of such additional intrusive living creatures one must be at pains to ensure that the whole world does not fall apart, otherwise the word ‘art’ would never again have true meaning. That would never do.

For the sparkling arty-farty ones exclusively, due care must be taken to ensure notoriety remains an ambition; freedom of mind and body a lifelong quest whether or not the appetite to break free of the tedium of being lingers on. As a rule of thumb, ‘no flight of stairs for the gifted when grand elevators abound is all one needs to know; is sufficiently dreamlike to qualify as authentic art’.

Likewise, vintage photographs count for nothing while the draped in sepia naked muse lives on. Since time immemorial those who were born as ‘un objet d’art’ frolic as they fancy. It has forever been thus. Whether they be the permissive beautiful ones or radiant freaks of nature they all know well who and what they are.  Often, they end it all prior to satisfying their desires. Perhaps that was their aim all along? Likely it was. For them, perpetually ignoring inconsequential new horizons surpasses both ambition and quest. It is the way of artists and art forms. Importantly, at the point of last breath the true artist will, of faultless narcissistic necessity, share all secrets, even the debauched ones with indiscreet chatterers. A legacy is a legacy after all.

In terms of the rest of us, the talentless majority, save for the studious chain smoking, purer than pure scientists and bed hopping, mouthy lawmakers, the longing for something unfathomably substantial is all there is to cling onto. Sadly, it is not unusual for such a burning hunger to attract sticky falsities as the folly of consuming groomed ideals and ideas holds sway and a perilous numbing of brain cells fast develops. Some seek solace in swilling large gulps of heady alcohol while others, those immune to charity, seek to feed off remnants of unsalted humanity.

Melanie Safka – ‘Leftover Wine’Dec


47 thoughts on “RADIANT FREAKS

      1. Your eye has mended. Well done. I imagine you are pounding the keyboard again. I have no real cause to complain, yet I do complain. Am I turning into a miserable old s*d? Those around me seem to be of that view.

      2. Oh aye. Worst thing is I have been nipping out early to get our downstairs windows painted and it is lovely then and you think, ‘ Get everything done, get sitting out.’ Fat chance when within the hour there’s sleet, there’s hail.

    1. Early Melanie, especially her very first album revealed her as a most talented lady who captured the mood of ‘that’ decade. A true artist who seemingly knew her flaws and used them in her work. A good person. ‘Leftover Wine’ a metaphor for the plight of gifted dreamers everywhere.

    1. Cheers, young Leslie. I write in defence of art and artists however off the wall they might be. I’ve still lots of the Barefoot wine in stock. I just wish I’d got more when I had the chance!

    1. My thanks, Mia. There are times when I truly despair of those millions out there who have no conception of art. My twist on the old 60’s saying would be ‘Make Art, Not War’, on the understanding that original still had a worthy place in the memories of many a long haired personage.

  1. you, sir, have no business including yourself among “the rest of us, the talentless majority,” – you are a brilliant and freakishly talented word-artist – this piece is enough radiant to burn WordPress to ash

  2. So glad to have found this thought`provoking essay which is as much poetry as it is prose . . . And glad you have found your way back to blogging. You are one smart guy!

  3. “sticky falsities”–I feel a moment like this could be a tale in and of itself, of a foolish, pompous oaf who thinks it incapable of such “stickiness” finding him, clinging to him, and in his arrogance of the sticky falsities growing upon his back and trailing behind him like some emperor’s new bathrobe, he will walk into his undoing.
    Lovely language, lovely imagery. Your imagination’s eye is crystal clear, my friend. xxxxxx

    1. My thanks, Ms Lee. The saddest thing is that there are so many arrogant self-centred people, without conception of their ‘condition’, and there always has been, that I often despair of the human race. More so, that these incidental hunters of falsities end up in power over the rest of us…I’ll be off now to open a vein!

  4. Powerful piece Mike. There were many wonderful lines but I’ll mention the last two words that resonated with me -unsalted humanity. 🙂

  5. Wow! Listening to Melanie was a full-blown, time travel to my tumultuous, late teens. Interesting how music can do that. Thanks for posting it, Mike. 🙂

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