Matthew 26, 6: Now when Jesus was at Bethany in the house of Simon the leper, a woman came up to him with an alabaster flask of very expensive ointment, and she poured it on his head as he reclined at table. And when the disciples saw it they were indignant, saying ‘why this waste? For this could have been sold for a large sum and given to the poor.’


Am I, aren’t I? Do I, don’t I? What are you willing to believe?

Damien the diamond, bald geezer who also plays with emeralds and the truth

His latest wheeze – he coughed fifty million quid to produce it,

Y’all better believe it, includes everything but the kitschen sink.

From Death and Myth to Disneyland

And who’s to say how many cigarette papers there are between them?


Just so’s you can make what you will out of my make believe.

And if you believe that…, the sceptics say,

For this is extravagant, decadent, insanely opulent

Market-making hyperbole.

But if Hirst’s Treasures can make kitsch, sublime,

Then he’s found the (postmodern) philosopher’s stone

Whereas a penny spent’s already too much pish,

If all there is from him is further deconstruction.