(no subject)

Feb 20, 2004 17:54

The monkey's glassed over eyes and thick lips express its typecast role as rhythm-setter, drumskin and cymbals clanging ad infinitum. Even its striped shirt and steady pacing, all its motors oiled and winded, suggest more than an age of "Aestheticism". They'd call it the "Aestheticism Monkey" if they could, as if a thousand monkeys could be responsible for such a notion in a thousand years. But the monkey knows nothing of art for art's sake, for he hees and haws over the wee-est thing, and so do the dealers whose magnifying glasses are set beneath their eyes like soothsayers examining artifacts of the past as a prophecy of the future. They're drunk on paint and mintcondition, the wear and tear of the monkey's ears, drunk on dollars weighted with words, value weighted with the thicker air of a by gone era.
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