deepundergroundpoetry.com
Artificial Artists (X-Reprise)
Have all the sex you want but not with old St. Nic
He won't come down your chimney with his toys or with his prick
You're like The Ghost Of Christmas Past 'cos you're easy to see through
Santa may not be an artist but he's more real than you
I wouldn't want faux sex if you sat on me and whirled
It's easy to get caught up in the material world
Greed is a temptation I found hard to rise above
But even Mr. Number One knows money can't buy love
Compared to your record sales you're just a song and dance
So buy a baggy pair and stop grabbing at your pants
It's hard to feel reality even in the end
When the world that you live in is nothing but pretend
One day you'll realize there is no surgery
That can alter what we hear or the man we see
I may have two but that's the other side of me
At least both of my faces reflect what's inside me
For all I care you can freeze yourself for a thousand years
I'll be dead but even in my grave I'll still plug my ears
I'll never let you buy the rights to any of my songs
They came from inside me and that's where ownership belongs
He won't come down your chimney with his toys or with his prick
You're like The Ghost Of Christmas Past 'cos you're easy to see through
Santa may not be an artist but he's more real than you
I wouldn't want faux sex if you sat on me and whirled
It's easy to get caught up in the material world
Greed is a temptation I found hard to rise above
But even Mr. Number One knows money can't buy love
Compared to your record sales you're just a song and dance
So buy a baggy pair and stop grabbing at your pants
It's hard to feel reality even in the end
When the world that you live in is nothing but pretend
One day you'll realize there is no surgery
That can alter what we hear or the man we see
I may have two but that's the other side of me
At least both of my faces reflect what's inside me
For all I care you can freeze yourself for a thousand years
I'll be dead but even in my grave I'll still plug my ears
I'll never let you buy the rights to any of my songs
They came from inside me and that's where ownership belongs
Published 10th Sep 2011
| Edited 24th Apr 2019
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 3
reading list entries 1
comments 5
reads 1003
Commenting Preference:
The author is looking for friendly feedback.
10th Sep 2011 11:10pm
Written 01/01/1986
Originally part of Artificial Artists, my brother convinced me I was being too hard on those who have accomplished more than I could ever dream of. So I pulled them out, but couldn't throw them away.
Over the years my feelings changed about Michael Jackson, long before his death I felt he was getting a raw deal. I was angry at him over the Paul McCartney/Yoko Ono deal, which still bothers me on an artists level, but I never believed the child molesting crap. Always felt it was all about greed.
I grew up a fan of the Jackson Five but never cared much for the disco era Michael. Stealing McCartney's songs out from under him at the last second was an act of disrespect for his friend and outright selfishness. So if you asked me in 1986 how I would feel about his death, I'd have said I couldn't care less. But after seeing what he went through and how he showed his feelings through all of the accusations, I changed my mind. He was human after all. The day Michael died is one I will remember forever, not unlike when Elvis and John Lennon died. Although my love for John Lennon is nearly unequaled, I came to respect Michael more than I would have thought possible. After his death, I once again saw how greed could make people use a famous person for their own financial gain, not caring about the fate of a man who cared so much about others. Michael had a good soul, so the parts of this poem about him seem unfair to put out there without explaining why I wrote them and when they were written. 1986 was a very long time ago. jj
Originally part of Artificial Artists, my brother convinced me I was being too hard on those who have accomplished more than I could ever dream of. So I pulled them out, but couldn't throw them away.
Over the years my feelings changed about Michael Jackson, long before his death I felt he was getting a raw deal. I was angry at him over the Paul McCartney/Yoko Ono deal, which still bothers me on an artists level, but I never believed the child molesting crap. Always felt it was all about greed.
I grew up a fan of the Jackson Five but never cared much for the disco era Michael. Stealing McCartney's songs out from under him at the last second was an act of disrespect for his friend and outright selfishness. So if you asked me in 1986 how I would feel about his death, I'd have said I couldn't care less. But after seeing what he went through and how he showed his feelings through all of the accusations, I changed my mind. He was human after all. The day Michael died is one I will remember forever, not unlike when Elvis and John Lennon died. Although my love for John Lennon is nearly unequaled, I came to respect Michael more than I would have thought possible. After his death, I once again saw how greed could make people use a famous person for their own financial gain, not caring about the fate of a man who cared so much about others. Michael had a good soul, so the parts of this poem about him seem unfair to put out there without explaining why I wrote them and when they were written. 1986 was a very long time ago. jj
12th Jan 2014 8:25pm
13th Jan 2014 6:10am
Anonymous
5th Oct 2016 6:34pm
I like the touch of humor behind the sarcasm. Both this part and its other half are still very true in spite of the internet giving artists a place to post. The internet has, however, made it very hard to earn a living as an artist.
5th Oct 2016 6:59pm
In a sad irony, MJ is dead. I thought he would live forever with that cryogenic freezer he used to sleep in, or hyperbaric chamber, or whatever that thing was...
JJ
JJ
