Silence

Silence it is.
This is the Distractions of my privacy.
do not deny it, because it is.
Ready to make my appearance on your radio show
so oblige it.

utility.

in my thought. through my language. on my paper.

these moments i write, they are forever recorded in time.

art.

isolation. struggle. fragile figure. open spaces. lost. freedom. abandoned hostility. struggle against apathy...lethargy...entropy.

Are you looking for answers to questions under the stars? -Dave Matthews Band

***

"Man -- and man alone -- reduced to a thread -- in the delapidation and misery of the world -- who searches for himself -- starting from nothing.... The pathos of extreme emaciation, the individual reduced to a thread.... Man on a pavement like burning iron; who cannot lift his heavy feet.... They drip around him, his values, his fat; to feed the flames! It is not only that Man has nothing more; but he is nothing more, than this I" -Ponge

Bohemian Bourgeois.

Oh the sensibility, it sells.

But these sentiments, they trust.

Only so the facts can hide.

Maybe the fake secrets and

tailored shadows of

masqueraded themes create

an elite-free society.

It's a fabricated rebellion

Drenched in Hollywood dreams and

Betrayed thoughts of consistent

Imperfections.

It's a personal manifesto

A revolution of separation,

And these unclaimed emotions,

Only calculated but uncensored.

photo: Lovely, Digital Output 2007

coffee beans.

The rain, it pours

On the gray asphalt. And I sit on my

Front porch painting my nails a calm shade of pink.

Trying only to ease my soul of the burden

Of unconscious guilt.

You say I patronize you.

You say I am carefree.

You say I am spoiled.

You say I am used to my way.

I hear the wind chimes in the distance,

Calling out to the vaporized paranoia.

Images of sidewalks and memories of

Late night talks cross my mind,

Oh, these splattered shades of gray

Paint apologies across the sky.

Tea kettle whistles inside, and

The rain, it pours

On the gray asphalt.

Could you crack the window, please? Ok, thanks much.

Oh these predestined inadequacies.

Lets not decorate our fractured restlessness.

Oh these simple and mindful

and jaded inconsistencies.

You see, its your gravity and

My knees, that will never be the same.

A new hobby of mine, perhaps

Delightfully nothing more than

A photograph of flawless paranoia.

The one.

The true.

The anti.

Oh let me tell you all my secrets.

humanity's obligation.

sustainable development:

human settlements. desertification. production. trade and environment. fresh water. agriculture. sustainable tourism. mountains. health. climate change. small islands. waste. energy. biodiversity. land management. demographics. technology. atmosphere. health. institutional arrangements. poverty. sanitation. consumption.

is it possible for humanity to fulfill needs of necessity while maintaining a certain level of the natural environment's quality...indefinitely?

it's all in the colors of the wind...

obligations.

Can man and time breathe freely? Can minds be moved with freedom? Can unfamiliar be welcomed? Can a sense of equality be preserved with aristocracy? Can thoughts be expressed before losing their meaning and vitality? Can truth only be seeked by individuals? Can a caged bird ever be truly freed? Can loyalty be measured? Can immortality be life? Can suffering be inevitable? Can moral decency be understood? Can peace be flawed? Can water be dried?

Darling.

"i'm a lover...therefore, i'm always lost"

***

its that stationary glance that does not escape the eyelids. its that smell of the subtle fall breeze through the window. its that feel of the touch. its that comfort of safety. its that satisfaction of the momentary contentment. now, only the days, they pass. and the leaves, they change hues. and the tangible moments, they turn into a distant past. are the dots to be connected? or perhaps they are to be left vulnerable in the winds?

however, there are these four out of six rolls of undeveloped film. pushed to the corner of the shelf. perhaps i will package them away in neatly wrapped memories. untouched. unexposed. untainted.

nothing more. nothing less. later darling.

(untitled, silver gelatin print 2006)

***

Last night your faded memory came to me As in the wilderness spring comes quietly, As, slowly, in the desert, moves the breeze, As, to a sick man, without cause, comes peace.
-faiz ahmad faiz (sufi poet, 1911-1984)

you can be Henri Miller and i'll be Anais Nin.

Its a special contentment. Its knowing and understanding. Its needing and having.
Its an expression. Its a connection. Its sustainable chaos of perplexed emotions. Its ir-rationalizing logic. Its deceiving fate. Its fabricating the flawed. Its burden relieved.

Once again, I sit on front porch. And the weeds are taking over the yard. Only this time the difference is... my heart feels happy.

(Where is the Yellow Brick Road, Digital Output 2007)