Monday, July 06, 2015

#292 The Conqueror

Trees rise, dunes
fall. The man in

the tux & fancy
shirt — unfocused

& unimpressed by
the sights around—

still has not learnt
to conquer boredom.

Monday, June 29, 2015

#291 The Truth In Her Jasmine Bouquet

The dunce's hat comes from the tops of the towers where Euclid walked.

A kernel of wheat falls to the ground & dies.

Dreaming of pickles denotes vexation in love but final triumph.

One must have a huge amount of money to extinguish the fumes of the false Renaissance.

Hiring a private detective may be one way to go.

Tuesday, June 09, 2015

#290 La Femme Cachée

In the last pages
of Breton's Nadja
he has moved on
from the eponymous
subject & is ad- & un-
dressing another, un-

named, woman who
has "taken his heart."
To him a replaceable
object. Idealized but
essentially unnoticed.
Hidden, in forest or not.

Tuesday, May 26, 2015

#289 La Grande Famille

are made
from the air

Monday, May 25, 2015

#288 A Little of the Bandits’ Soul

I applaud main-
stream dystopia—
that depiction of
personal & collective
suffering in modern
Chinese novels or a
new Japanese gothic
stenchcore band

with female voice.
Perspective is a funny
thing, a little iron cot
hanging to the side
of the stone wall in a
manner that's executed
with a little more soul
in its synthesizing.

The very latest in
wood & gas fire-
place options plays
titanic crust tunes
with some very
well placed cello.
When does Indie
stop being Indie?

Monday, May 04, 2015

#287 Freedom of Mind

Big pipe. Low price.
No data caps. Leave
anytime. It's almost

a recap of a Sons of
new moon, a half-naked

woman, with some sort
of avatar, a pipe-dream,
clenched in her hand.

Sunday, April 12, 2015

#286 Pandora's Box

The rose waits beside the
man. Or. Maybe moves
beside him if the man is
walking across the bridge.
Twilight. The man is
wrong. The street lamps

are on. Or. Perhaps the city
is on fire & the lamps are
off. The rose is white. The
man is wrong. No matter
which brother. If Prometheus—
brought fire. Now waits to

see how his gift is taken. The
lamps are off. The man is
wrong. If the other brother—
Pandora's husband. Her
beauty given to him. A jar.
The lid ajar. The gift is

mothbite, fresh horror re-
leased, by a woman's hand.
But a second visit. The man
releases hope. & man-made
myth. Apple fallen far from
its original tree. History re-

written as his story. The man
is wrong. Is patriarchal, is
parody. Is intended to
disguise there was no evil
given by the original creator.
Gaia, the Giver of All Gifts.

Thursday, April 02, 2015

#285 Presence of Mind

Neither fish nor

fowl, am some-

where in between

Friday, March 20, 2015

#284 À La Rencontre Du Plaisir

Griot is troubadour, 
   West African, live 
    archive of traditions, 
      much like the 
        medieval minstrel. 

Grelot is bell—jingle-, 
  sleigh-. Usually 
    small, unlike the one
      depicted here. Is
        a mystery why 

the bowler-hatted 
  man is focused on 
    it since it has no 
      mystery. The man's 
        shadow stands be-

hind the curtain, 
  looks in a different 
    direction, absorbs
      the atmosphere. He
        will sing about it. 


Monday, March 09, 2015

#283 The Uncertainty Principle

"An object (a human figure
or something else) is presented
against a background on which
its shadow falls, with the amend-
ment that the shadow is that of
some quite different object. Example: a naked woman
projecting another in the form
of a bird onto a curtain."

The title is totally abstract.
The painting presents a
disturbing aspect of actuality.
The uncertainty principle
means that the position &
momentum of either subject
or reflection cannot be
simultaneously measured
with precision.

Wednesday, February 25, 2015

#282 Early Morning

The door was open.

Everbody was lined up waiting for the door to open.

We had arrived early that Sunday morning, with 
                         friends from Wisconsin, so as to be
                         among the first people to enter after 
                         the door was open.

The icing on the early-morning cake was little Georgette 
                         relaying to her mother that she enjoyed 
                         drinking a Starbucks with me as we
                         waited to be let in once the door was opened.

Access was available only through the Modern Wing 

The door was closed.