I search for poets and artists who are the ultimate subversives. Not prophets and seers, not hermetic guides blessing humanity with visionary truth, certainly not enterainment or comfort for the powerful–but tricksters of the real,
of Night at the Opera, destroyers of painted sets ripping away the masks of power, tearing down the curtains of the Corpratocracy–all that makes it possible to believe in the American Hologram–the artifice of the military/industrial/prison complex. By using the stuff of our collective illusions as raw material for… play,
I think again of the painters of the cave walls… how there must have already been present some experience of alienation—of dissonance between the encounters of the hunt, and what that meant to them for their survival—imaginatively, intellectually (yes, intellectually!) — some terrific gap those images were fashioned to reconcile, to bridge. Not so unlike us, for Isn’t part of the message of those images… the wonderfully rendered figures of bison, elk, bears and … in contrast, the questionable status of those human stick figures who so uncomfortably inhabit the same space, as though belonging to a different reality.
The one we are still waiting to create.