Monday, February 28, 2011
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Blues For A Dead Boy On The Ocean Floor
One more for Grant
more rocks in memory
on the floor of the ocean
deep down, every one knew you were lonely
but the tunes came swift
your father's watch was lost
like seasons to a clock
ringing out from the tower
but your voice beat the
years, like the ocean
and her torment
your death rings
like a gong
that reverberates over time
you died like water
you died like a dream
you died like shadows
cast on a stream
dyed in memory
barricading you with
candlelight and smokescreens
I twist myself
trying to understand
still don't know
what it means.
more rocks in memory
on the floor of the ocean
deep down, every one knew you were lonely
but the tunes came swift
your father's watch was lost
like seasons to a clock
ringing out from the tower
but your voice beat the
years, like the ocean
and her torment
your death rings
like a gong
that reverberates over time
you died like water
you died like a dream
you died like shadows
cast on a stream
dyed in memory
barricading you with
candlelight and smokescreens
I twist myself
trying to understand
still don't know
what it means.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
On The Very Eve Of Supper (In 3 Parts)
the scent of myrrh and lilacs
musing musically with movement
the past pries through the wilderness
wielding weirdness with the humming timbers.
static empty fields vibrate on white
broken telegraph signals repeating over open lines
broadcast via train in the gardens of England
drum lines defeating paint peels
from the Holifernos canvas
dreams of Bocklin
Romantic era literature aloud
the gas cloud rising over tea kettles in winter
whistles over Donatello's shroud
antelopes stitched in lace and mesh
gray before the last hesitation
post-war brown cotton down dress
for all the eyes on viewing day.
musing musically with movement
the past pries through the wilderness
wielding weirdness with the humming timbers.
static empty fields vibrate on white
broken telegraph signals repeating over open lines
broadcast via train in the gardens of England
drum lines defeating paint peels
from the Holifernos canvas
dreams of Bocklin
Romantic era literature aloud
the gas cloud rising over tea kettles in winter
whistles over Donatello's shroud
antelopes stitched in lace and mesh
gray before the last hesitation
post-war brown cotton down dress
for all the eyes on viewing day.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Sky Stories In A Dark World
the clouds were as reefs
upsidedown
I was skydrowned
I can't slow down
chasing you
astral girl
jazzy and loose
weird and aloof
we laugh and dance
here on the roof
someone kicks a can
of white paint
becoming stars
in a dark world
to light the way
you're up there
in the stars
somewhere connecting
all the lost dots pretending
that they were whole again
odd notes spinning spokes
roping in while bullfighters sing
but white horns poke
through reality
wind pulls pollen from the trees
for astral boys collecting
energy for new stars
(draft)
upsidedown
I was skydrowned
I can't slow down
chasing you
astral girl
jazzy and loose
weird and aloof
we laugh and dance
here on the roof
someone kicks a can
of white paint
becoming stars
in a dark world
to light the way
you're up there
in the stars
somewhere connecting
all the lost dots pretending
that they were whole again
odd notes spinning spokes
roping in while bullfighters sing
but white horns poke
through reality
wind pulls pollen from the trees
for astral boys collecting
energy for new stars
(draft)
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Public Art - Alleyways of San Francisco
I think this is some of the best street art I have seen. bold, unique. Full of color and great line quality. realize this is done with spray paint and you can start to see the technical skill it took to paint this-plus its on a wall outdoors and it almost 10 feet tall. And you don't have to pay to go to some stuffy museum to see it either.
The Art Blog Cometh
I know its been a while since I posted anything on the drawing side of things. I have a few hundred drawings I culled from my archive but still haven't scanned. I had just done a huge batch when my laptop cacked last November. so its like I have to either re-do those scans or post new stuff. kind of annoying but at least it was the only 'work' I lost from the whole debacle. I have been drawing, just very little. Thank goodness I have the camera-its nice to have alternative means of expression when one is hung up somewhere for whatever reason
The Color Of Spring / At The End Of The World
now and then she comes
shame resting on her
lips like past curses
full of winter's portent
foreshadowing spring intent
its breathing in
beating from within
extrudes green
underneath
valleys magma
seams pulled apart
and stretched
shaking grounds sacred
towns fall into
the sea
let me
let me be
the color of spring
the colors lost when
the sun sets
the colors that paint
all the world
when it ends.
shame resting on her
lips like past curses
full of winter's portent
foreshadowing spring intent
its breathing in
beating from within
extrudes green
underneath
valleys magma
seams pulled apart
and stretched
shaking grounds sacred
towns fall into
the sea
let me
let me be
the color of spring
the colors lost when
the sun sets
the colors that paint
all the world
when it ends.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Light Water Dry
Will the night
come again
two moons
move the tides
nights after
march's ides
the way the world turns
when it turns on you
as your take your turn
to go you
make shadows
move across the ceiling
moonlight
reflected
in the water
sitting under a tap
the water dries
the lights
fade into
shadows that come again
my hand reaching out to you
come again
two moons
move the tides
nights after
march's ides
the way the world turns
when it turns on you
as your take your turn
to go you
make shadows
move across the ceiling
moonlight
reflected
in the water
sitting under a tap
the water dries
the lights
fade into
shadows that come again
my hand reaching out to you
Those Crazy Brits!
While in prison he was asked why he poisoned his sister-in-law Helen Abercrombie, to which he replied: "Yes; it was a dreadful thing to do, but she had very thick ankles."
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Girlfriend Is Better
How can you not totally fall in love with this face?
I swore I would never cheat but then, look at that face!
I swore I would never cheat but then, look at that face!
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Go Israel or go home in pieces?
Watching Youtube this evening I saw an advertisement for tourism in Israel. Israel? You know going anywhere NEAR the middle east is a totally fucked idea right now. What crackhead thinks about planning their vacation and then says, "You know Disneyland is just down south, but fuck it! Lets all go to Israel!"
Sorry, I still think that the middle east just needs to be sent into orbit-no one REALLY wants to get along, they all think allah or jehovah or Chirst owes them them virgins/land/clerical power and won't stop until they have smite their enemies into dust-and they don't mind taking the infidels out on the way to heaven-namely us.
they make us out to be cartoon Americans but the minute you make their god into a cartoon all hell breaks loose. the garden of Gethsemane? who cares! there are 4,000 year old trees in Monterey! Best of all, they end with "There's a little bit of Israel in all of us-come find the Israel in you."
maybe if you are the victim of a pipe bomb there are little tiny parts of Israel in you-but I can guarantee you there is NO Israel in me. none.
Sorry, I still think that the middle east just needs to be sent into orbit-no one REALLY wants to get along, they all think allah or jehovah or Chirst owes them them virgins/land/clerical power and won't stop until they have smite their enemies into dust-and they don't mind taking the infidels out on the way to heaven-namely us.
they make us out to be cartoon Americans but the minute you make their god into a cartoon all hell breaks loose. the garden of Gethsemane? who cares! there are 4,000 year old trees in Monterey! Best of all, they end with "There's a little bit of Israel in all of us-come find the Israel in you."
maybe if you are the victim of a pipe bomb there are little tiny parts of Israel in you-but I can guarantee you there is NO Israel in me. none.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Guaymas
Oh my GOD that sauce we liked? 2 days later its like Hawooowowwoww!! Sooo good! but sooo spicy-and that chicken is To.Die.For. maybe sometime we can go there on a special occasion again. Everything was delicious but my favorite thing on the menu was you.
<3
<3
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Spilling Fire In A Phoenix
what did we ever do
listen for an answer
in the notes
in the music
in the shadows
amongst the raving
when the mad voices
were on the fade
and the magic
of Teddy's arms
were waving
from something
astounding
you were lost
and found by
the words of strangers
actors, musicians
voices of music
in the darkness
of notes, solitude
take it home
right on
the big woman
on the stage
screams
and is gone
mercy
what is she
and how lost in the
story you are
back in the pages
of a teenage magazine
wasted hours
yearning to be free
to spill out of
private agony
in your head
the dreams
that you thought were dead
or dying
like a phoenix
teach yourself
to reclaim them
mercy
mercy, my fixed anger
weakens in the face
music that helps erase
all the tragic memories
of the past, and the future
holds more, bookshelves of sorrow
but I've read it.
I get it.
hollowed out hollering lifts
moonshots in winter
silence when eyes
close.
listen for an answer
in the notes
in the music
in the shadows
amongst the raving
when the mad voices
were on the fade
and the magic
of Teddy's arms
were waving
from something
astounding
you were lost
and found by
the words of strangers
actors, musicians
voices of music
in the darkness
of notes, solitude
take it home
right on
the big woman
on the stage
screams
and is gone
mercy
what is she
and how lost in the
story you are
back in the pages
of a teenage magazine
wasted hours
yearning to be free
to spill out of
private agony
in your head
the dreams
that you thought were dead
or dying
like a phoenix
teach yourself
to reclaim them
mercy
mercy, my fixed anger
weakens in the face
music that helps erase
all the tragic memories
of the past, and the future
holds more, bookshelves of sorrow
but I've read it.
I get it.
hollowed out hollering lifts
moonshots in winter
silence when eyes
close.
Conspiracy In Exile
wretches, dogged
like wolves
and wilderness
like children blessed
then sacrificed
to artificial
light, extinguished.
like wolves
and wilderness
like children blessed
then sacrificed
to artificial
light, extinguished.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Shimmering and White
never discerned the lexicon
of faith,
of witches hunted
and lands of rape
shimmering and white
in the distance
the future cloaks itself
and hides
make no mistake
sometimes when you're lost
there no where to find.
in the cataclysm of anecdotes
no skin speaks
no kin spins like spokes
the wagons escape
from the past
like Radio Flyers
the memories are melted
down
into categories
and after death
the fire.
dig you out
from the bottom of
this mine
in my hand
I saw jewels
even though
you were a rough
cut, fit for ransom
a paradox in my pattern
without demand
paying in soul
with blood money.
the drought hung on to
the city' like a lustre
or a burnished
theatre rail
from the past
frozen in memory
like stone age mammals,
like nightmares
under glass.
add up the cost
the eat or be eaten race
we escaped to wake asleep from
in the frost.
--
the english spellings are intentional
of faith,
of witches hunted
and lands of rape
shimmering and white
in the distance
the future cloaks itself
and hides
make no mistake
sometimes when you're lost
there no where to find.
in the cataclysm of anecdotes
no skin speaks
no kin spins like spokes
the wagons escape
from the past
like Radio Flyers
the memories are melted
down
into categories
and after death
the fire.
dig you out
from the bottom of
this mine
in my hand
I saw jewels
even though
you were a rough
cut, fit for ransom
a paradox in my pattern
without demand
paying in soul
with blood money.
the drought hung on to
the city' like a lustre
or a burnished
theatre rail
from the past
frozen in memory
like stone age mammals,
like nightmares
under glass.
add up the cost
the eat or be eaten race
we escaped to wake asleep from
in the frost.
--
the english spellings are intentional
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