A Very Long Shortcut

     Ihaveloved and been moved by this painting and the Marcel Duchamp pun that is thebasis for its title ever since EVER SINCE.   

    (That expression soundsvaguely Bob Marley-esque to me and I'm pleased to employ it on New Year'sDay.  Miss you a lot, Bob.)  

    Simple-seeming, almostcrude, M’Amenez-Y (the painting) conveys to me concentrated mystery, charm, mirthand some romance.  (If you know me, you’ll recognize that I score higheron the “mystery sensitivity scale” than on any of the others, where I’mbasically clueless.)  

    Francis Picabia’spainting is quietly lively, unforced, unpretentious and, in an untraditional way(like other Picabia works), highly original and masterful.  

   I think it would havebeen great to have met and known Francis Picabia.  If you like this, as Ihope you do, possibly you'll like THIS also.  

    In 2012, I will try tocomplain less and I hope I will have less to complain about.  Happy New Year!



Francis Picabia, M'Amenez-Y, 1919-20, Museum of Modern Art, New York

When The Work Was New

--  There She Blows -- 

When theWork was New --

It was Easyto do --

Though weworked 10 Times Harder than we do now --

It did notseem So Hard Somehow --

It did not seem So Hard Somehow.

 

When I first Loved you --

Baby sometimes I Still Do --

Only a Miracle would make me Break My Vow --

It would Not take So Much now --

NO -- It Would Not Take SO Much now.

They ought to take me Out and Shoot me --
Do me a favor and and Do me --

Put me outof my Misery Like a Broken Horse --

I don’t minddying – I’m Lying, of course.

Now when the Axe Comes Down --

You stand up and look around --

And where the buildings stood, there's Only Empty Air --

And where Your True Love Laughed

Now there's No One there--

And where your Old Man was--

Now there's No One there.

They ought to Shoot me --
Do me a favor and and Do me --

Put me outof my Misery Like a Broken Horse --

I don’t minddying – I’m Lying, of course.

I drink toomuch, I drink too fast

Whether a bottle to a glass

FromChateauneuf-du-Pape to Thunderbird --

I Prefer MySenses Blurred --

I Prefer My Senses Blurred -- 

I Prefer My Senses Blurred. 

Musical Link:

Peter Blegvad: When The Work Was New (From Downtime)

METEOR (Blegvad-Partridge) Close Earth Flyby By Asteriod 2005 YU55

This radar image of asteroid 2005 YU55 was obtained on Nov. 7, 2011, at 11:45 a.m. PST (2:45 p.m. EST/1945 UTC), when the space rock was at 3.6 lunar distances, which is about 860,000 miles, or 1.38 million kilometers, from Earth.  Image credit: NASA/JPL-Caltech



A mass ofMinerals and Metals,
Confused into aball,
Hurtlingthrough a Vacuum
On a MillionMile fall.

A piece ofshattered planet,
The lastsurviving chunk,
Ten times thesize of Canada,
A Crumb of Interstellar Junk.

Meteor,Meteor.
Don't you hearthat distant roar?
Doom iscalling Door-to-Door :
Prepare to meetthy Meteor !

Hurtlingthrough emptiness,
With No One atthe Wheel,
Imagine if itlanded here,
Imagine howyou'd feel --

The oceanswould evaporate,
You couldn't seefor steam,
And even themost Rational
Would think itwas a Dream.

 

Meteor,Meteor.
Don't you hearthat distant roar?
Doom iscalling Door-to-Door :
Prepare to meetthy Meteor !

And anotherPlanet Shattered,
Pieces scatteredto the Stars,
We wouldn'tthink it mattered
if the planetwasn't Ours.

The Moonbegins to wander
Now its anchor's been destroyed,
Driftingwithout Influence
Out into thevoid.

The humanrace wiped out
When we wereJust about to switch
fromInhumanity to Sanity,
Now wouldn'tthat be rich?

As you diedyour only comfort
Would be thatyou Knew
All theagents of Corruption
in the worldwere Dying Too.

Meteor,Meteor.
Don't you hearthat distant roar?
Comingthrough the Kitchen Floor :
Prepare to meetthy Meteor !




NOTE:  I'm sorry not to be able to sharea recording of Peter Blegvad (Slapp Happy) and Andy Partridge's (XTC) song with you, but the only version I have heard can't be uploaded, although I imagine it can be found somewhere out there on the Celestial Jukebox.  I wish Blegvad (who included it in live performances, such as the 3-14-92 concert at St. Ann's in Brooklyn) committed it to a fixed "vinyl" (sorry for dating myself) version because, as you can see,  it’s a terrificlyric wedded to a driving, exciting melody and rhythm. Until Asteroid Armageddon, Meteor (like its composers) will remain perennially relevant.  

 P.S.  Asteroid 2005 YU55 is not "Ten times thesize of Canada", but only as big as the "supercarrier" USS Nimitz, "one of the largest warships in the world."  DUCK! (and cover). 

Our Man In Havana

The time has come to give our man in Havana some help.  This is altogether too big for an untrainedagent with no assistance.  

In Hell's Despite

This rocket's Going Nowhere

It's travelling so fast.

In one end goes the future,

Out the other comes the past.

And we are on a mission 

As we hurtle through the Night,

To build a Heaven in Hell's despite.

This rocket's Going Nowhere,
The hull is full of holes.
No one navigating,
No one at the controls.
No one said it would be easy
On our maiden flight,
To build a Heaven in Hell's despite.

Link: "In Hell's Despite" (wr. Peter Blegvad/Andy Partridge), performed by The Schramms

Photography:  Strange Phase Studios

Loss To Mourn

Before my Daddy passed away
He said "Son, it isn't easy what I have to say."
I'm not even sure it's true,
But my Daddy told me, so I'm telling you:

"Unless a man has a loss to mourn, 

He hasn't been born at all.
Until a woman's been intimate with grief, 

She's still a little girl."

Youth is wasted on the young.

(Who else would it be wasted
on?)
Another thing my Daddy said:

"Life is wasted on the living.
Death is wasted on the dead."

"Unless a man has a loss to mourn, 

He hasn't been born at all.
Until a woman's been intimate with grief, 

She's still a little girl. 

Why do we bring children into this world of woe?
We talk about freedom -- 
But we've got nowhere else to go."

My Old Man makes a last request

To be fed like a baby 

At his mama’s breast.

I take him to a fancy restaurant --

I say "Daddy you can order anything you want."

Unless a man has a loss to mourn, 

He hasn't been born at all.
Until a woman's been intimate with grief, 

She's still a little girl.

Note:  Loss To Mourn, the lead-off song on Peter Blegvad's last collection of all-new material, Hangman's Hill, has been more and more on my mind lately, for reasons I didn't understand until yesterday evening.  A link to the song, which features the performances of Peter Blegvad (voice/guitar), John Greaves (bass), Chris Cutler (drums), Bob Drake (guitar) and B.J. Cole (pedal steel guitar) is found Here.