Putting Holes In Happiness (Marilyn Manson Essay)

Kneel down humble men and become the height of our children. Let your heart crawl into your knee and realize that all knowledge lives through imagination. This is the nursery business, always get a photocopy.

Our cultures may continue to disintegrate but we just rebuild with abusement parks, filming the process and replaying it as situation comedy. We wear ribbons, hold hands, celebrate and concentrate on camps that train our kindergartens to shout out "star-spangled" banter.

We will medicate the lunacy of "degenerate" art with heavy doses of old-fashioned (original recipe) family virtues.

"Let's make sure all of these offensive forms of entertainment are shown publicly, and burned immediately as a warning to us all!"

In the meantime, try to stay conscious. We are sitting in the EMERGENCY ROOM waiting for the doctor, a newly elected aesthetician, to come and pronounce his diagnosis. The grotesque, malignant cancer that is our expressions and our views is no longer the disease. We are being told that the sounds and images of art are now the symptoms of the creator. We as the artists, are now considered unhealthy and incurable.

Let me remind you that the deformed scar of one man, is "love's pretty dimple" to me. The generation that lived through WWII accepted the concept of "total violence" as a solution to the world's problems. The mathematics of creative suffering and the milk of human violence are the formulas that our grandparents bottled and passed down to our parents.

These are the "traditional" values that have built "protective," moral walls around our children's world. And it is, indeed, a small world after all.

MM



Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Better In Every Way

The ides of the tight are crumbled pieces of paper
and notes of forgotten loves lay strangled on the floor
I suppose I could put a pen in it
But I'm using that pen to write this letter to you
And all the trees bend to the knees to let you pass by
And all the stars in the sky pluck the apples of their own eyes to give to you
But today is another day and maybe today I'll be yours and you'll be mine
Well me? I'm doing fine, but find isn't the best way to live
I have so much to give, but you're so far away, and I guess Mississippi water and johnny cash will have to suit me for now
so today please let me know
If these hands are yours and if you'd have this heart forever
If i was thinking I'd probably put this letter to the breeze
And what I'm trying to say would remain in this crumbling heart
But I can't
And I know that being alive isn' just a cure
for saying goodbye
there's more than saying goodnight
To being alive
So today love sits in the tallest tree and stares at me
With all things daring and vague, I pray that you find me.
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