1) Spring Time
Winter’s optimism becomes spring time's dread
Mud season of the soul; like quicksand – engulfing
Transitions are like this though
Veritable carousels of weather and human disposition
Like riding on a vast cosmic
Mood swing (here now)
Without segue, how devastating
A word – a thought – a hastily blurted notion can be
I suppose when it comes to the important things
One is always alone
It must be the manner, style, and panache
in which we manage our absolute aloneness
that allows us to grow up – or get to know ourselves
Living by being “in relation to” others and things
But there are always thresholds
2) The Hierarchy of Genius
Grace and instinct
Myth making lives
Turning woe and work
into insight and meaning
Disciplining our real talents
To best utilize our wild
Irrational daily fluctuations
If only to keep from falling
on our asses – or our faces
Radical acceptance of what really enriches our lives
Our orgasms will come not as an end
Like a clever trick
But as a spiritual, celebratory event
Still under the philosophical underpinnings of
You can have it any way you want it
3) What Lights My House?
Ego and alter ego
The troubles with purgatory indeed
Of masks and roles and expectations
Get a sense of humor
I never knew why
I do what I do why I do it
For all the generosity
There is equal and balancing selfishness
Because for the seemingly playful
And lighthearted interactions
The frighteningly lonely reality
Of my life paralyzes from within
But so what?
So few people do I even care to know
Far outweighed by the number of those curious
About me – so few will ever come close
To ever knowing (never more than will
ever be counted on one thumbless hand)
So even with the curtains drawn
And the messy drawers and closets closed
My house is lighted from within by…
…my devotion and dedication to a life’s
body of art and experiences with friends
4) Untitled
No major differences
Between one day and another
As I enter this stage in my life
Richer in new and even more accurate
Perceptions and predictions –
And a renewed wherewithal to express
As I please without any great
Need for acceptance –
I am confronted with the paradox of
Easing burden and crushing responsibility
But who will mourn my death
Or celebrate the end of my
very human torment and chaos and joy?
Finally at home with my inner self
A radical kind of shift
Is in the air
5) Of Humans and the Gods
I have to admit that I
Have not begun to understand
What is the price of perfection
I don’t care what they say
Just be still and know
I love you…I got to
Living in clusters of being
Being above it all or
Being within the fray
The past is certified
As a finished product
Yesterday is always the past
I am less concerned with
Your need for me to be a particular person
Than my need to be said particular person
Ahh, the necessity of suffering
28 March 2006
26 March 2006
Three
1) Of Niggers, Kids, and the Poor
As humans, we’ve clearly proven
How contagious hate can be,
I mean, really, it’s addictive, like crack or oil
Running hot straight through
A daylong sprint from A to Z
And everybody knows for sure it’s me
Grossly absorbed in the mundane
Activities of the pedestrians
At a dangerous pace indeed
I’m not accustomed to this reality
Preferring my myth and legend instead
When did I become so much like everyone else?
But shit yeah, I’m almost there
The end of the motherfucking line
If only it didn’t smell so rank in hell
2) Castles of Woe
Again, I’ve rediscovered the most sacred of zones
All these corners connected perfectly, intentionally
To me and all of my people
For influence and inspiration – for art and experimentation
Of tea and high places
My return to the wombs of various births
To proclaim, “Be one of us!”
As welcomed as feared as misunderstood
Charming magical magnetic bonds
Youth wasted on ignorance of our culture
Your expressions tell it all to me –
So over my own stories of sob and pity
Hands and ass – skin and bones
Each new lie as fascinating as the first truth
I see you as you see yourself
Through yourself and your mythical castles of woe
3) Add Ten Years
Add ten years and the differences
Are stark and subtle
Rhinestone skull and crossbones
Dudes fishing with the same old bait
But now both those creepy old predators
And the faggotty fashion pirates
Yap away into middlespaces of mobile telephony
[maybe to each other]
To some this is home
And they know where to vacuum the cars
Others visit blindly yet daily
Passing through to destinations
For a few this is all brand new
And is awe inspiring or just awful
But to even fewer this is a huge stage to perform
Not the honed and polished acts copied
From celebrity magazines and cable television
But fucking publicly performed real and dedicated art
No rehearsals – no guilt – no re-takes
Add ten years and the differences
Are minute and irrelevant
As humans, we’ve clearly proven
How contagious hate can be,
I mean, really, it’s addictive, like crack or oil
Running hot straight through
A daylong sprint from A to Z
And everybody knows for sure it’s me
Grossly absorbed in the mundane
Activities of the pedestrians
At a dangerous pace indeed
I’m not accustomed to this reality
Preferring my myth and legend instead
When did I become so much like everyone else?
But shit yeah, I’m almost there
The end of the motherfucking line
If only it didn’t smell so rank in hell
2) Castles of Woe
Again, I’ve rediscovered the most sacred of zones
All these corners connected perfectly, intentionally
To me and all of my people
For influence and inspiration – for art and experimentation
Of tea and high places
My return to the wombs of various births
To proclaim, “Be one of us!”
As welcomed as feared as misunderstood
Charming magical magnetic bonds
Youth wasted on ignorance of our culture
Your expressions tell it all to me –
So over my own stories of sob and pity
Hands and ass – skin and bones
Each new lie as fascinating as the first truth
I see you as you see yourself
Through yourself and your mythical castles of woe
3) Add Ten Years
Add ten years and the differences
Are stark and subtle
Rhinestone skull and crossbones
Dudes fishing with the same old bait
But now both those creepy old predators
And the faggotty fashion pirates
Yap away into middlespaces of mobile telephony
[maybe to each other]
To some this is home
And they know where to vacuum the cars
Others visit blindly yet daily
Passing through to destinations
For a few this is all brand new
And is awe inspiring or just awful
But to even fewer this is a huge stage to perform
Not the honed and polished acts copied
From celebrity magazines and cable television
But fucking publicly performed real and dedicated art
No rehearsals – no guilt – no re-takes
Add ten years and the differences
Are minute and irrelevant
23 March 2006
21 March 2006
Angel’s Next Magical Theory
Given the history and nature of truth
We now get to pick our own very favorite evils
And try to survive on the remnants of instinct and integrity
Or at least believe we are somehow surviving
Which is either an instantly simple task
Or – given the quantity of attractive and unhealthy choices –
May prove to be insanely impossible
In a post literate, post logic, post irony, post America sort of way
Do you really know who you are?
So many archetypes when everything is so fake now
Even if you’re stoned and kind of squint
Or lucidly pray, meditate, or crunch your numbers
All of our highly evolved wants are so unlikely
Perfection and happiness has become seemingly impossible
My conspiracist’s “magical thinking” aside
Paradox unconfined to our harsh inner realities
I guess what I’m evangelizing is
We need to be very careful in the way
We interpret our truths, words, and needs
Just knowing is enough sometimes
We now get to pick our own very favorite evils
And try to survive on the remnants of instinct and integrity
Or at least believe we are somehow surviving
Which is either an instantly simple task
Or – given the quantity of attractive and unhealthy choices –
May prove to be insanely impossible
In a post literate, post logic, post irony, post America sort of way
Do you really know who you are?
So many archetypes when everything is so fake now
Even if you’re stoned and kind of squint
Or lucidly pray, meditate, or crunch your numbers
All of our highly evolved wants are so unlikely
Perfection and happiness has become seemingly impossible
My conspiracist’s “magical thinking” aside
Paradox unconfined to our harsh inner realities
I guess what I’m evangelizing is
We need to be very careful in the way
We interpret our truths, words, and needs
Just knowing is enough sometimes
20 March 2006
16 March 2006
Love: Haiku
There is always love
For those few lucky enough
To feel and express
For me there is much
To feel fortunate about
Always wanting more
I love in hard ways
Needing so much in return
Grateful to just know
For those few lucky enough
To feel and express
For me there is much
To feel fortunate about
Always wanting more
I love in hard ways
Needing so much in return
Grateful to just know
Curb
"Montgomery County Urban Design: Here's this perfectly manicured curb, brick paved, textured brick face wall, planned and planted street tree, contoured and formal transitions from public driving space to public pedestrian space, a pre-fab celebration of urban forms, and yet, despite all the make up, it's still a curb, a place to fall to, a place to get kicked to, a place to end up, abandoned, a public dumping ground.
You can take the city out of the trash, but you can't take the trash out of the city."
- RPW
13 March 2006
Evolution From A Common Culture: “Manifesto Lite”
Here I am! Or, am I here? Is this that precious period of “rapid stylistic evolution” of the self as artist I’ve read so much about in the haughtier publications? Will I spend the rest of my life struggling in vain to rival the achievements of my youth; or is this precisely what I’m doing now, looking backwards at the dreams that have already realized?
Of course the term “artist” is as weighty as it is garbage. Everybody is an artist (I say this sincerely and cynically). And when the critics and writers take ownership of the A-word as it reflects your life’s labor, the pigeonholing begins. Terms of definition like “self-taught” artist emerge and stick like glue. And, “self-taught” is weighted with as much loathing and disdain as is “folk art,” “outsider art,” “urban art,” “black art,” and perhaps the worst, “raw art.” And, anyone calling me or my work “African-American” loses all access. It ain’t that, y’all.
Self-taught, huh? I guess I missed the workshop on who was supposed to teach me to believe, to see, and to execute? Isn’t it enough to be influenced by a higher, personal, inner aesthetic? Isn’t it enough to react to other art, and the beauty and pain in the world around us? Isn’t it just enough to find the time and space to even be able to do a tiny fraction of the shit that’s in my head? Isn’t it enough to find muses kind enough to spare a portion of their own miserable lives just being patient and indulgent of such self-indulgent bullshit? Isn’t it enough?
Yes, we’re all making the “radical departures from the more convention approaches of our commercially minded peers.” Yeah, I know. I know! We’re breaking with the clichés of the day, having little in common with what is being created around us and what has been created before us. Yes, I fucking know. Oh, and we’re all “expanding the possibilities of art hybrids” too, you know, where medium X meets medium Y for some sort of “unique” creation that God put us here to share. We’ve become so goddamn virtuoso. Yep. I know. I just hope I’m not actually saying that crap too often, if ever. So help me.
But, if I can remain as allusive and increasingly cryptic within my own self-imposed rules of discipline, then I believe I can survive. Success? What is success? How is success a definable aspiration? For me ideas, execution and survival prevent me from becoming fat, drunk and stupid. It’s just that easy.
Of course the term “artist” is as weighty as it is garbage. Everybody is an artist (I say this sincerely and cynically). And when the critics and writers take ownership of the A-word as it reflects your life’s labor, the pigeonholing begins. Terms of definition like “self-taught” artist emerge and stick like glue. And, “self-taught” is weighted with as much loathing and disdain as is “folk art,” “outsider art,” “urban art,” “black art,” and perhaps the worst, “raw art.” And, anyone calling me or my work “African-American” loses all access. It ain’t that, y’all.
Self-taught, huh? I guess I missed the workshop on who was supposed to teach me to believe, to see, and to execute? Isn’t it enough to be influenced by a higher, personal, inner aesthetic? Isn’t it enough to react to other art, and the beauty and pain in the world around us? Isn’t it just enough to find the time and space to even be able to do a tiny fraction of the shit that’s in my head? Isn’t it enough to find muses kind enough to spare a portion of their own miserable lives just being patient and indulgent of such self-indulgent bullshit? Isn’t it enough?
Yes, we’re all making the “radical departures from the more convention approaches of our commercially minded peers.” Yeah, I know. I know! We’re breaking with the clichés of the day, having little in common with what is being created around us and what has been created before us. Yes, I fucking know. Oh, and we’re all “expanding the possibilities of art hybrids” too, you know, where medium X meets medium Y for some sort of “unique” creation that God put us here to share. We’ve become so goddamn virtuoso. Yep. I know. I just hope I’m not actually saying that crap too often, if ever. So help me.
But, if I can remain as allusive and increasingly cryptic within my own self-imposed rules of discipline, then I believe I can survive. Success? What is success? How is success a definable aspiration? For me ideas, execution and survival prevent me from becoming fat, drunk and stupid. It’s just that easy.
10 March 2006
Knowing
Sometimes it’s enough to melt one’s brain
down to its lizard foundation
But every so often something prevents critical mass
at it’s repeatedly at the very last moments
It could be understated:
A nod, a look, a knowing well-coded aside
Or resolute:
A jab, a touch, a kiss
And, shit, everything is back in sync – reset
all “Kool and the Gang” style – for precious periods
When the disposition, the attitude simply
heads down hill uncontrollably
Just missing thresholds where
return is not plausible, possible, or advisable
Then it’s time (again) to
trust the path; ride it out
These are the attractive whirlpools of insanity
the very same of recurring visions
down to its lizard foundation
But every so often something prevents critical mass
at it’s repeatedly at the very last moments
It could be understated:
A nod, a look, a knowing well-coded aside
Or resolute:
A jab, a touch, a kiss
And, shit, everything is back in sync – reset
all “Kool and the Gang” style – for precious periods
Sit or stand
Or even kneel
Just never bend over
For faith, fear, or
fatherland
Smile and grin
And often agree
With truths impossible
Nodding shows you understand
When the disposition, the attitude simply
heads down hill uncontrollably
Just missing thresholds where
return is not plausible, possible, or advisable
Then it’s time (again) to
trust the path; ride it out
These are the attractive whirlpools of insanity
the very same of recurring visions
You Hate Spring?
Here’s the Deal with Spring
Sure, they wake you up really damn early
After a night drinking, smoking, flirting in sidewalk cafes
But the singing birds remind us
Of the vitality of life returning (so shut the fuck up!)
As artificial and unnatural as it may look
That too light green of primary growth
And the grasses sprouting among garbage in sidewalk cracks
That’s spring too
Being able to wear so little clothing that
Not only do you feel 20 pounds lighter
You can actually feel the breezes
On your bare white skin
The sun in your face and knowing
Just how fucking cool you look
In your new sunglasses as you
Eat your lunch outside with hot married men
Passing on sharing a cab because
“I can walk from here, no it’s really okay”
and soaking-up sounds un-muffled and smells (like ass)
That’s spring too
And, fuck, just knowing that you
Are still alive after all the psychotic cave bear
Behaviors of winter…year after painful year…
Goddamn spring is a blissfully potent tonic
Lucky to be alive
Happy to have the privilege of feeling
So fucking sour over life’s slights
That’s spring too
Sure, they wake you up really damn early
After a night drinking, smoking, flirting in sidewalk cafes
But the singing birds remind us
Of the vitality of life returning (so shut the fuck up!)
As artificial and unnatural as it may look
That too light green of primary growth
And the grasses sprouting among garbage in sidewalk cracks
That’s spring too
Being able to wear so little clothing that
Not only do you feel 20 pounds lighter
You can actually feel the breezes
On your bare white skin
The sun in your face and knowing
Just how fucking cool you look
In your new sunglasses as you
Eat your lunch outside with hot married men
Passing on sharing a cab because
“I can walk from here, no it’s really okay”
and soaking-up sounds un-muffled and smells (like ass)
That’s spring too
And, fuck, just knowing that you
Are still alive after all the psychotic cave bear
Behaviors of winter…year after painful year…
Goddamn spring is a blissfully potent tonic
Lucky to be alive
Happy to have the privilege of feeling
So fucking sour over life’s slights
That’s spring too
09 March 2006
I Threw This in the Trash - or - Freshman Debate 101
Of our many human frailties: choices
Like the decision to live (or not) as part of a society
Effervescent with childhood heroes and aspirations
And all the potential evil(s)
We muddle and meander thoughtlessly
Banging off of pillar and bollard - in
Fantastically competitive micro-environments
Throwing the others under the busses
Constraints obviously artificial
But universally recognized we believe
statistically speaking and "in theory"
Happily living in my shoes and skins though
Like the decision to live (or not) as part of a society
Effervescent with childhood heroes and aspirations
And all the potential evil(s)
We muddle and meander thoughtlessly
Banging off of pillar and bollard - in
Fantastically competitive micro-environments
Throwing the others under the busses
Constraints obviously artificial
But universally recognized we believe
statistically speaking and "in theory"
Happily living in my shoes and skins though
Bliss: A Haiku
Full title: I don't really give a fuck, just get me out of here before I go crazy, give me some motherfucking bliss: a Haiku
A shot of Nyquil
And a couple of Benzos
Followed by a beer
A shot of Nyquil
And a couple of Benzos
Followed by a beer
06 March 2006
But Fear Itself
With superpositioning coming to a close
And the horrifying relief of clarity in queue
I am stripped bare save truths enduring
Of course, the more conundrums solved
The more questions arise, naturally
Is the cat alive or is the cat dead -- or both?
Snobbery and exclusivity combine
Our podium rising for elucidation
“Listen here for enlightenment!”
Too little cherished
Too much assumed
Too little living
Too much consumed
Tremendous success may be gained through
Courses of safe, thoughtful decision-making
With gambling left as our cake’s icing
I choose however to venture first and foremost
And ask questions later – or at least
Offer up overly analyzed explanations for debate
Real, imagined or dislike of condition
Fear is as a useless of an emotion
As it is a warning of consequences ahead
And the horrifying relief of clarity in queue
I am stripped bare save truths enduring
Of course, the more conundrums solved
The more questions arise, naturally
Is the cat alive or is the cat dead -- or both?
Snobbery and exclusivity combine
Our podium rising for elucidation
“Listen here for enlightenment!”
Too little cherished
Too much assumed
Too little living
Too much consumed
Tremendous success may be gained through
Courses of safe, thoughtful decision-making
With gambling left as our cake’s icing
I choose however to venture first and foremost
And ask questions later – or at least
Offer up overly analyzed explanations for debate
Real, imagined or dislike of condition
Fear is as a useless of an emotion
As it is a warning of consequences ahead
03 March 2006
Oh!
Oh, two of the little white pills and a fist full of sake.
Now, I'm there.
Everything is so creative here.
Welcome.
Now, I'm there.
Everything is so creative here.
Welcome.
02 March 2006
01 March 2006
I Just Don't Know
I really wanted to pen some words
To describe what I'm feeling right now
Because sometimes it's a little easier to write
Than find the time – the moments to
Adequately convey all the things in my head
But fatigue, confusion, and circumstance
prevents me from focusing intently on
"flowering lotuses" and "warm spring winds" and
Things symbolic of love, connection, and optimism
I seem never confident enough to transmit these feelings
Most significantly I suppose is this, as you know:
Often I just want to sit next to you; near to you
and listen to you, to smell you and occasionally just
reach over to touch you with purpose and care
To know you are there and with me, in ways…
Because I now understand that
If I were blind your voice would guide
If I were deaf your eyes would enlighten
If I were dying your spirit would calm
If…only fucking if…we were free
But, I am too tired for lexis now
Nor, I cannot find respite directly
So, I take great comfort however
in being with you so closely and intensely
Even if sometimes only in my mind
To describe what I'm feeling right now
Because sometimes it's a little easier to write
Than find the time – the moments to
Adequately convey all the things in my head
But fatigue, confusion, and circumstance
prevents me from focusing intently on
"flowering lotuses" and "warm spring winds" and
Things symbolic of love, connection, and optimism
I seem never confident enough to transmit these feelings
Most significantly I suppose is this, as you know:
Often I just want to sit next to you; near to you
and listen to you, to smell you and occasionally just
reach over to touch you with purpose and care
To know you are there and with me, in ways…
Because I now understand that
If I were blind your voice would guide
If I were deaf your eyes would enlighten
If I were dying your spirit would calm
If…only fucking if…we were free
But, I am too tired for lexis now
Nor, I cannot find respite directly
So, I take great comfort however
in being with you so closely and intensely
Even if sometimes only in my mind
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