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letra de intro - l. bundy

i will talk to you of art, for there is nothing else to talk about
for there is nothing else…
life is an obscure hobo bumming a ride on the omnibus of art
burn gas buggies and whip your sour cream of circumstance
and hope, and go ahead and sleep your bl–dy heads off
creation is, all else is not
what is not creation is graham crackers;
let it all crumble to feed the creator;
the artist is, all others are not
a canvas is a canvas or a painting
a rock is a rock or a statue
a sound is a sound, or is music
a preacher is a preacher, or an artist
where are john, joe, jake, jim, jerk?
dead! dead! dead!
they were not born before they were born, they were not born…
where are leonardo, rembrandt, ludwig?
alive! alive! alive!
they were born!
bring on the multitudes with a multitude of fishes:
feed them with the fishes for liver oil to nourish the artist
stretch their skin upon an easel to give him canvas
crush their bones into a paste that he might mold them
let them die, and by their miserable deaths become the clay within his hands
that he might form an ashtray or an ark
for all that is comes through the eye of the artist
the rest are blind fish swimming in the cave of aloneness
swim on you maudlin, muddling, maddened fools
and dream
that one bright, sunny night
the artist will bait a hook and let you bite upon it
bite hard and die!…
in his stomach you are very close to immortality

[applause]

(inaudible dialog)

(more??…)

- l bundy

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