Thursday, April 8, 2010
Magnolia Screams Obscene
The Magnolia tone is far from its Magnolia Tree cousins, that which bespeaks of defined refinement and essence pure. Magnolia is the milked-down version of a dead tint that offends the ocular senses. Magnolia tm is a pervasive species of paint colour similar to zebra mussels. Magnolia is like The Stepford Wives it has no place in the sane houses of womantry or in the cubbies of the everyday blah-land. Maybe if Magnolia were true to form as to tint it would be a holy gathering from nature's realistic palette and not some pink or blue version of Roccocco styling. Magnolia would become a premiere deluxe tint coming from the poet's purple verse that of deep purple rather than washed out tertiaried out of existence hue. For Magnolia could be true, wants to be true but remains sluttish for want of a better word. If Magnolia did not sleep around with all those values of tone and tint there indeed would be a much more true colour scheme represented as True Magnolia; the grandest of colours unless used to excess once again, which invariably these virgin colours do receive the mother-lode of abusive over-use. Maybe some colour-blind fop had it in his/her head to have this colour because of some innane moment whereby the colour grabbed the interest of the short and curlies for much too long and the fetish quality became the paint colour. And the mollified dandy thought "oh how cute". Back in the day of Magnolia's Birth of Venus, way back in the dirty 30's Magnolia's hue was akin to porn. Sadly, Magnolia's preminent presence reminds one of a rather large bared ass which, like all good paint shows signs of dirty all too soon, as harried housewives "out the damn spot" forever caught in the obsession to make clean once again, always to fail miserably at that impossible task. So forevermore this horrid colour of disgrace covers every known surface of the earth. In the doorway of the mind, Magnolia is akin to insanity. As it stands alone Magnolia is a damn liar-colour and should only return to the carpetbaggers' colour wheel of paint samplers from the Deep South dumpster dweller existence, never to return again. What's next? A poem about Williamsburg Blue?