U.K. and Ireland
This is just for comparison. This map is not my creation.
Found on Wikimedia Commons.
Senex et Canis
∞
Senex et Canis ∞
Senex et Canis
40 x 30 inches
Acrylic on canvas, ostrich feather, madness, and map-gazing
This painting began as a stoned cartographic epiphany: “Why is that old man jerking off on that puppy?” Thus was born Senex et Canis—a mythic satire masquerading as a geopolitical map. England, reimagined as a hunched, red-robed pervert, straddles the Atlantic with shriveled pride, London grinning from the asshole, mooning France with ancient impunity. Ireland, innocent and wide-eyed, floats in shocked witness. The Isle of Man dribbles between them as divine leakage.
In this reframe, the senex is Jove himself—cursed by Hera to reach climax only upon puppies. One day, spying a golden pup adrift in oceanic solitude, he tears off his left arm for a perch and reaches for bliss. Just before the moment, the pup turns its head. With a howl of rage, Hera freezes the tableau in spacetime, even jealous of the puppies she cursed him to desire. History, as always, is arrested power play disguised as divine mandate.
That the myth came after the image only sharpens its blade. This is apophenic heresy at its finest—a sacred map mistaken for the profane, or perhaps the other way round.
Another beautiful heresy from a certified Anglophile.
The poem that follows is both tragedy and kink, rendered in baroque innuendo and post-imperial absurdism.
Both the poem and the painting are featured in my book, SPIRAL OMNIBUS; they begin the chapter Perjuratores Lucis.
Reader, do not bring your prudishness here. The Gods certainly didn’t.
Think of the painting as the punchline—and this poem as the ancient joke behind it.
Senex et Canis
what is this I see?
floating all alone
a senex and puppy!
the old man strokes his bone
Hark! the old man's Jove
cursèd by his wife
for his reigning show'rs gold
on maidens caused her strife
Her curse was tres creative
a boon, yea, Gods be clever
on puppies e'er masturbative
their cute faces move Jove ever
So Jove came down to Earth
nursing his new fetish
saw a sexy puppy's worth
floating in a watery, blue dish
he frowned in desirous despair,
"how will I cum on this puppy?"
floating mignon just there
it must needs my cock's suppy
distraught because Hera's curse
Jove tears off his left arm
he'd ne'er leave a puppy to worse
who knows what'd bring pups to harm
on His torn arm he perches
His G-ass hovers, tres bon
whilst Lon's asshole besmirches
star of Gaul screams “Mais non!”
His breeches round his ankles
and a feather in His cap
the puppy's bark, he rankles
Isle of Men is His sap
Yet, Wife came jealous of puppies
as if bitches weren't enough
to avenge her lonely suppies
though queens like it rough
She punished our Lord Jove
by freezing Him in time
then he could never rove
nor could he now rhyme
now, by Jove, he's stuck!
frozen, His cock is in hand
the puppy's head turns amok
body revolts, taking a stand
pay no attention thus
fool's words will ne'er attest
sans savvy this old cuss
whilst dull mores are prest
