So what? Humans only practice the arts? Humans go back to flinging poop? This meadow sounds awful, it seems like it’s asking for the end of thought and to be fed nutrient gel from a machine. Richard Brautigan has a terrible dream.
I always interpreted the overall tone of this one as sarcastic/parody rather than genuine or a literal interpretation of the words. But maybe a sign of good art is that it makes the observer think?