Damien H. Arse 22nd July 2004. Acrylic on Canvas: 40x50cm
Hmm... So what do we have here? Well... on the surface it looks like an Emin-esque type artist (will the real chin shady please stand up... or is this the wicked witch of the West?) holding up, what seems to be the decapitated head of a leading Saatchi-esque art hater. I'm sure some toss monkey out there would like to buy this conceptual crap.
On closer examination however we see a smirking, twisted sad idealist presenting to the world (on a rather dishevelled worn silver platter) the severed head of her benefactor... looking rather smug with himself. Isn't this the sort of conceptual nonsense that would unite both the artists and the con-artists?
And haven't you conned us all Mr Advertiser... haven't you?
Looking closer still... we see the head of the con-artist getting bigger and bigger as the art establishment pour praises on the meaningless... and elevates the trivial.
By the way... in case you were wondering... why I didn't paint the flames in the background? Ahem, well... the supposed art lover can supply his own can of gasoline and matches... some of us have to earn a living!
Damien H. Arse. Gouache on Paper, 04/12/2003.
After a four hour stint of ecstasy, LSD and alcohol... I decided it was time for beddy byes. It was coming up to 6-7 am and the sun was starting to defrost my pubes. I found myself in the centre of the Princess Diana walk of Death (Satan's Piece I believe). Wasn't sure how I got here or how long I'd been in this foetal position but it didn't matter anymore... the drugs were kicking in.
As I was just about to close my eyes I suddenly realised... was I already asleep? Was this the dreamstate of Damien H. Arse or was I just dreaming? Some cunt was tapping on my shoulder, telling me to wake up. I peeked up for a few hours and saw this collagen lip fucker standing over me and yelling: "If you focus the inner mind and by-pass the outer thought, you will begin to see the inner truth as opposed to the external lie."
I pondered this for a few moments while some scavvers offered me some special brew, but I was far too gone for the treacle champagne...
It was coming up to midday when I was nudged asleep by one sheepish looking cunt, who told me: "Mind the green hole or the book-lice will begin to turn minds."
I sleepily understood while I slowly watched a couple of students fuck into each other... backwards.
Reality and non-reality were beginning to merge into one whole pseudo-reality... There would be no peace until there was justice for the Palestinians... or was it the penguins?!?!
I was string at a blade of grass... a whole ecosystem, but I was interrupted again. It was coming up to ten-to half past three, when a stoic looking blue faced cant (though it was a pig for a split second) replied to my question and answered:
"In order to comprehend the cheesemaker... one must understand finally the monkey fuckers." At this point I decided to wander the Walk of Death and head to the far end of Satan's Piece.. at around 1/2 mile per hour. As I moved I was moved, both internally and externally as the cack trickled down my gammy leg.
At the far side of death, I staggered exhausted into a heap of rubbish only to be slapped asleep by a smiley looking cunt who loudly whispered up my nose:
"If we were there... when there was perfect.... how did we arrive here? And more importantly... why did we choose the leave there?"
I investigated this for a few colours while the bastard sun was beginning to set once again. Slowly this time... I could almost see myself age, worlds being created and destroyed in an instant...precum building up...
Before the final glint of light was hitting my arse a skinny shit of a cunt formed a total eclipse of the cunt asked me:
"The emotional consciousness versus the astral consciousness.What do you prefer for projection."
Well... This was all beginning to become all too obvious... the ethereal madness... the emotional blackmail... an email attachment showing half-naked images of Michael Jackson... perhaps?
It was coming up to nine pm when I decided to slowly walk back to the park bench which I'd made my stinking home. Kicked the shit smothered toilet paper away and settled down to a good night's wanking when I noticed a cunt was already there.
This 'in my face cunt' apologized for soiling my pad, but I didn't mind as it was a pretty cold night, As the cunt departed, there was a passing shot of
"What are the medical and psychiatric considerations in Ancient Aaiyyanist surgery in relation to the King of the Wobble board."
Fuck you... fuck the lot of you. The only person who exists is me and the rest of you cunts can all drop dead... but before you do that you must suck my shriveled cock! COME ON .... YOU WANT IT YOU SLAGGY CUUUUUUNTS!
Hmm... Settled down in the bed of cack, spunk, urine and needles. Slept awhile... curled up... sleepy.. snoozy... The out of the 'kin blue comes a green faced cunt of a cunt who quickly sidled up to me and said:
"... Why are you such a cunt?"
