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'When someone tells you who they are, BELIEVE THEM!'
@[56349854459:274: Parkinson's Foundation]
Ian Dury Pt 1
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UK ONTHISDAY HULLO.
— with Raymond Brady and 14 others.
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The year is now 2020 and many people around the globe are wondering if the end of the world is near. Francis Bacon was the loudest, rudest, drunkest, most sought-after British artist of the 20th century. Twenty-five years after his death, his canvases regularly exceed £40million at auction. Bacon's appeal is rooted in his notoriety - a candid image he presented of himself as Roaring Boy, Lord of Misrule and Conveyor of Artistic Violence.
With blasphemers, disobedient, unthankful, unholy, without natural affection, bakers of falsely accused, incontinent, fierce fears, despisers of that that is good; traitorous, heady, highhanded, low lovers of pleasure, more than lovers of God; gormless purveyors of godlessness, denying the power thereof: from such turn away.
This was true enough, but only part of the truth. He carefully cultivated the facade, protecting the complex and haunted man behind the myth.
In this unique, compelling film, those who knew him speak freely, some for the first time, to reveal the many mysteries of Francis Bacon.
Widespread interest in his likes today is happening to our world; the signs of whose end is prevalent: War, famine, natural disasters, incredible and rapid increase in knowledge; poisoning of the air and water, birds of the air and fish of the seas dying in huge numbers.
These are just a few of the signs which you can see
More like this...
Artist Francis Bacon
Francis Bacon | Interview
BROADCAST 1963
29 MINUTES
David Sylvester speaks to Francis Bacon about his work.
visualguidanceltd.blogspot.comroiling vortex of lust for the disease called rock n rollroiling vortex of lust for the disease called rock n roll
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Arguably, and God knows, Van Morrison (Official) risen, can argue a blue-streak ...
Ask Linda Gail Lewis, unknown, unless 70s niche famous sister singers true Daily Double was your Cat. jam on Jeopardy, the swung, high-end sister, mostly unlike via brother anyone to survive, formatively, years and tell, her story of his nominative determinism (and I give people a hard time about astrology), with one detail of hers added which steels the show, like just adding Mace or Six Spice: her impossibly TWO-TIMES OF EIGHT WHEN HER MARRIED NAME WAS LINDA LOVELACE! at least, pertaining to the Killer's un-self-appellated scaremongering, wholly gotta unshaken goin' slightly undeterred, dire preordaining predicatively, funereal, unboxed, out the in out-box cum 'KILLER,' if you will.
DEAR CECIL HARRELSON,Thanks for giving your best friend in Ferriday, Jerry Lee Lewis that nickname, Killer.But, when Harlem Globetrotters name someone Curly, IT'S USUALLY BECAUSE they are BALD!BUT,as Maya Angelou says,'When someone tells you what they are, BELIEVE THEM!'Signed,Jaren Gunn Pate and Shawn Michelle Stephens nee Lewis
unsegregated, sound-a-like agnostics, unbridled longings answerable to Chuck Berry's narrator interlocutor, eponymous race music, because there was a fire, racial injustice, sexual revolution, interracial inequalities, qualitative, quantitative protests cultivated by, and closeted for his undeterred, unerring ardor shared by the other hebephiliac in the barn.
WHO'S BARN? MY BARN.
Another lover of young white pussy, fronting asses for backdoor passes, heading -- feet flying in the air. Hey diddle diddle, playin' his fiddle, glad handed (seen the finger, rhythm fretting reach of those? Like ringin' a bell, bitch), "Brown Eyed Handsome Man"'s question, unblinkingly priced-to-sell during racial revolutions tell both seamlessly rhymed rounding third, heading home, no hotbox en situ from which, Warden, to escape, slides low, three and "o", in a new coffee-colored Cadillac, under that drunk-ass white man and his interracial radar, who probably just rode in while Berry was on top, smashing that creampie from bottom, between two cakes, no uncomplaining top -- ilk, but no cookies, please, and extreme prejudice, just redundant reactionaries --
MC5 meet Chuck Berry, Chuck Berry, kick out some jams, motherfucker -- roll it over, Beethoven,th for him, wi him, and tell Van Morrison the news:
there's a 'Brown Eyed Girl,' in his bed, in perfect attendance, getting up, going to class, studying hardly, hopin' to pass that ass, learning about Marlo [sic] of Venus, who lost both her arms to a brown-eyed handsome, gender-specific person, and his/her ass too, via a wrestlin' match.
