Its all about the work

"After all, Debussy was considered impossibly avant-garde in his time. It's hard to credit such a response to his music today. Similarly, Brahms piano concerto #1 was reviewed in its day as 'noise'. We need to grow into modern works. We shouldn't ask that things be made too easy for us."

David Sylvian, on modern artistic development.

God I love this....so right-fucking-on its hard to imagine. Yeah, you develop the work, but the relationship to the work, or the relationship it has for others is what it becomes. That happens outside the initial burst of creative spark that gives reason to the intangible ideas we pull out of the ether. But after that, what? To me that space is when something moves from being the "work" to "art". when someone else grasps its experience. when it resonates outside the body of its creator.

And that is the power of art(which is a big bucket of others things, not just 'painting'). Pretty potent stuff if you have the talent to capture the lightning in a bottle. Alchemy and Ecstacy anyone?

Chaos

You say its chaos
and it is
because if you will something
to be
then it becomes real.
not as flesh
but moreso
than memory
a fleeting glimpse
into madness
no need for epiphany.
I try to avoid it
while not avoiding you
but you claim
we're not happening
on the same page
as one.
I'm so tired
of trying to please
of begging
and pleading
hoping to appease.
I just want the one thing
all of us want.
A life together
to fight the storms
instead of a lonely house
to haunt.
I once said I loved you
but I no longer know for sure.
it so difficult
to know
anything when emotions blur.
You want to be on the same page
you say chaos is you normal
why wait for a break in the clouds
its never coming
I keep on humming
hoping for a change in
the weather.

stars in the coffee bars

I saw you
for a moment
under the hazy streelight
glow and disappear
into the lamp black of
the darkness
and night

guys!

guys that only want other men like themselves
guys that want the total opposite.
guys that lie about everything
guys that tell the truth until it hurts as bad as a lie.
guys that are self obsessed.
guys that are obsessed with me.
guys that are emotionally distant
guys that are needy
guys that are...just another stranger.

I think I am getting to the point where I am really fucking fed up with men in general. If I didn't occasionally meet one I thought was sweet and kind and could be supportive I would put them all in a box and bury it.

(trumpets) Here

"I wake up every day
but I don't want it that way."
Brett Anderson -He's Dead

Well, I'm right depressed at the moment.

Its chemical surely, but with as many chemicals
as there are swirling in my brains right now
its almost impossible to
find out what is right and what is wrong
I think the answers are in my brain
or hidden deep within a song
I cry all the time.
the curl of my cats paw
as he sleeps
the beauty in a spider's web
delicately laced with dew
the first few seconds of crackle
at the beginning of every record
the cloud spinning past the window
when I look out
the stars seem lonely
as life and the hands of every clock
tick away
I ran away and was hidden by this city
this is the big time
the stars are all on the ground
but all the little voices
they will drown
one single voice
that's merely
in the way

WTF/FTW

What is the cadence
of a wasted youth?
the lapse of a breath
that begins with a howl,
right before it becomes absorbed
by the whirling vortex.
does it sound like that?

Again I pick up the prescription
for an unnecessary addiction
for medication that doesn't work
on a disease I don't have.

What becomes a legend most?
sucking all the blood from its host.

a volatile dream

my claw feet
grip the generation
before and after the
revolutions.

sadness.
it passes into a kiss and
then it is the only thing that
matters.

Zephyrs fly
and overhead
the voices in the sky that
tug at my shirt
lost in the stupor
the dreaded torpor and
the mortal coil.

blessed are those that sleep
blessed are those who sleep.
smoke and ash in a heap,
smoldering and replete
with its stern and steel
facade that will make you cry
blessed are those who sleep,
blessed are those that sleep...

Please let me find out why...
are the answers in the sky?
Will I find it in the stars?
passive and pale,
dreaming of what may
one day be a real life
now hidden in sleep...
blessed are those that sleep..
(its a real life better than mystery)
Are the answers in the sky?
hidden in sleep,
hidden in
hidden in sleep.

Sept 11th

"They whom we love and lose are no longer where they were before,They are now...
wherever we are"

anonymous - from the 9/11 tribute site

heroes and old ghosts

And would my tears fall into the sky
where heroes and old ghosts go to die
another winter here in the white hills
over green and pleasant yet distant lands
strange arms came to hold me in the night
just another layover until the morning light

won't someone tell me all the secrets
that I long to let go of
to throw into the wind
dismiss like a careless thought
I know...
it goes on and on
and on and on
and on....

the skin from my feet is gone

couldn't sleep again.
the rain in my brain was pounding
like thunderstorms over ancient oceans
body clenching and heaving
sheets wet with sadness and dissolution
impatience and impermanent
trying to find some safe spot to land on
to find home
somewhere with enough answers
so I won't keep looking.
a nest,
a haven
from the mavens and
their writing blocks
that I stack on and climb
hurriedly I scale the right-angled
formations until there is nothing
just the smooth white facade
of the reflection in itself
the mirror reversed
minus light
and hope.

Le Morte Della Con Tutti Frutti

Turn into stone


then I'll be damned
he said
as he turned and walked
away...

the women all turn into
statues
as do the men in their
own way,
Understand me...
its all a lot of misery
but then you see one day
the sea...

try to grab a cloud
hold on to a dream
no conflagration
burns forever
in the slipstream.
------

words/birds

Not in love with words,
not in winged flight
like the birds
or the stars
in their flight
over the midnight
obsidian; void
the empty nothingness
and that which lies beyond
they shoot like needles
into the tar-like
surface of the
universe...

Not in Love with Fear

Whether the glass is half empty
or whether it's half full,
I'm still drowning in the
waters of this vessel that
I'm in...its funny,
mystery and romance,
topical depressions,
watching dead can dance
in the near light
of this waning candle
I hold my hand aloft one more time
and I wonder....

------

If you give me a rope
I promise not to hang
myself with it
as long as I can hold on
to it instead.

New portrait

reistat

Leave without saying
goodbye.
Make everyone else
try harder
but don't try.
take a long long
look at the fingers
pointing back
and ask why.

Too angry to wonder
or even ponder
semantic differences
or emotional inferences
all caught up in the maelstrom
of you.

Of You
in an emotional
minefield.
booby traps
and inconsideration
laid out for all to see.
secrets kept
though lost in thought
and the voices of many men
who've lost the plot.

it feels like the asking
and the waiting for
the response
is haunting me while
the hours pass
in dimly lit restaurants.

I never wanted
to be grim
or affronted
but I keep on asking
for the light
and the time.
to see it all through.

you just can't work it out

No its love,
like a curl of smoke
that fades
no smiles
or passion
in the remains

You drag your hands
through the ash and
with two fingers,
indicate the war paint
on your cold and
sullen face.

No, its love.
like a blast of steam,
the build of pressure
and the initial scream.
hot dares, no cares,
dissolved in air.

It can move mountains
be pushed aside
by the wave of
a careless hand
and yet beside
the silence
at the end of the
phone that buzzes
when you hang up first

its love
and can we take anymore?
I try to work it out
to work it out...

A rustle in the branches(distracted by momentary thoughts of suicide)

look out the window; daydreaming
nothing but ever whitening skies,
blazing away in the afternoon.
ego crumbling
by sheets of glass
singing to no one
just me and the trees
clapping like a million
sets of eyes
they see me, waiting
but a step away
a single step
is all it
takes.

The World is Made of Clay

mixed words
or intentions
that seem unclear
words that need
to be said
but no one says
I want but not
what you want
distraught and
taught to lose
you shield you
from abuse soon
no can even really
get that close
the door slams
the lights go out
the welcome mat
is pulled from
beneath your feet
caked in clay
soil shoes you
feel buried in blues.

Its all evaporating like a distant dream....

Will the water
of your loneliness
wash all the scars away
when time has passed?
swirling like a gas
the crimson flow
evaporates
in the stillness
of the empty glass.

Michael Jackson

Well, I watched the memorial concert/funeral and probably like most people I found it both incredibly moving and sad. Moving because it was so nice to see people speak so genuinely from their hearts and without judgment and sad because it took Michael's death to finally give him his due, so very long overdue.
The singing was wonderful(most specifically Jermaine and Stevie Wonder) and seeing what a wide range of people he touched. Certainly his passing and the unprecedented amount of coverage and sheer mass of information that has passed regarding his death and tributes both personal and professional are hard to ignore. the numbers alone are pretty staggering.

Not sure why you'd leave in summer but its a bummer michael, and so very very sad...