Gravity

 

i will sink    
into what i am.
i will listen to each voice.
 the haunted children.
the doubt.
even while the faery-tale
i thought was certain future
 wilts and drops off the vine.
even as i wonder
if i am the usurper of my own life.
i will take one step
and then another toward
the unfurling of this
cocoon and away from
the piteous pleading
to be careful and safe and responsible
and pretty.
i will step off the cliff and over
i will die to what i think i am
and be reborn into what i cannot fathom.

 

to sing

 
composinglove.jpeg

when i sing it is like a gateway opens,
silent and strange

away from the mayhem
of spinning thoughts

to sing

even when the sound is colored with longing,
is a rich, lush and deep longing.

Poetic bodies

"My working material is what was once called the 'passions'; or the 'humours' and what they engendered, that is to say the phenomena that appear first in our body, coming from the innumerable turbulences of the soul.  In other words: what gives us suffering. Or what gives us joy.  And the two touch, they are always in exchange...we desire to be poetic bodies, capable of having a point of view on our own destiny; on...humanity.  On what makes humanity, its pains and joys. ... I am sure we are all thirsting after our virtuality of greatness.  And it is without limits...And we are deprived of it because we no longer even know how to let ourselves feel, how to allow ourselves to feel what we feel.  Nor how to accompany this feeling the the song that echoes it and restores it to us.  
                                                                                                                                                     ~Helene Cixous (Rootprints)

 

Poetics?

 

Real poetry practitioners are practitioners of mind awareness, or practitioners of reality, expressing their fascination with a phenomenal universe and trying to penetrate to the heart of it.  Poetics isn't mere picturesque dilettantism or egotistical expressionism for craven motives grasping for sensation and flattery.  Classical poetry is a "process" or experiment–a probe into the nature of reality and the nature of the mind.

Major works of 20th century art are probes of consciousness–particular experiments with recollection or mindfulness, experiments with language and speech, experiments with forms.  Modern art is an attempt to define or recognize or experience perception––pure perception.

A few Buddhist dharma phrases correlate with the process of Bohemian art of the 20th century––notions like "Take a non-totalitarian attitude," "Express yourself courageously," "Be outrageous to yourself," "Don't conform to your idea of what is expected but conform to your present spontaneous mind, your raw awareness."

                                                                                                              ~Allen Ginsberg

 

the Highlands

 
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This writing finds me at the old Cairngorm Hotel in Aviemore, Scotland. I have an outside table, under an awning that only just protects me from a flight of hale. I am thankful for my layers of clothing. I wished for a retreat and then forgot about my wish and then found the wish delivered, though of course not in due course of any expectation. I complained for a day or so when I discovered the temperatures below freezing and snow.  The hot water in my cabin shut off at 8pm, the heat at 10pm.  My room is barely big enough for a bed. No internet and sharing the space, first with a couple and then with a gent about my father's age. Not what I'd planned.

I am traveling with all I need for writing and recording. This is a good reason to travel. I hope to lengthen the distance between tantrums and the understanding that every circumstance brings me exactly what I need, if I can only manage look around a bit. My life has been exceedingly generous to me.

I am struck with the way worlds open or close depending upon how I see them. I am untethered. And I witness the way in which my reactivity, holds me hostage. At a certain point in any given conundrum, perhaps much much earlier than I recognize, it is time to stop trying to plan my way out and simply feel. I have been crushed by travel before, as my well-laid plans were waylaid and my expectations sideswiped. In retrospect, I see clearly that all was well. If I had seen it then, I might have accepted the life I was being offered.  With all of its unexpected gifts and strange perfection.

 

lifespan

The metaphor finds me. 

i felt this morning as i walked, how simple it is. that i have found my home.  i do not have to compete.  i do not have to rush to gather skills.  i don’t have to worry about how many years...all that matters is a heart of curiosity and love. 

PHOTOGRAPHY

EP Hopper Photography

EP Hopper Photography

...not an art form like language, it is a medium whereby works of art are delivered or framed.  It has the capacity to turn all of its subjects into works of art; a way to focus attention and know humanity.  The medium IS the message.                                                                                                  (from Susan Sontag's On Photography)

the rIver sTyX

                             scent of water, rotting things
                                                                 the drag of silky strings
                                                                               I pull these bones and
                                                                                                          skin
                                                                                                                  against the draw.

what Impetus governs movement?  desire?  swimming through atmospheres, entertaining all the subtleties of subjective experience.  this body is a vessel that lies in wait beneath conventions and conceptual architectures.  it is a blueprint of divinity.  a map of buried freedoms.  

words are visceral, scaffolding of myth and poetry - connective tissue that conducts the destruction and creation of heaven and hell through the latticework of mind.

installation of "I" into the phenomenological orchestra.  i wish to move through, over and outside the fences of habit.  to unearth earth.  to place a magnifying glass over the absurd vignettes of unfolding experience....

hiraeth

                                                                        'An ineffable yearning' (Welsh)

a dérive

 

In psychogeography, a dérive (French: [/de.ʁiv/], "drift") is an unplanned journey through a landscape, usually urban, on which the subtle aesthetic contours of the surrounding architecture and geography subconsciously direct the travellers, with the ultimate goal of encountering an entirely new and authentic experience. Situationist theorist Guy Debord defines the dérive asmode of experimental behavior linked to the conditions of urban society: a technique of rapid passage through varied ambiances."