Masks, February 20th 2010

Ol'lymphics

In the Air

Everything is evenly warmed, I am only atmosphere

I am a warm wind laying, on top of the bedspread

There is no need to sleep, I am completely at rest

Liminally extant, In the Air.

How do you sleep?

How do you prepare your bed?
How do you keep you sheets clean?
Why are your covers wound into a knot?
What do you keep underneath, is it a comfort is it a pain?
Do you dream? Do you count the hours you lie awake?

My Pictures

The Horizon is a Blade

We have followed our path too far
Infinity is rushing towards us, to cut us down
Like the horizon it seems to be unreachable,
But the horizon is a blade.

Skin

Between pore and pore and pore
On a net, slide
Curving round a bent elbow

A Thread A Skin

Speak in emotions an emotional language
And a language of emotions, infused with language,
Language devoid of emotion a blind faith,
Hidden even from the true believer,

A thread of time a skin of a memory,
Just remembered,
Forgotten,
Leaving a thin trace as it recedes
From the moment,
To a dark crevice,
Where untapped dynamic energies lie dormant.

Nights Devoid of Ease

long long forgotten places
between walls and spaces
dim dusty and damp

forgotten boxes fragrant antiques
dovetailed tables and chairs
well appointed fixtures
in suburbia relegated to
a perimeter out of sight
an interior exurbia

infused with a latent light

img harvest

The Long Long Fall

I’m beginning to feel the long long fall,
I fall backwards, and only see things once they’ve past
The world is not rushing past me, I am rushing past the world,
It is not a wind that blows as I plummet, the air does not move at all,

The world does not move for me, and I cannot move the world,
I can only move myself, and there are others who move with me,
We do acrobatics in the air while in our free fall together,

We cannot see the ground, and try to act as if our fall will last forever,
The house we build in the air is falling with us, it has no foundation at all,
Our young children rush to the ground too, falling beside us.

YVR - SLC

Sorry to have not saved you your seat
I thought it was you who sat beside me,
It feels like I'm dreaming

I deplaned in a daze,
I can hear the air conditioning drying me out,
A customs guard searched my shirt collar for weapons and explosives
three times before letting me go.

Harbinger

Don’t change your step harbinger of sleep
nothing but mold grows in the dark,
Festering thoughts are fertile ground,
where anything will seed

Keep step in time, the Night is short
Lengths of dark, puddles of light
and Forest asleep
Every tree hums, and the wind
a breeze quietly breathing
bends a single sapling low.

...another place erupts in the Forest
and the place is now a room
in a building, painted red

the walls, those hateful walls
pin me to my place,
in a desk like a slot, similar to every other...

These Walls

When I lay down, I prepared my self to dream good and long. Determined to have a measure of control over my world, I teach myself to bend time and space (the very fabric of my unreality). I return although, most every night to my elementary school. Here I feel the tyranny of those walls crush my will to remake my interior world. It seems as if my imagination is contained at those times in those walls, held prisoner from me. Like a child I am powerless to this institution that holds such immense power over my mind and body. The dreamer that I am, will awaken though, and it may be soon.

ECUAD Creative Process: Devices in Which to Weigh a Dragon

ECUAD Creative Process: Some myths and some symbols for a future paradigm

An Inspired Fire

In the future I will be dreaming, of a slow and steady flame
In a kind of sleep, in a scarlet mood.

Porticelli

Floating down the street, the street with arcades running both sides all lit for the absent patrons, the shop's windows display goods to a silent promenade of no one. The always cold always dusty stone underfoot shines its singular lustre. Smudged, scrubbed and freshly painted and plastered columns support the arches above. Turn a corner, there will be no one, the fiends and shoppers go home when the shops close.