Presiding over the Samhain Sabat, Baphomet the Piggy Banker. Sinister little fucker.
With sincere apologies to Eliphas Levi, oh and Goya for that matter … please don’t drop in for dinner tomorrow … then again, might be fun.
So you’ve conflated an Ikea piggy bank and a demon idol? … I guess you just had to be there.
Cheap credit helps us to unsee the decline of the West … capitalism can not deliver the goods with pirates scraping off whatever cream there is.
Stuff is about lifestyle and not life … it might as well be Soma.
Low productivity and limited resources, environmental degradation and an economy built on a shed load of low paid service jobs and a few high paid “wealth-creators” is a choice we make … in a few weeks time for fuck’s sake … but immigrants are what matter, unless of course they’re drowning because of our “humanitarian” wars and penny pinching nastiness, in which case they don’t. Prudence is what matters unless we’re handing over the state to asset-stripping gougers who will just make us pay and pay and will treat their employees as zombie zero-hours-wage slaves. The deficit is what matters unless it’s just a fucking pretext for robbing and disempowering us and enriching more parasites. And anyway, if I owned a house, I’d be rich … so I’m all right. Except I’m not …
and the things that we could be doing to make the world a better place, a fairer place, a kinder place, a warmer place, a more beautiful place are just too expensive — we cannot subsidise our souls but we can “invest” in our dividends. We must not be seduced by wishful thinking, we must reclaim the sensible middle ground … that is fast disappearing and is mean and narrow and selfish and hard … and full of fear too.
Fuck, I (almost) give up …
But not quite.
And Mr Warhol is not feeling the pressure I fear — but I try.
It is grimly ironic that, as we have moved from an industrial to a service economy, our culture sneers at mac-jobs at one end of the social scale but reveres the parasitic pirates, pick-pockets and pimps at the other.
I had thought of it as a portrait of Richard Branson who is constantly refered to as an entrepreneur rather than the leech that he is … but I’m not sure if anyone would recognise it. One can be a little too cryptic.
One of those times when I was sure I’d had a great idea, the execution was hard but ultimately satisfying, the result is strong and direct and even beautiful in places … and yet … it doesn’t really stack up.
Faced with the shadow bankers and oligarchs who have bought our democracy, one just has to take their money back.