I Have Seen The Future Of Art, and It Is The Jetsons

I was walking around at RPI today in Troy, NY, and came across this EMPAC (Experimental Media and Arts Center) thing.

So what is this all about, this high tech futuristic stuff? It reminds me of that juvenile imagination of the glorious future we used to watch as kids on saturday mornings called the Jetsons. and then i looked harder, and something actually looked familiar. could it be? I had to check:

Yes, it's her! Jane Jetson! Million dollar serious performing arts center and it's modelled after a cartoon's hairdoo. Hopefully I will write a more detailed deconstruction of this hideous piece of architecture shortly.

Also, I'm taking up a collection to raise money to ship it off to the moon.

Ok, i realize that's an artist's conception, so i found this photo (see below):

Swirls Of Sexvines In English and French!

SWIRLS OF SEXVINES

swirls of sexvines intoxicating,
night perfumes of flowers
calling moths, enticing them
to mix pollen and imagine

new beings, inviting danger,
eruption of potent species
into the forest.

a memory of aroma of a night
when i feared being only a moth
but my death was death of the universe
locked in my skull,

infested with vines
and sinews of thoughts and longings.

bible verses came to attack
but the jungle rotted them
to ant food.

longing for something to read,
i picked up stars with my tongue
but they stung ,
so i burrowed under leaves
and seeped into roots.

the stars called me
into veins in the night.

i became many, and the rain
washed me into puddles
where i birthed a multitude
of minute beings eating each other,
living in each other's bellies,
stitching the earth together in laughter,
and it keeps growing...


TOURBILLION DE SEXVIGNES

tourbillons de sexvignes
parfum de nuit des fleurs enivrant
appelant phalenes, les inciter a mélanger de pollen,
imaginer des êtres nouveaux, inviter danger,
eruption des espèces puissant dans la forêt,

une mémoire de l'arôme d'une nuit
où je craignais d'être seulement un papillon de nuit,
mais ma mort était la mort de l'univers
enfermé dans mon crâne infesté de vignes
et les nerfs des pensées et des désirs.

versets bibliques sont venus attaquer,
mais la jungle les a pourri en ailments de fourmis.

desirais ardemment pour quelque chose à lire
je ramassé étoiles avec ma langue, mais ils piqué
donc je s'enfouit sous les feuilles
et je s'est infiltrées dans les racines,

et les étoiles m'a appelé dans les veines dans la nuit
et je suis devenu beaucoup

et la pluie me rejetee dans les flaques ou je donné naissance
à une multitude d'êtres vivants miniscules mangent
les uns les autres, vivant dans les uns les autres ventres
brodent la terre ensemble en rient et il ne cesse de croître...

I'm sure i've hopelessly botched the verb tenses, and probably they are not consistant. also i would have to read a bunch of french poetry (in storage) to find the right words with the right connotations.