I cannot let myself
Live on illusory comforts
I must plant myself firmly
In the mud and manure
Of mad melancholia
-a.r.
Painting: The Mad Painter 1981 by Enzo Cucchi
Reality
•February 9, 2015 • 2 CommentsUnruly
•February 6, 2015 • 9 CommentsI want
To be unruly
Unkempt and unyielding
Like my daughter’s hair
Each morning
A mess of matted tendrils
From tossing and sweating
Fighting with fevered dreams
Irreconcilable scenes
Unable to be put together
Unwilling to be straightened out
Unlikely to be worked through
Without a good amount of ripping
Tearing and screaming
Cursing the forced task at hand
“Damn you”
“FUCK YOU!”
Leave me alone
Let me be matted and messy
All parts of me tangled
Wild and knotted while I am waking
This morning
I will not untangle myself
I will walk away and keep
The strands of me in shambles
Smelling of tortured sleep
Looking like Hell
And hurling defiance
At the world
-a.r.
Painting by Jaclyn Conley
I was inspired to rework and repost this as I am reading Preliminary Materials For a Theory of the Young-Girl.
May we all find a way to be unruly.
Dream State
•February 5, 2015 • Leave a CommentI surrender and descend
Split my self and empty
All my mad imaginings
Of returning to a real
Story put on paper
With no hope
Of any thing
But lack
& this
-?.?.
Painting: Meditation by Irena Aizen
The Knot
•February 4, 2015 • Leave a CommentThere is no amount of hardware
That will turn self into real
Only the symbolic
Which carries the weight of feel
-a.r.
Chalk drawing: Borromean Rings by Rick Tan
Samsara
•February 4, 2015 • 2 CommentsBirthing pains or deathly throws,
It’s hard to tell which one,
The wild-eyed flail and grasping,
Desperation to be done.
The mind cries, “I can’t do this!”
The body’s losing ground,
The little lump of life we made,
Laboring forth or bleeding out?
-a.r.
Painting: Samsara by Christian Blei
All Quiet
•January 29, 2015 • 2 CommentsMy insides creak and grumble
Like the settling of stone
After the demolition
When the shriek gives way to groan
-a.r.
Demolition of the YMCA building,
London 1971, by Leon Kossoff
Video On Demand
•January 28, 2015 • 4 CommentsMust there be video evidence
Record
Save
Share
In order for my rape to be made real
Must my inner most flesh be damaged on display
Snap
Chat
Laugh
In order for you to have the guts to say it was wrong
Must only my unconscious body be invaded
Silent
Limp
Passive
In order for you to hear my soul scream NOOOOOOOO!
Is your amoral screen the only standard for conviction
Unfeeling
Friend
Unfriend
In order for justice to be served
Is it only in the absence of my actual humanity
Just
Shut
Down
That you allow yourself to feel the ripples in our world
Will you ever believe our voices
Alone
Without
Media
Or is this the only way that any of us matter?
-a.r.
Graffiti by Banksy
Desire
•January 27, 2015 • Leave a CommentNoise
Static
Hissing
Buzzing
Constant
Sssssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Shut…the fuck…up…for.a.minute.
Numb
Humming
Drumming
Signal invading
Pounding pulse Re VerB er at InG
Skull cracking
Brain wanting
MORE!
Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drip
Desire’s nosebleed
Exsanguinating
SPLASH
Finally empty
Collapse
Silence
-a.r.
The Death of Me
•January 23, 2015 • Leave a CommentI’ll never feel guilty when buying a book
Unopened it’s still worth the change
I’d pay for the prospect of having a look
At ideas that might rearrange
They say that a good book should tear you apart
And leave you with shreds of yourself
Or perhaps it should reach in and grab at your guts
Take some meat of you with it when shelved
I have been tempted quite into existence
I have been stripped down to barely a core
I have been remade to be butchered again
With each binding I’m begging for more
When I’m in it I want to be bleeding
No hope but in turning the page
To find my own death in the words I am reading
I’ll always be willing to pay
-a.r.
Painting: Muddy, bloody red…Pain by Howard Hodgkin
God’s Forest
•January 18, 2015 • Leave a CommentI have seen a forest of stems
Without their brains
Bodies of sleeping wood
Together standing straight
Knotted and naked
Rows of mesmerized believers
Their bare nervous tendrils
Reaching upward
Spines swaying together
Begging a sunless sky
For some connection
Stretching for a spark
Waiting for some soft mass
Of divine intelligence
To warm their winter chill
But it cannot be
There is no hope
Of God or green
Not until the spin of spring
-a.r.
Painting by Heather Hurzeler
