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Untitled 2005 by alexis wellwood |
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“We were taught artless art. ‘Form is only the pedestal. Deformity is the statue,’ one of the instructors said that first day. ‘The trick is to smash the pedestal completely and yet leave something of the statue. Deformity is beauty, always remember that. Form, which is pattern, is always ugly...” -R.A.Lafferty, “Ishmael in the Barrents”, from 4 Futures oh i see, seńor... a world filled with balding eagles dressed as men in dirty underwear with TV dinners on their lap and tattoos on their liver-spotted arms, predators wearing deerskin cloth to confuse their prey, that the sixties in usamerica insisted it would end one day, that a revolution was underway, and then the sinister among them took the world and shook the hope of peace out of it, a woman who said she wouldn’t stand for it, and in a coffee-stained tragedy was found dead two days after the inauguration of a new generation’s pop idol, a game intended for cheaters: employing a faded old man to point at an honest player and cry “cheater!”, it’s possible to see the girls with their haircuts, the people and their depression or a new pair of pants, more and more unwanted futons for sale, soandso is breaking up with soandso didyouknow, another pregnancy test, TGIM, this concert or that dj, a review, this book or that compact disc, i see i should check out this new art/lifestyle magazine, it still in with the coke ads, the movie advertising, her argument for x despite the unhappier drug experiences, one last wave of nostalgia, a debate about comma placement, a color scheme, hacky sack over shy glances, feudalism and mood icons, the big minds carrying out/on the death-isms, the traffic signals change and it can drive-thru order a take-out rape or murder, excommunication trading places with a hamburger, realizing that it comes with its eyes glittering like a freight train out of a dark tunnel, hands twitching mice fumbling in pockets for compliments, and we’ll make our guitars play a sad, sad song, and when some of us have had enough of the sing-a-longs and the meditations on entropy we will lassoo our courage like a diesel train to our backs and take off, a dynamic and moveable feast, for a new place, and others will stay, believing that it is bendable, that the oak tree of its spine is barely a sapling, weeping in toilet stalls from embarrassment, drinking vodka at the bus stop. ______________________________ alexis wellwood has been involved in a number of publishing projects, both print and online, and is currently working on a collection of poetry and short prose. She is based in Vancouver but will be relocating to Montreal in the fall.
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