Thursday, 20 May 2010

Art thieves in Paris steal £86 million worth of paintings!

I don't give a shit about Fernand Leger, Henri Matisse, Georges Braque, or Amedeo Modigliani. What upsets me is that these bastard thieves got away with one of Picasso's paintings. Picasso was a god. Still is, in fact.

Dove with green peas. No, that's not what I had for lunch. I've told you I’m a vegetarian. I had a cheese and onion pasty, crisps, a yoghurt, and a can of Pepsi. I actually prefer Coke, but there was a special deal on the ... why am I telling you this? Dove with green peas. That's the Picasso painting. Picasso only named five or six paintings in his life, so I don't know who gave it that title. Probably some ponce of a critic. Wearing a bow tie. Maybe even a monocle. English, I fear. You know the type.

Picasso was a master of reality, and a shaman. There are only a handful of artists like that in the whole of history. Rimbaud, Lautreamont, myself. And it's not a matter of fame or conventional greatness. Hardly anyone has heard of Lautreamont, for example. Or me. But we have a mystic power. We change reality. We change ourselves. Shakespeare wasn't a shaman. Mozart wasn't either. It's not for everyone.