“The Factory Days” in NYC,
“Something in the kitchen, clean, white, and plastic”.
Andy Warhol and his dissident queer entourage,
a cult of decadence,
filled to the brim with bohemian posers,
pale gaunt models,
disciples of shallow shock and awe
mistaken for daring art.
Speed freaks and platinum blondes, hanging out with transvestites,
pin pricked sociopaths,
the self anointed “high priests” of urban artistic nihilism.
incomprehensible films hailed as cutting edge cinema.
It was the next big thing,
being intentionally cryptic as a substitute for actual creative talent.
The Chelsea Hotel,
a splash of colored light,
The Velvet Underground.