You remember, Asbestos, that particularly sweltering day we walked to Delphi in the delightful company of that young man whose name I forget?
Yes, of course. You remember?
I just told you.
No, no, you remember the day?
How could I remember the young man associated with the day and not the day?
I can imagine a situation in which, through partial amnesia, Bacchic influence, erotic stupor or simple human imperfection, a boy’s company overshadows the experience of time.
But that’s unlikely.
Unlikely is not impossible, analogy is not identification, Milos is not Asbestos.
What’s your point about the sweltering day we walked to Delphi with Milos ?
It was delightful.
Do you think it was delightful because of Milos, the heat, the proximity of Delphi , yourself or the combination of these four elements?
You didn’t mentioned Asbestos, Asbestos.
That’s simply because I’m not delightful.
That’s true, you’re not, But actually, none of the above. I called the day delightful because Milos had an uncle nearby, who generously offered us hospitability in the forms of shelter, wine, roulade, cheese, and intermittent bawdy displays from his pack of beautiful slave girls. You remember this?
I remember the cheese.
These things in themselves would have provided a most engaging afternoon, but as if they weren’t enough, the gods blessed us with an invigorating discussion about farting.
It was about arting Socrates.
Arting … what’s that?
Well, it was about art, but you said farting, so I said arting.
Run that by me again.
Aside from all the good food, wine and sex we had that day at Milos ’s uncle, we also talked about art.
Of course we did. Demetrius was there, who was diddling George, Milos’s uncle’s nephew; Timothy, the charmingly masochistic theology student from Amphipolis; Xenos, from Ji; Basil, son of Apopato; I was there, naturally; the delightful Milos and his frisky hospitable uncle. Why wouldn’t we have talked about art?
Perhaps because nobody was interested in it but you.
But aside from that.
Milos was there. And his uncle.
And the frisky slaves. What is so amazing then, Asbestos, is that all these barriers and attractions didn’t prevent us from exploring art¾its origins and ends, its nature and function, its necessity¾but instead compelled us toward it. I remember how it all began, the seven of us experiencing that distinctive and exhilarating combination of cooling down with a rum and coke and heating up with a bum and poke. After these formalities were out of the way, the discussion could naturally begin.
Soc The similarities between what we just did and art are striking, don’t you think Demetrius?
Dem How do you mean Socrates?
Soc Alcohol is a portal to divine eros through drink, sex through flesh, and art through mirrors. Drink is the domain of liquids, flesh solids and mirrors gas.
Dem Mirrors? You’re nuts Socrates. Eros is flesh and flesh is art and art is sex and sex is alcohol. Gas is what comes out of your arse.
Soc But you would agree that we owe erotic pleasure to the beneficence of the gods.
Dem Of course.
Soc And that the gods created us solely for their enjoyment.
Dem Perhaps.
Soc And that our duty thus is to behave in accordance with their unceasing need for amusement.
Dem I guess so.
Soc Which, while manifold, have limited outlets in the only two realms available to us¾flesh and soul. And that our fleshy obligations are drunkenness and copulation and our spiritual obligation art. So we can conclude that while Bacchus’ gifts show us the gods underwater and Aphrodite’s pleasure show them in fire, only art, Apollo’s talent, shows them in air, which is their natural element, and thus as they truly are.
Tim But Socrates, I don’t think you’re right.
Soc Why is that, beloved masochistic Timothy.
Tim Well, you said eros is divine and divinity is eros.
Soc I couldn’t agree with you more.
Tim And that art is the purest form of eros, showing us the gods more directly and truthfully than either sex or inebriation.
Soc You’re absolutely right.
Tim But while I don’t pretend to be an expert in the gods¾whoever claims such knowledge would surely be immediately struck down with every imaginable disease and live the remainder of their pitiable life in the most abject agony and hideous regret¾I have been diligently working at Delphi for the past three years and been receiving instruction from Omophylofilos, the seasoned high priest there.
Dem I bet you’ve been receiving more than instruction from him.
Tim It’s true, he is generous. And what I’ve learned from him is the exact opposite of what you’re saying Socrates.
Soc I am most curious, my dear Victimothy. Please tell us what you’ve learned. We’re all interested.
Tim It’s this. You all agree that the gods created the world.
Soc Most certainly.
Tim And that we humans are part of the created world.
Soc Who could deny this?
Tim And that there’s an unbridgeable gap between the immortals and mortals.
Soc Everyone knows this is the central fact of our existence.
Tim Thus that the gods are creators and we their creatures.
Soc I sense a trap, my good fling Thingothy.
Tim The trap is not a trap but truth, Socrates, unless truth be a trap and falseness freedom. My truth is simply this, and follows clearly from all that you’ve agreed with already: the gods being immortal creators are given the domain of creating and we being mortal creatures are given the domain of created; art, being an act of creating, clearly belongs with the gods not us and for us mortals to engage in it is an act of blasphemy.
Dem Huh?
Soc What he means, Demetrius, is that we humans are only entitled to copulate and drink; unfortunately, all that temple training has muddled his articulation.
Tim Art is hubris Socrates. The only way for us to enjoy life and not anger the gods is to know our place in the order of the universe and conform to our knowledge.
Xen I agree with Timothy, but have kind of figured things out my own way.
Soc Oh, how interesting Xenos. Do tell.
Xen Well, like, I think art’s stupid, see, but not because of the gods or anything but because nobody needs it.
Soc That’s a tired argument Xenos; I was hoping you’d come up with something more interesting than art isn’t useful.
Xen I said nobody needs it, not that it ain’t useful. Like, duh, there’s a difference.
Soc We’d like to hear more.
Xen Don’t get me wrong Sock, it’s not that art’s wrong, but it’s redundant. You see, it’s like this: it’s like there’s this jewel, see, and a group of people covers up the jewel with rags, maybe cause it’s too shiny or something, then others keep adding more rags to the pile because that’s the thing to do, until someone comes along one day and takes off the rags. Everyone’s amazed at this beautiful jewel underneath, but¾like big shit¾the jewel’s always been there. The rag-adders are society, the rag-remover’s the artist, they feed off each other like men and women … but live away from the whole schizo mess and the jewel’s always there, right beside you.
Soc Art’s what every peasant and hermit know, it’s just truth for the over-educated?
Xen For the over-complexified, yeah.
Soc You’ve convinced me.
Bas You are all wrong. Each and every last one of you.
Soc You speak with authority, Basil, which is surely enough to sway almost everyone.
Bas I was born in the slums of Athens
Tim A mountain, sunsets will last longer than art, quite easily longer than humanity itself. Art is a rebellion against God, who is the only creator; art is selfish and inward and takes our energy away from outward acts of compassion.
Dem You know, Rimothy, I’m all for outward acts of compassion. But mountains are too cold, sunsets are too hot, art makes you think of contours but isn’t contoured itself. Like Basil says, look at Milos¾we can not only admire his hard perfect lines, the way each time he moves the fire in us surges, compelling us to action. But the great thing is we can go over and actually caress him, feel the heat of his thighs and our growing desire, feel the cold aloofness of his arrogant beauty. While these qualities are embodied in him and he will unfortunately wither and become repulsive, others will take his place, thus making physical beauty as eternal as nature and more real than art. Art is ultimately fake. Cocks may rise and fall, but the phallus stands forever.
Xen Dem and me, we think similar.
Soc But, as you so justly pointed out, Xenos, for different reasons¾Demetrius believes art is a pale shadow of flesh, but you believe that art … what do you believe?
Bas He thinks stupidity is the highest form of humanity.
Xen You’re a pomous arse Spasil.
Bas And you, my darling Xenos, are an ignorant, impoverished and ugly buffoon.
Tim You’re all ungodly fools.
Dem Milos , you are so beautiful.
Soc So all we can say is that we don’t know what art is, but that it exists, and even more than this, art seems also to be somehow what we are, meaning of course that we not only don’t know what art is but that we don’t really know what we are¾a subject for another delightful afternoon at Milos’s uncle. So¾and, really, Asbestos and I must resume our journey in order to reach Delphi by nightfall¾I think whatever else we do we should honor whomever and whatever we’re talking about today with our poles’ caress, er, our bowl’s cracked mess, er …
Asb Aren’t you forgetting something Socrates?
Soc Hey?
Asb The baby on the floor.
Tim Where did that come from?
Soc Oh, right. When a sufficient amount of energy is produced at the interstice of sex, alcohol and art, Apollo may visit and bless us with new forms. Let’s pause for a moment of thanks.
Dear Apollo,
Thank you for the new form crying in our midst. We pray that, if nothing else, it will grow up to be a beautiful boy whom we may caress and take our pleasure with. But beyond this, Weaver of Fate, Great Immortal, Musician of Life, may he not just live to know the joys of inebriation and the ecstasies of sodomy, but may he live to know the air and live in air and be worthy of the creation you have bestowed upon and in us. May he himself create new forms, not simply forms of ooze and booze, these common things, but forms of air, these forms that guide us mysteriously along our mortal paths, even as you, though invisible, guide our every move. Amen.
Dem An empty vessel, waiting to be filled, right here, wriggling on the floor before us; let him stay here with me and Milos and Milos’ uncle and me and Milos’ uncle’s pack of girls. We’ll prepare him for the ways of the world.
Xen You should get him back to the temple immediately and teach him the simple ways, Timothy.
Tim Omophylofilos would like that.
Bas Socrates must take him and mold him according to the higher ways. He shall be named Play-Doh, for he shall be molded and he shall mold.
Soc Asbestos, it’s time for us finally to leave our friends with whom we’ve spent such an entertaining and provocative afternoon. Let’s complete our trip to Delphi now¾we certainly have been refreshed for the remainder of our journey thanks to Milos’ uncle’s kindness¾but I do think Basil has a good idea¾we will take Play-Doh with us and mold him and be molded by him and honor him with our souls and flesh.
