“I’ll make it easy for you, Alice. I’ll go first.” the Mad Bunny offered.

“Go where?” Alice was puzzled.

“Go look into my heart” the Mad Bunny retorted. Alice’s head was obviously in the clouds.

“Oh? I thought you just did… Didn’t you see yourself lost among obscenely beautiful women?”

“Oh yes” the Mad Bunny smiled.

“So you wanna go get lost again, is that it?” Alice was amused.

“No, I want to look beyond the women, past the beauty and the obscenity… I want to look deeper. I know there’s more to it than meets the eye. Literally, on that first glance.”

“Ok then”, Alice settled in the big comfy armchair with a cup of freshly brewed coffee. “Let’s have it.”

The Mad Bunny placed his right hand on his chest, feeling his heart, and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he looked at Alice with what seemed to be a novel clarity in his eyes. And he began:

Everything I think and feel
everything I say or write
everything I ever do
has always been to create art.

I look for my muse
When I love and when I lose
When I arrive and when I leave
When I’m struggling to believe,
it’s when believing matters most:
art above all, at any cost.
Don’t ask me how I know,
I know.
Even when I fart –
it’s all about art!

Alice opened her mouth to say something, but the Mad Bunny halted her raising his hand.

Before you go on, let me stop you right there
I know what you are about to say:
That being an artist, looking for my muse
is altogether a lame excuse.
I know, I’ve heard it before.

I’ve been accused of being self-centred,
of having my way at any price
I’ve been known to go to great lengths
just a little inspiration to entice

But that’s how I am, and that’s how it is –
Art isn’t pleasant, it isn’t nice
Art feeds on fresh blood and betrayal
it demands sacrifice.

A true artist, I am so self-absorbed
I will never be absolved
but it’s not the absolution that I need
I must honour the creative impulse
to disperse my seed.
When it comes to art,
seed of deed is paramount
sperm goes, but it doesn’t count.

You may think I am mean,
narcissistic,
at best, bizarre
But I am just an artist
who knows what his priorities are.

An artist, who knows that
love is the best fuel for art by far
but it must be consumed fast
before it goes awry
and the thing about love,
it always goes awry
If there was a way to recycle,
I’d be the first to try.

But as it happens,
love, even the one that seals your fate,
is only a precious commodity
with an expiry date

And being who I am
an artist
I am just being smart
an emotional vampire
needs to sink teeth into
an innocent heart
and other internal organs
To pay the price of art
an artist must be willing
to sacrifice children
to father orphans

and I am.

Alice nodded. “A true artist, indeed.” She thought for a moment. “But is it worth it?”

Of course it’s worth it.
I will not make my way into history books
as a friend, nor a lover,
nor as the father of my sons,
but as an artist whose art stuns.

If you can see the big picture,
and you will if you don’t distort it
but don’t take my word for it
just ask any of my fans
and they will tell you
if it was worth it.

The art I compose in my head,
the music my instrument imparts
it touches millions of hearts…

With that, the Mad Bunny started playing a beautiful, poignant melody. Alice closed her eyes and felt the music touch her heart too.


Photograph from the series Mad Bunny by Yves Lecoq

Alien, alienated. That's me.

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