All I Need

i had a dream...

i was buried in sand.  the tide was inevitable but i'd dug deep anyway.  my hands felt free being connected to arms, shoulders, and neck.  to my brain.  all of it moved about wading under the moonlight without purpose.  resistance clearly wasn't one of them.  most of me was in there like a masochist and the only rhythm came from just below the surface above my tambourine bruise, wherever that is, louder than waves.  louder than the alarm. 

when seeing is sadness and surreal

“Kiss me, and you will see how important I am.” 

― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

Making Good

Redemption occupies my heart.  A quarter in spent making good thoughts.  Even dreams must include morning.  Curiosity is wicked, though, and I'm giving it bones.  My plan is to race a lot this year.  Eight races to be exact in the hopes they'll ache and I will win at least one.  The people I love most keep me from obsessing over mortality, so things could be worse. Thank goodness they love me half as much.  

never trust your sensory memory

Morals and Madness © 2016

art affects

a thousand waves

Tractor Ride

A heavy day.  Cumulative, too, because October is for shifty girls that hold everything.  Standing on a tractor, I watched the manure being scooped up then turned into fertilizer.  I could have used one of those all my life.  One for when I sat in the DMV parking lot earlier crying and waiting for a title.  A title shouldn't mean anything, but it does.  In three years it was good bye, first love.  In three hours, I  got to carry on one more time, Chevy '65.  Now they can ride off into the sunset together.

       

Tractor Ride. October 2015.

"Art for me is the science of freedom." - Joseph Beuys

Death

Death makes ordinary men out of us all.  Happy Birthday to me.  

summer's end

Tonight feels like the sun is extinguished and with heavy hearts we search for what remains staring back at us.

In Defense

In Defense of Melancholy
Pablo Medina

At least once a week
I walk into the city of bricks
where the rubies grow

and the killers await
the coming of doves and cats.

I pass by the homes of butchers
and their knives sharpened by insomnia

to the river of black sails
and the torn-up sea and the teeth of dogs.

She waits for me in a narrow bed,
watching the rain
that gathers on the broken street

and the weak light of dusk
and the singing trees.

 

Hunter

 
...and the art of holding on.

music by birds

Birds on the Wires from Jarbas Agnelli on Vimeo.

Rita, Raquel, Redemption

Affection grows in a dark cell.  Ok, that's a bit much.  Let's not do this.  In the grim I think as a way to cope with time and its relentless rhythm.

Rita, Raquel, and Redemption, May 2015

Seen & Heard

* Desperately trying to piece together the "Lightness" on the battered cover of a book I've yet to finish. - Borrowed: The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera

* It's high time to rebel. The quest for liberation is calling. - Health & art & morning horoscope by D.

chances

On Being

On Being an Artist
Noelle Kocot


Saturn seems habitual,
The way it rages in the sky
When we’re not looking.
On this note, the trees still sing
To me, and I long for this
Mottled world. Patterns
Of the lamplight on this leather,
The sun, listening.
My brother, my sister,
I was born to tell you certain
Things, even if no one
Really listens. Give it back
To me, as the bird takes up
The whole sky, ruined with
Nightfall. If I can remember
The words in the storm,
I will be well enough to sit
Here with you a little while.

be kind

Happy Earth Day

Pale Blue Dot from ORDER on Vimeo.