Some sodium-lit scuzzland infested with Buddleia and Himalayan Balsam swaying in the wind next to a trickle of bright yellow water. Furtive movement from animals and humans in the undergrowth. Shaky head cam footage of blurred shapes and pale faces, hands outstretching, bulky forms pushing through stands of Japanese Knotweed, the red eyes of animals caught in the glare. Too much noise penetrating the silence. Rustling and thrashing. A red glow in the distance, something was going on out there. A fire? No, the light was too steady but diffuse, with movement blocking it indicating what? Dancing? Fighting? There is a deep penetrating throb that seems to emanate from the ground itself mixed in with the wind in the trees and some indeterminate watery plashings. It was a swamp out there so whatever was happening was on a small patch of higher ground, was that a structure? Thin cries, but regular, ritualistic, terrifying really. I ought to be moving away from this whatever it is so why was I heading towards it as quietly as I could? Already my mind had conjured lurid images of cultists abasing themselves around some crudely carved stygian deity, but of course it was more likely to be the kids from the local estate guzzling and fighting whilst capering to primitive repetitive beats wasn’t it? Or was there any real qualitative difference between the two scenarios? A helicopter blatted overhead on its way to peer into back gardens with its searchlight or whatever they did. More sirens in the distance. Shots? Distant cries? Already I was in post-apocalyptic mode, conjuring scenarios of being at the mercy of brutish slapheads taking revenge for all the real and imagined slights directed at them over the years by the hated cosmopolitan scum i.e. me. As I got closer to the light I began to realise that this was something else entirely, a sudden realisation that (of course why didn’t I cotton on earlier) this was some kind of conceptual art thing for fuck sakes. I carefully parted some branches and there they were, crouched over a piece of glowing flickering red neon engaged in some kind of outré calisthenics, half naked and daubed with cryptic symbols and shining as if slathered with ointment. They looked to be about fifty or so, two arseholes who should have known better still desperately trying to make their mark on an unforgiving and self-serving cultural scene. It was like a mild form of mental illness really, imagining that their oblique manifestations would have some kind of wider resonance. Perhaps someone would even give them a show? Then they would indeed abase themselves willingly at the altar of contemporary art, thankful for whatever morsel was cast in their direction from the top table, grinning and mumming pathetically for the opportunity (soon to be revoked).
Still, at least they weren’t prostrating themselves before some middle-management cunt or other like everyone else and I suppose thats the real reason why everyone hates artists, because whatever you think of it they are usually having fun, deluded yes, often terminally so but nevertheless having a great time. The art scene is full of attractive members of the opposite sex willing to take onboard each others delusions, another reason for the lumpenproletariat to hate them I suppose.
Yet as I watched them filming each others daft gyrations something peculiar began to happen, my penis began to stiffen involuntarily! Somehow, in spite of everything, these two middle-aged chancers had managed to trigger a series of erotic tableaux in my mind. Their unremarkable and rapidly ageing bodies transformed into sylph-like creatures from a distant age of video art i.e. the nineteen seventies! One of them began to cut the trousers from the other as he/she sat there passively. Then the taller more emaciated one began to pull paper from his anus, already placed there and bearing some kind of printed instructions. They had transmogrified into a gorgeous androgynous couple, serious of face and sure of their stellar trajectory! Still in black and white the mood changed to one of a more desperate mitteleuropean intellectualism as the small bald one began to hack at his genitalia with a rusty knife shouting unintelligibly in Austrian all the while, as the skinny one crawled naked across broken glass towards a rifle. This was too much for me and I found myself adding a fountain of hot jism to the depraved scene.