Most recent post

Every stop is a story - Darwin to Adelaide River

-
Image
  Every stop is a story - Darwin to Adelaide River The Adelaide River Rupture (image to be uploaded - subscribe to be notified) The storm did not break over the Adelaide River plains; rather, reality tore open along the track. To the left, the familiar Top End landscape clung fiercely to its quiet melancholy. A lone gum tree stood sentinel over the charred scrub and dry earth, its leaves catching the last bruised light of a brooding wet-season sky. In the hollow below, the old fictional homestead crouched beside the rutted dirt road, enduring the heavy stillness that always settles before the atmosphere ruptures. Then came the tear. It began not with thunder, but with an overwhelming, luminous heat that shredded the grey overcast into molten ribbons. You could feel the vortex of raw energy sweeping through radiant ambers, searing cadmium oranges, and blinding celestial whites. The vortex descended like a folded dimension brushing against the earth. Where the atmospheric rift touch...
Post a Comment

The Art of Yeee-haw

-

 

The Art of Yeee-haw

Goddamn, let's do a tune called "Hanson Hide," okay?  

Goddamn tape's rollin', let's go!  

Let's round 'em up!  

One, two, three, four!


Rollin', rollin', rollin'  

Rollin', rollin', rollin'  

Keep them Asians movin', movin', movin'  

Though they're workin', never complainin'  

Don't try to tell me they're not floodin'  

We're gettin' swamped! Swamped! SWAMPED!


Yippee-yi-yay, burqa in your face!  

Yippee-yi-yo-ki-yay, cover up the race!  

Hanson hide, yeee-haw!


Rollin', rollin', rollin'  

Rollin', rollin', rollin'  

Keep them Africans out, out, out  

They bring disease, that's what she shouts  

No refugees, no black South, no doubt  

We're gettin' swamped! Swamped! SWAMPED!


Yippee-yi-yay, chain-link and hate!  

Yippee-yi-yo-ki-yay, keep Australia white!  

Hanson hide, yeee-haw!


No good Muslims! None! Zero! Zip!  

All of 'em bad, that's her gospel script  

Court said it straight: "racist, hateful shit"  

Derogatory, discriminatory—full-on fit!


Rollin', rollin', rollin'  

Rollin', rollin', rollin'  

Indigenous handouts? Reverse racism!  

Screw native title, call it a prison!  

Stunt in a burqa, Parliament mission  

Look at me, clowns—pure ammunition!


Yippee-yi-yay, decades of this crap!  

Yippee-yi-yo-ki-yay, still wearin' the mask!  

Pathological, obsessive, never gonna stop  

Hanson hide—raw hate on top!


Swamped! Diseased! No-good! Reverse!  

Burqa stunt! Court punch! Still no remorse!  

Rollin', rollin', rollin'—keep the fear churnin'  

Hanson's brand—bigotry burnin'!


Rollin', rollin', rollin'  

Rollin', rollin', rollin'  

Raw hate, raw hate, raw hate...  

Hanson hide!


Yeee-haw! Fuck off!











John Bennett - AKA JJFBbennett, is an independent artist. You can view and subscribe to my work via Blogger, YouTube, Flicker, Facebook, Instagram and Deviant Art. 

Subscribe to JJFBbennett's private FB hub: https://www.facebook.com/share/g/18ythpSXPZ/

You can subscribe to my music via YouTube Music, Spotify, iTunes, Apple Music and Soundcloud

To support my art, feel free to donate via JJFBbennett through PayPal  



Copyright

This artwork is protected by U.S. and International copyright laws. Distribution and/or modification of the artwork without the written permission of the sponsor is prohibited.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Every stop is a story - Darwin to Adelaide River

-
Image
  Every stop is a story - Darwin to Adelaide River The Adelaide River Rupture (image to be uploaded - subscribe to be notified) The storm did not break over the Adelaide River plains; rather, reality tore open along the track. To the left, the familiar Top End landscape clung fiercely to its quiet melancholy. A lone gum tree stood sentinel over the charred scrub and dry earth, its leaves catching the last bruised light of a brooding wet-season sky. In the hollow below, the old fictional homestead crouched beside the rutted dirt road, enduring the heavy stillness that always settles before the atmosphere ruptures. Then came the tear. It began not with thunder, but with an overwhelming, luminous heat that shredded the grey overcast into molten ribbons. You could feel the vortex of raw energy sweeping through radiant ambers, searing cadmium oranges, and blinding celestial whites. The vortex descended like a folded dimension brushing against the earth. Where the atmospheric rift touch...
Read more

WHAT CAN MAKE UP FOR LACK OF TALENT

-
Image
  WHAT CAN MAKE UP FOR LACK OF TALENT Does art derive its validity from the skill of the creator's hand, or from the cultural scaffolding that forces our conscious spotlight onto the object? This gallery space has thrown down a direct challenge. Dominating the centre wall, glowing in bright white neon above the shattered glass and the Campbell's Soup Can, is a raw, uncomfortable question: "WHAT CAN MAKE UP FOR LACK OF TALENT?"  This neon sign acts as the ultimate cognitive mirror, forcing us to reconcile the two extremes hanging on either side of the gallery. The Postmodern Answer: Frame and Hype Look at the soup can sitting in the spotlight. Postmodernism, driven by Andy Warhol and Pop Art, gave a cynical, revolutionary answer to this neon question: Context, branding, and institutional framing make up for a lack of talent. Postmodernism declared that you don't need the masterly brushwork of the Renaissance or the sublime emotional intensity of Mark Rothko. An art...
Read more

The infected touching antiquity

-
Image
  The infected touching antiquity Do you feel divinity when you touch antiquity? Metamodernist art by JJFBbennett Stand before a marble relic, and you find yourself at the threshold of contact. The museum enforces detachment. Do you feel the decay and contamination your hands carry? But what happens when your flesh touches ancient stone? To reach out is an act of somatic friction. Our mortal residue, sebaceous oils and living warmth, ruptures the sterile illusion of the untainted idol. We drag the pristine monument down into the mess of human mortality. Yet, the instinct to touch is an innate longing for connection. Laying bare skin against ancient form collapses millennia, sparking a euphoric link to what came before. Touch restores, renews, and opens an otherworldly portal beyond everyday perception. Touching antiquity infects its distant divinity with our decay, but in that very transgression, it bridges the void—granting the seeker genuine transport into transcendent awe. Marks...
Read more