When I discovered ******, he was a ***,
living in a flophouse hoping to make it big
as an artist. He sold postcards on the street
going from cafe to cafe making a few coin.
When I discovered Basquiat he was a ***.
Living on the street hoping to make it big
as an artist. He sold postcards on the street
going from cafe to cafe making a few bills.
When I discovered Van Gogh, he was a stalker;
when I discovered Lautrec he was a pervert;
when I discovered Baudelaire, he was a ******,
likewise Coleridge & de Quincey. When I
discovered Wilde He was doing hard time.
When I discovered Burroughs, he was on the
run for ******. When I discovered Hunter S.
Thompson, he was already fireworks. When
I discovered Hart Crane he had already jumped
overboard. When I discovered Walt Whitman,
he was 'Old Gray Beard'. When I discovered
Dickinson, she was alone listening to Mabel
through the wall having multiple *******.
When I discovered Bret Hart, Twain had ruined
his career. I never met Edgar Allen Poe. Many
great artists were pedophiles; the smooth pure
skin of a vivacious child can be soothingly
aesthetic & physically pleasurable. Artists &
poets get ***** too, in an almost transcendental
way. The human body touches & caresses itself.
Women generally don't appreciate being grabbed,
mauled & molested unless they are as equally
passionate abut the moment. But artists & poets
are always ready to unmask their id. The human
body has no such mask. It is a fleshy meat puppet
buffeted by fate. Steak has no choice, says the cow.