In the beginning was pre-scarcity art
And the caves and the rocks were a’plenty.
Thrag asked “Mom, can I draw on the wall?”
She’d say “Sure, have a square foot or twenty.”
But as cavekids kept coming and new caves did not
The biggest of Thrags made a rule:
“You only draw pictures of how great I am
“Or I hit you with club ‘til you drool.“
Well the biggest of cavemen was one they called “God”
(Though it’s translated plenty of ways)
And for a few dozen eons all art was created
To offer him penance and praise.
Then one of those days God’s goons stopped beheading
And burning those who spoke their mind
And artists were arting about love and go-karting
And the God stuff got all left behind.
Well folks love their love (and, a bit less, their go-karts)
But artists got bored making beauty
So they started to mix, splatter, smear, scrape, and “other”
And their art got much less “bowl of fruit”y.
The people cried out “What’s this art all about?”
And the artists would pout and say “Feelings”
When really we know that the art status-quo
Was more about shady cash dealings.
And now we’ve arrived when the people are tired
Of listening to skilled people sing
And the artists are taught in the college of thought
That good art mustn’t mean anything.
So I, being me, full of whimsy and glee
Know you see that my own art is bad…
But my art’s about stuff, and today that’s enough
To make even my crap not so bad.
The Daily Travesty 