lately, there has only been music.
and light. and color.
but mostly music.
how to perform out loud?
am i aloud?
these poems have lilt and deep caverns, endlessly
pitch black catching
silver linings
like a hollow hero
pierces your rib;
now breathe in darkness
now pull the light to your lungs.
and find its wont.
from tomorrow
Pinocchio (2019)
I said left
Many bright, productive weeks have past.
Celebrating a birthday in-person helped. It was nice to focus on another.
I wonder who we will all be when this has finally gone by.
Did we choose change
or were you merely
biding your time
to return to being
that same being
you were at the beginning?
I hope we emerged //changed,
for the better (for good)//
Love beam.
One day the earth stopped spinning
One child is chosen to carry their futures
Nine years today.
Often warm, often
We are volcanic, love comes creeping, bursting, drying cold upon the mountainside.
Often so, often not. Focus close, watch us build the island look
close. There are gulls above our shoreline look
and see, Mammals crawl into the sunshine look
and know. That love has built this look
and say. “Love is a many layered wave of memory saying, ‘Look
at our sea.’”
Sometimes rocks
fall
from the cliffside
.place a brick upon the castle.
The Room is Living
Quiz shows
In winter
Dog nap
Corn chips
And he winds into
the cosiest of spaces,
with a cat’s insistence
to surely fit.
crest of a wave?
my art seems to shift in and out, dark to bright, black to color. i wonder
mind that
heavy, heavy
mind.
catch that
flowery, caffine
thought.
spin that
supple, winter
skin.
hushhh
blushhhhh
shhhhh.
Oof, there goes January.
Work got busy, but that’s better than the alternative. I do not do well in idle time.
Even though I retreated from social media, replacing the habit with news, random history wikipedia holes, and and arting around different apps, the internet stills feels like a nag. Notifications typically mean work—or personal guilt. The things I avoid. The conversations I allow to hang until I feel inclined to respond. I can’t seem to get myself out of the way. I’m trying, though. I’ve plateaued on my Id and I am ready to move past, yet there she is, mountainous. She lays traps along the path that I am learning to evade.
Yelling
Hello, you —
There are so many things to think about these days, trapped at home, or work, or workhomeSCHOOLhomework, or in a temporary stay to keep your loved ones safe. To not spread the thing you’re not certain of how it will behave. It could end your world; it cough you, shiver you, and vanish with a part of you that won’t become apparent until there’s some support group down the timeline where you tell someone your story of how you miss the smell of your husband’s beard when he’s cooling under the bedroom fan after a hot shower.
No wonder our ancestors opened their heads to let the demons out. Anything to get the world back.
Some people still need this practice, apparently. Do better than them. Accept the reality of history. “Don’t drill a hole in your head”.* Scrutinize the source, not the reality.
*Speaking of sources, ‘Sawbones’ is a good podcast about medical history, and they have an episode on trepanation. Listen for +2 Intelligence on Arcane Medicine rolls.
Does your mind ever get too bright to think? All the doors and windows standing open, the world flooding in; like a summoning it will not relent. Usually this is when I start planning a trip for the Spring—something to look forward to. But we try so hard not to leave. Vaccine, vaccine, I’d do anything.
Playing in the realm of primary colors..
I have dedicated myself to completing one finished Piece a year, whatever form that may take. I will make every effort to catalog and archive my in-process works, none of which should be considered a finished Piece.
Amanda Gorman was a vision, bold as gold, as she blossomed through a sobered crowd.
“When Power corrupts, Poetry cleanses.” - President JFK
The future is bright, she says, but you’ll need to deserve it. Through love, let us work—there’s much to do.
I have given up on social media entirely, committing to focusing on my own artistic and human growth. It feels as though I have outgrown the need to share and insert myself into the world. I reek of pander and inaction. To remedy this, I must look inward and find what it is I should be giving to the world, via the tangible and the good-willed. My my, when this pandemic is over, should I survive it (one never knows), I will venture out into this world and give and give until I have found a place amongst the community. Democracy is in the every day action, surely. Activists know this. The inactive, who sit in their houses and think only of themselves and the small lives at their fingertips cannot know or appreciate the power of community. I had it once, I now realize, and lost it at a young age. I lost many communities, to age and to death. I must no longer wait human connection to be offered to me, I must seek it for myself. I must believe in other people.
If you are still here at the depth of this post (or perhaps your eyes are stuck from the eye roll), I will let my intention be known: here, I will experiment with visuals and words to help gain a firmer foundation on a wider world, as it broadens around me. I will dedicate my time to independent study of language and the history of art and how cultural movements shape society and its role in the future. I will attempt to predict the future.
There are specific themes I wish to tackle in my art and writing:
future of design
fearless self expression
what it is like to be alive each day I live
the toll of efficiency
confronting inner god(s)
humanity’s future via
stewards of earth and nature
equality
anti-racism
justice
mythology
dropping the White narrative
The road ahead is long, long as my lifetime, but I hope I can find some truth.
Let’s begin.