Archive | May, 2011

Previous and past

26 May

Bauri – Tummy


Trickle liquid more eloquent than thunder fountain,
Your turquoise trumpets settle down the raging mountain.

image: *psycho delia*

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Every grain of salt

18 May


We Bought the Flood -The Books
The triangles on the skin of my hand
match the triangles I drew in the sand
they separate and recreate
and turn into all of the thoughts that I had.
My mind’s eye dilates and I evaluate
each image as it fluctuates, dissipates,

and is gone.
along with the rust and the salt.

I’ll take a ride on some lonesome planet. and let my thoughts sail like warm winds blowing east and up and out into the darkness, and light the sky, glowing northern light, shimmering in the cold brittle air.

Focus, Focus.

image: Raj Hanchanahal Photography

Ritual Tradition Habitual

16 May

Colleen – Carry Cot

I’m living now like the steam pouring from my mug. Doing a quick dance and disappearing. But it’s no ritual.
Rituals now are a broken link to the past, they don’t seem to bring to mind much but movies I’d seen a bit back.
A ritual is built on meaning, a significance, but when that’s lost, what is the reason behind it? is this the ghost of meaning? a photograph taken long ago?
Does meaning disappear as quickly as steam?
Today I imagined people from my past showing up at my place of work. They ridiculed me, but I’m not sure why. Perhaps I had upset them, but I think most of them have forgotten me by now. Or perhaps I am just an extra in a dream they don’t remember upon waking.
Or for a moment they remember a man in the back dancing quickly.

image: tim166

Living

4 May

I delight in life, in all its complexities, in all its mysteries.  I delight in all the wonderful elements that make life spectacular.

I delight in living.

Photo: Me

compare/contrast reject/deny

4 May

Hypermagic – San Fairy Ann

the tree against a setting sun is the roots of a bean plant growing against a clear plastic glass is the bristles of a brush of horse’s hair is the tip of a cattail swaying in the winds of a low-lain wetlands is natural as all talking sideways and upside down where i get a picture but not a panoramic and it’s only part told is looking though the keyhole of doors that don’t exist and smelling the rub of unpolished brass green with the age of water and grime of hands that grab one another and put things up and take things down and occasionally does things with care like a clockwork worker laying pictures all out in a row of the grandkids he never knew like a stain on the carpet doesn’t know its outline before it’s set is the birthmark on your foot that’s the shape of a duck setting on a pond of algae leaving trailing tails is the tail of a meteor shedding skin in the night sky is a backdrop of milk sewn on black velvet smooth like the white peach fuzz thick and thin alike and i never know the words you mean all doublespeak and doublethink.

I used to live in trees, but I cut them down and built a house.

3 May

Falling – Repathon
And now I’m living in a house and I want the trees. I look out my window and see the ivy choking bark, and I think, I would do better for you next time.

How often do we notice the ivy on our limbs? Do we know it’s there? Do we ignore it?
As a child I picked the fat out of every sausage I ate.

A man came to sell me magazines today. He was very good.
I was better.

I keep looking at all this ivy.

image: phigonggoi