SOMETHING IN THE AIR

A half-wit king content to renounce the affairs of State for the pleasures of the hunt; a queen, intelligent and unscrupulous in the exercise of her unlimited control over both king and country; an incompetent playboy raised to the dignity of Prime Minister at the age of twenty-four after a brief career as a guardsman, at one and the same time both the Queen’s lover and the King’s favourite – these were the guardians of the divine right of kings at a time when the principle of legitimacy was challenged by an ex-corporal dethroning half the monarchs of Europe.  The poison of ‘dangerous ideas’ expressed in the fashion of majaism was destroying the old moral order at its roots, even before the new forces were strong enough to replace it.

F.D. Klingender, Goya In The Democratic Tradtion (“The Caprichos” chapter), London, Sidgwick and Jackson, Ltd., 1948. 

Bruce Nauman artworks, 1985. 

Thunderclap Newman: Something In The Air, 1969 (Link)

WITHOUT ME

Occasionally, during our long hard period of not getting along, my mother said -- in cryptically guarded or cryptically unguarded -- I'm unclear -- moments -- that she admired and was envious that I had never lost a friend.  


The admission surprised me because even though she was correct (then), I never believed my mother paid any attention to things beyond herself and my father and certainly not to me.


This was years ago.  At this point, I’ve lost a small multitude of citizens I once regarded as friends.  To state things more precisely, I think they decided to lose me.


Now I have a better, if smaller, family, and they and those friends I've somehow retained are precious to me.  The circle is more wedding ring than tennis ball or hula hoop size and circumference, but it is quality that counts.

Pathetic to mention, but sometimes I contemplate that majestic/bathetic Badfinger song“Without You”and I want to retitle it“Without Me,”adjusting Pete Ham's  lyrics and revising and reversing his story and intentions.  Advancing age and Obama's economy have authored a period of utter personal savagery generally and among my peers especially.  As Graham Greene wrote, “It’s A Battlefield." The hoi polloi have taken the scrum scouring corpses and vandalizing dental work.


The old me never knew, never imagined.  My mother twigged all of it, the whole ball of wax, a long time ago.  She said, and I’ve freaked out several shrinks relating this:


“Don’t trust anyone – not even me.”


Can you believe it? 

Badfinger: Without You (Link)

Kevin Ayers: Feeling This Way (Link)

Bruce Nauman Art