Momus: Glyptothek


The Art Creep



The art creep is looking nice today
Interesting anyway
Appropriating ethnic dress
With the context stripped away

At the Shinto shrine festival
The Japanese are doing their best
To act as if he isn't there
They're always so polite

He's filming with his camera
He plans to take this beat away
And work it up into a song
Which other creeps will play

And he'll hardly tell them anything
About the rhythm's origin
But he might whip up a video
In which he dances stupidly

The art creep is looking nice today
In his amusing selfie
He's not doing any harm
But the god is moving on

Masks of Bebko



Time travel, the avant-garde, sex and ancient Rome
I was walking down a road towards a lighthouse in Japan
When I passed a man wearing the mask of a black horse
And followed him astonished to an old abandoned fort
A group of alien immigrants had pitched their camp up there
Playing wild guitars and making images with fire
Hiding their identities with fur and wood and glue
Each wore a mask of Bebko and now I wear one too

The man wearing the horse mask really frightened me
I sensed that he was luring me to a place I shouldn't be
And then down by a rockpool, as I walked back to the shore
I glimpsed my own reflection and the horse's head I wore
I understand the whole thing now but it's too late for me
Never play with aliens or with your identity
I tell you this to save you, if you know what's good for you
Shun the masks of Bebko, or you will wear one too

Moral Mountain



People say that I missed the big McGuffin
The suitcase of money and the girl
But Maude walk a mile with me and you are on a mountain
(He is on a moral mountain)

Come the Twitter shitstorm people shoot me down
Saying there's not room enough in this town
But I am eating lunch with chopsticks high up on a mountain
(He is on a moral mountain)

You might think I am fiddling while Rome burns
On the world's smallest violin
Hell, I can smell the smoke, but I am on a mountain
(He is on a moral mountain)

People say I'm far away, I'm hardly in the world today
But up here there's an excellent view
I can't hear you bitching when I'm standing on a mountain
(He is on a moral mountain)

My gaze is so definitive, the cities like infinitives
Split in the book of the world
Why boldly go to space when you can have a mountain?
(He is on a moral mountain)

On yonder hill there stands a maiden, who she is I do not know
But I might just holler hello
She must be the girl for me if she is on a mountain
(She is on a moral mountain)

Chef Biff



Chef Biff slipped with a knife and cut his fingers off
But there's more to being a chef than having fingers, Biff
Chef Biff I believe you will bounce back fast
You will come back stronger, and you will last

Chef Biff made a sauce, a sauce so lovely and sweet
That everyone stopped in their tracks and licked it off the street
Then Chef Biff made a world, a world in which to live
A world where having fingers was considered infra dig

Biff, Chef Biff

Gallop, Biff, with bloody stumps all across the earth
Boss of every kitchen across the universe
Who needs bloody fingers when you've got satay sauce?
Henchmen follow orders and history its course

Biff, Chef Biff, Chef Biff

So collect your severed fingers, mop up your salty tears
The world belongs to those who live by ideas

Biff, Chef Biff

Chef Biff, I believe you will bounce back fast
You will come back stronger and you will last
You slipped with a knife and cut your fingers off
But there's more to being a chef than having fingers, Biff

The Kappa



Be careful by the river when a kappa is about
He's a folk monster, a hairy kind of lout
Scaly like a reptile, smaller than a man
With green webbed feet, a salamander hand

He swims like a fish but the kappa smells dead
A flat wet plate on the pate of his head
Which must stay wet or the kappa grows weak
Sharp little teeth, a nose like a beak

Human children are his favourite food
Aubergines and cucumbers are just as good
Remember that the kappa can irrigate land
Help you with the harvest when you need a hand

And even at his worst, at the height of his attack
If you bow to a kappa he always bows back

Totally unprincipled but outwardly polite
He's a folk monster and a rapist on the side
He lurks down by the river fingering kimonos
So a naked pearl diver should never go solo

For a kappa may be lurking on the bottom of the lake
Ready to accost and impregnate
And soon a little folk monster will be born
Bury it at once or the kappa will return

If you have to fight you'll win if you can get
The arms off his body or the water off his head
Remember that the kappa can bring you fish
Reset your bones if you ever break a wrist

And even at his worst, at the height of his attack
If you bow to a kappa he always bows back

The Etruscan Shepherd



I've got a death bone in my flute
The machinery of the salute
Said the Etruscan shepherd
I speak the language of the birds
But I won't repeat the things I've heard
And the lamb lies down with the leopard

Let the phallus mark my route
With a lingam stone and a twin-head flute
Said the Etruscan shepherd

We're more alive here in our tombs
Than you people in your rooms
And the lamb lies down with the leopard

We make love at the chariot race
Theopompus of Chios says
And I'm the Etruscan shepherd
Little birds are little girls
That fly like augurs through the world
And the lamb lies down with the leopard

The women go with anyone at the tomb of Triclinium
Said the Etruscan shepherd
The black-faced lion lies with the deer
The cat with the dove and the fawn with the steer
And the lamb doth lie with the leopard

Lightning's not the collision of clouds
The clouds collide when the lightning allows
Said the Etruscan shepherd
Let us row to Elba's shore
Where the copperhead people mine their ore
And the lamb lies down with the leopard

If you need me I'll be whitening bones
Up beside the lingam stones
Said the Etruscan shepherd
Up on the hillside with my flute
Coaxing budding from the shoots
And the lamb lies down with the leopard

Naked through the universe
Dive in the sea to quench your thirst
Said the Etruscan shepherd
Death is a friend to the living ones
The hidden lining in darkness shines
And the lamb lies down with the leopard

AFK



I remember how you looked on Skype
And the degree to which I wanted you
But now we're standing face to face
And it just doesn't feel the same
It's pretty odd, the magic's not there in real life

You're not to blame you're not the same away from the keyboard

Away from QWERTYUIOP you look odd, a little bit unreal
I raise the selfie-stick and take a photo on the phone
As if to see ourselves framed in that familiar rectangle
Could make it all all right

You're not to blame you're not the same away from the keyboard

In the good old days I would play such games with you
Like photoshopping semen all across your face on JPGs
But now in bed I'm obliged to make the stuff myself
No copy-paste to place it on your face
You're not to blame you're not the same away from the keyboard

Theodor Adorno declared that in the end the soul itself
Is nothing more than our desire to have a soul
And so desire in our world of digital affairs
Is nothing more than desire for desire

You're not to blame you're not the same away from the keyboard

I'm going back to the airport, don't try to stop me
This affair has not turned out as I imagined it was going to be
And when I'm home I'd hope that we could start again in our "real lives"

You're not to blame you're not the same away from the keyboard

Gregor Samsa



I've got a friend who's turned into a cockroach
I'm his only friend who's stuck around
All his other friends are calling Gregor vermin
I see the silver in the cloud

Come here dear lovely Gregor Samsa
I'll stay near whatever you are

You turned into a cockroach
That doesn't disgust me
What kind of friend would that freak out?
Come rain or shine, we will still be besties
Don't let the haters infest you with doubt

Come here dear lovely Gregor Samsa
I'll stay near whatever you are

We used to double-date and I was always wingman
I ended up with the ugliest girl
But now you're an insect I get the pretty one
You've got the wings, I'm going up in the world

Come here dear lovely Gregor Samsa
I'll stay near whatever you are

Let's settle on a nettle, gobble at a dock leaf
Scuttle on a ceiling or nibble a cloth

Come here dear lovely Gregor Samsa
I'll stay near whatever you are

We are two insects, tiny little ponies
I took the plunge to double the fun
And in my opinion your other friends are phonies
Like your family they've let you down

Come here dear lovely Gregor Samsa
I'll stay near whatever you are

Hinkfuss at the Glyptothek



Hinkfuss at the Glyptothek
Admiring muscles on the neck
Of the Barberini Faun
Known as The Drunken Satyr

Woodland sprite, a goatlike tail
Splay-thighed, bug-eyed, very male
Pointed ears, a horned head
"That's the way!" Hinkfuss said

A satyr's life's the life for him
He'd play the flute and live on gin
And facilitate the whims
Of Dionysus

The brittle whistle of the wind
Ithyphallic birds all sing
Giggling water at the crystal stream
Laps his marble body

Pursuing nymphs across mosaics
Dryads, Naiads and Nereids
Hinkfuss wouldn't need sex aids
The wind is his Levitra

The siege of Rome
The Goths attack the mausoleum
Romans grab Hadrian's statues
Which get smashed
Serving as projectiles

Hinkfuss satyr wakes, alas
Body cracked like shattered glass
Right leg damaged, hands stuck fast
Parts of his head gone missing

These days Hinkfuss is restored
Lolls with dildo by the door
Of the Glyptothek, don't stare
Be careful what you wish for

The Labourer



I've come down from Barnsley to Hampstead for the day
Just to see if Father and Mother are okay
Mother in her apron and Father in his vest
Dressed just like they were the very day I left

Father is sarcastic, he sniffs about my suit
Mother asks how work's going, is the mining good?
Tungsten carbon drill-heads really cut the rock
"Tungsten carbon drills?" says Dad, "That's bloody fancy talk!"

Mother says it's stress, Father's having a hard day
Tomorrow the National Theatre's premiering his new play
But when I say "Oh, that's good!" Father flies into a fit
"Good?" he pouts, "That's good? What do you know about it?"

"What do you know about having to drag yourself up at 5 o'clock
To fly to Paris for TV and press interviews then hurry back
To the Old Vic at 12 for drinks then having to write three acts
About a gay nymphomaniac drug-addict who murders a Scottish footballer with an axe?"

"There's more to life than culture, Father there is sweat
Coal-mining is wonderful, though you'll never understand it
Look what you've done to Mother, she's worn her hands to the bone
Attending premieres and meeting film-stars and giving gala luncheons!"

"There's nowt wrong with gala luncheons, son!" my father shrieks
Then clutches at his wrist and sinks to his knees
Mother says it's writer's cramp, I'd better be away
But Father says "Hang on, Mother, here's the germ of a play!"

The Manticore



Let us speak of my prick
Let us speak of my big dead dick
His plucky fight against arithmetic
My advancing age has set the stage
My dick is dead
My big dick is dead

Like a great beached whale
He lies upon the shore
Of my beach-like bed
I can even hear him snore
What does he dream?
Of all the cunts he's seen?
With his single eye
His beady eye?

I will bury him deep
In a hole of human flesh
In the cunt of a cheap
Grudgingly willing wench
That's the only place
He's gonna rest in peace
For the sake of me
And humanity

My big dead dick
Was dragging down this world
He was making me sick
Polluting every girl
Spreading his wild oats
Where there should have been corn
He'd be better off dead
Or maybe making porn

Let us speak no more
Of that atrocious bore
That egomaniac
That manticore
Which devours a man
Leaving not even a bone
Or belonging behind
Nor did he leave mine

Electric Dionysus



Dionysus, I want to be hot
Dionysus, does anyone not?
Dionysus, I want the power
Of desire, of allure

Dionysus hear my prayer
I want to share your rare electric fire

I want to be sticky, a staticky bone
Sticky and pretty, and never alone
I want to be loved, I want to be used
But only when I want, by whom I choose

Dionysus hear my prayer
I want to share your rare electric fire

But I'm getting too much, I'm getting too bored
Don't want to be touched, I want to be ignored
Dionysus, I can't turn it off
Dionysys, I'm sickened by love
Like a Jesus, a Croesus, a Midas of sex
My life's been wrecked by your electric fire

I just want to sit here and play my lyre
I don't want to hear about your rare fire
Just leave me alone to play my guitar
Now I know how lucky the lonely are

Candaulism



I'm King Candaules, call me Can
I want to be a woman but I'm just a man
I get off now and then
Showing your body to other men

I feel good, I feel fine
Treating your body as if it's mine
You've got force to make juice
I love to see the sauce that you produce, well

Candaulism, call me Can
I want to be a woman but I'm just a man
Use your beauty, I use your skin
I swear there's no-one in the room
So let's begin

The game's up Gyges, come on, come out
Well here's the friend I was telling you about
He crept in while we got it on
Where's the harm in that? It's just a piece of fun!

But you rose up, unamused
Told the man to kill me and he didn't refuse
Well now he sits upon my throne
Showing your body to other men

Candaulism, call me Can
I used to be the king, I used to be a man
But now I'm dead, just a ghost
Watching you make love to him is what hurts the most
Candaulism, call me Can
I want to be a woman but I'm just a man

Nikki Danjo



Midnight at the theatre
News is coming over
Of the murder of the prophet
The one we all believed in
Everybody's scuttling
And everybody's nervous
The man who makes the lightning
Has gone missing in the forest

And on the television
Comes the evil Nikki Danjo
Who declares himself the regent
Even though he is a rat

He's got forward-sweeping eyebrows
An awful fearless forehead
And the scroll that he is holding
Tells the future of the world
And all the while the Spider Comet
Hurtles towards Earth
A pink and white calamity
With an icy blue eye

An electric-coloured coma mane
A horrid ion tale
Danjo grins and grimaces
Like his head is on a spring

And now the rain must lengthen
To a universal sealant
While the oilwells in the desert
Burn all the oil away
The ruin of a wooden ship
Suspended between stacks of rock
Nikki Danjo lives in it
As if in the ark on Ararat

The dinosaurs return to Earth
Dressed up as stenographers
Committing dactylography
They copulate like dogs

And the ground has got so hot now
That the only way to walk on it
Is on stilts built like chopsticks
For tottering refugees
We reel injustice in on strings
Don't believe in anything
Between the jagged chimneys
Floats the nightmare of a moon

It's down to Ennosuke
The great kabuki actor
To save us from the regent
And put the rat to death

A pterodactyl cackle
Is lingering behind me
Obey the Spider Comet
Whatever it may say

Old Nick



Virtue's overrated when it's making nothing happen
At least making nothing moderately interesting happen
Will you look back from your deathbed at the things you didn't do
Because you were too eminently sensible to?
Give in to your vices, virtue is a bore

Virtue is so passive, it lets nothing in or out
The butter that you never swallow, melting in your mouth
History hates the virtuous, Nietzsche tells us so
But adores the ones who dare to make a mess across the floor
Cultivate your vices, virtue is a bore

You must act de facto to make anybody care
Create a sticky situation and you're halfway there
Even God agrees with me, his lowlife-loving son
Said they much prefer the sinners to the dull obedient ones
Cultivate your vices, virtue is a bore

You can be right doing nothing, but it' s like being a stopped clock
It produces more rejoicing when you're evil then you're not
So there's really no excuse for not putting effort in
Get out there and, as Iggy said, find some weird sin
Cultivate your vices, virtue is a bore

Milton, when the government proposed to censor books
Said no virtue untested is ever worth two hoots
Merely testifying to a failed imagination
The feet of clay required to stay indifferent to temptation
Give in to your vices, virtue is a bore

So cultivate your vices like tiny bonsai trees
Listen to St Augustine or listen to me
But remember, I might very well be bluffing
They don't call me Old Nick for nothing

Papposilenus



Papposilenus, ugly satyr of the forest
Flat-faced, ears of horse, strapped to donkey, drunk as lord
Papposilenus, tutor to the wine-god
Bald, beef-lipped, bushy-eyebrowed, fat
Priapic buffoon, autodidact

You said "The best thing for a man is never to be born
Or die as soon as possible"
I completely disagree for I believe, you see
That life is wonderful

Papposilenus, with your flabby breasts and shaggy thighs
We laugh at you for sure, but when you're drunk you're wise
Papposilenus, you can tell us tales for five days straight
Pillows pushed up the tunic of the shabby actor who plays you
Like a pregnant woman swaddled in a hairy body-stocking
Funny yet shocking, bald, beef-lipped, bushy-eyebrowed, fat
But the biggest shock of all is how little you love life
You'd throw it away like that, you say
At the drop of a hat, you say

And the world still spins in space
Like a stupid wooden top
And we cling to it like ants
Trying to resist the centrifugal force
And you would say: "Use your brains,
Make for the central place
Or never get on the damn thing in the first place!"

"The best thing for a man is never to be born
Or die as soon as possible"
I completely disagree for I believe, you see
That life is wonderful