![]() SOMETIMES I IMAGINE a sort of inside joke with myself that entails remaking the famous album cover from Nas’s Hip Hop Is Dead, on which Nas is crouching over an open grave - presumably hip hop’s - and dropping a rose into it, with James Joyce instead, looking befuddled and dropping some artifact - I don’t know, a clover? - into the same pit. I spit on your grave then I grab my Charles Dickens. The last ‘ new ’ thing I saw was break dancing. The newsworthy transformations wrought by Picasso, Pollock, Warhol, and Robert Mapplethorpe have been replaced by shiny ghosts.
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