basquiat
you never appreciated basquiat
i felt for you
you told me you only saw a childs scrawling
a cry for attention from a petulant teen
a mentally challenged adult hastily daubing a canvas
before the voices overwhelmed him
before the stench of the shit in the world got too much to bear
the tendrils of emetic despair wafting through the grate
in his run down bathroom
cartoon like
forming a hand and beckoning him deeper into misery
i tried to tell you basquiat was important to me
and that maybe you should try and appreciate the movement
the colour
the background to this fucking guy
this fucking street urchin who made it because he had it
he had it and i wanted it
i want it
how people like basquiat gave me hope
that people like bukowski gave me hope
that i could achieve what these people had even though
i was just a docile cunt living in a shit hole town with no family
how i needed to drink to see what they saw
i need to drink to see what they saw baby
it’s not you it’s me
but you never listened
you’d just retreat back to your bell jar of insignificance
you never understood basquiat
you never understood why i had to cut myself every night
to use my veins as a palette
to use my tears as a dictionary
you never understood why i didn’t eat
why i never slept
why i had to watch porn to get it up
how i eroded myself
every
single
day
just to be someone
just to be something more than an insignificant speck of dust
something a star shit out
a hand reaching for a bottle
for a throat
for a pen
Stu Buck
Wed 7th Sep 2016 13:01
cheers laura. to me, plath and basquiat are two polar opposites of what art can be. i actually enjoyed reading plath when i was younger, but as i aged a bit i just wanted art to kick me in the tits rather than be safe and secure.
if i had a billion pounds id fill my home with his paintings, every time i look at one i am reminded how much movement and heat he got into each picture. amazing stuff.
i have changed 'every' on to its own line, i agree.