You may have set fire to yourself, burnt your heart out and emerged from the ashes, a phoenix golden and resplendent. Having found your wings, you sail into the light without anymore heed of the dark whispers that used to haunt your reveries. My dear, I am a coward. I have no courage to step into the fire and rouse the demons within to slaughter them. I look for light but I realize, not hard enough. Winds of change do not lift these deadened limbs of mine. I have not yet earned them. I ponder these things when I trace the words sent from the Sky yet I am not moved. I wish to but I am not. This black gauze in my mind is the root of the matter. This flawed existence I live pains me more than anything so I distance myself from everything. Perhaps this pit of mine is fire after all. Who is to know? It rings in my ears, this keening howling from within.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Astray
Like a shooting star
you're burning, dying
not flying, falling.
Come back to Earth.
The space you traverse
is vast, vacant & light-less
Eye of Light, Light's child
Darkness prey upon you
I worry about you.
Star-child, Earth
is temporary.
Seek Eternity.
__________________________________________________________________________
Note: I allude to you name, your light. Please take care.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Portrait
When drawing a portrait, a face is reduced to a landscape of lines
The persona abolished momentarily
the subject yields to physicality.
When drawing the eyes
The artist plunges into the subject
and all demarcation dies
—His mind, his anima
laid bare in a cacophony of folds
—between the brows, around the eyes, within them.
Set to behold, all that a soul withholds.
When drawing the mouth
The subject's unspokens spill
His thoughts frozen still
—His emotion, his sentiment
expressed in a mould
—of flesh pressed together, with varying pressure.
Set to behold, all that language cannot told.
A portrait begins in disparity & ends in unity,
culminating in a union of the artist & his subject,
their distinct Reality.
The persona abolished momentarily
the subject yields to physicality.
When drawing the eyes
The artist plunges into the subject
and all demarcation dies
—His mind, his anima
laid bare in a cacophony of folds
—between the brows, around the eyes, within them.
Set to behold, all that a soul withholds.
When drawing the mouth
The subject's unspokens spill
His thoughts frozen still
—His emotion, his sentiment
expressed in a mould
—of flesh pressed together, with varying pressure.
Set to behold, all that language cannot told.
A portrait begins in disparity & ends in unity,
culminating in a union of the artist & his subject,
their distinct Reality.
Friday, February 3, 2012
Eff off
Fickle voices ringing
angry voices berating
annoying voices choking,
all this noise.
Just shut the fuck up people
I'm sick of your world.
Dull minds misunderstanding
brilliant minds condescending
empty minds uncaring,
this lack of imagination.
I'll set fire to your impinging presence
and strangle your lofty pretensions.
angry voices berating
annoying voices choking,
all this noise.
Just shut the fuck up people
I'm sick of your world.
Dull minds misunderstanding
brilliant minds condescending
empty minds uncaring,
this lack of imagination.
I'll set fire to your impinging presence
and strangle your lofty pretensions.
______________________________________________________________
Note: I'm tired of people shitting on my parade. Just, leave me be.
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