i’ve broken no sweetness –
it is tender when it is pure.
hold them such, as well you might
and like that, along the shore. by lsd
i’ve broken no sweetness –
it is tender when it is pure.
hold them such, as well you might
and like that, along the shore. by lsd
pressed against the truth, so deeply wound
though, eventually finding a rightful place in it
and like that, at rebirth. by lsd
it’s the truth, song or not.
though chemz is good for it.
and like that, at rebirth. by lsd
carry into the future something that lasts. like accidents, disasters, and cruelty do.
there too – i think about lean-ness and efficiency. desire to cut down ever-further toward a solid hardened state. confusing venture, no less impossible and vile.
little left but to take away is an irredeemable position. i wish no more. i take all. once it is mine. i surely dream.
they were just constantly flying in circles.
constantly flying in huge circles.
(laurie anderson, the beginning of memory)
what about the ten thousand year clock, or the pyramids of germany, the practice of caving. these mass projects of human dominance, in which we take into the unknown (profound or unfounded) the meager seed of our ingenuity. keep mine my own. let it be said that i was there once. such and such. as it were.
if we fit everyone in – just how much could we think, together? the box in the home becomes the home. and what if we stopped living entirely? i was recently told about tangential metamorphosis – how i could no longer be human only without transformation – a neutered permanent alter-state. conniptive reluctance. trespassing human crowding by removing ourselves from humanity.
and if it all went ahead, and then came to an end? do we have the chance to really see it through? lines drawn like aching joints do. by lsd
thought to end may with the outlier good contemporary punk song ..
ksenia dronova paintings, lull me into june sweetly, and forever ..
and they are taking me – hummed softly only. that is the case here, anyway. by lsd
lily anna hayes reading a text that might surely make timothy morton proud.
it moves me so profoundly.
it is everything but not all.
warm excess materialism.
i sure love it with all my heart..
prompting an unchanged discovery by lsd
echo, at once dead and very much alive, alone maintains narcissus’ beauty. his claim to self, that, as gaston bachelard puts it, becomes as is reflected. “je veux paraître, donc je dois augmenter ma parure.” (bachelard, l’eau et les rêves, 1942, p. 34).
the gentle stream brims with cosmic rigidity. the bank of clear waters, where things rest and can be thought to have been made, is where they take the form they pictured. a demented slumber. hypnosis. really, it is only in the depths of cloudy/violent/ruthless bodies that material imagination is most potent. there we can truly delve into matter, to find ourselves in the midst of that most gentle and fragile condition: excess. only wade these waters.
wherein do we bridge and travel past form, into matter. to much relief bachelard affirms “la matière est l’inconscient de la forme”. it is within then. materialistic phenomenology allows us this oneiric passage from one into the other.
but echo is also 34 years old. it is the life work, masterpiece, of developer and new yorker stacy holt. where form is the passkey to matter. a message board of few members, it once held great interest for a kind of crowd capable of hanging together. artists, writers, students, politicians, musicians, designers, doers, all under the banner of “and now?” a place to congregate and produce desire. a moment of permanent instigation that has been housed in a thoroughly complex mechanical network. grinding out the signals into something truly malleable that allowed its participants to call and answer to “and now?” in plastic reverie.
indeed.
though it has always been that paste, this originating material of dreaming and entry into, this giving molasses, hardens and brittles when it is driven away from its source. gross doing. mean endeavor. potential in progress left solid. scorched earth, salted terrain, prey to a drying heat. crackling sound, echoing unto itself into a vast murmur.
who decided this?
because once it’s all finished, and what we bathed in can now be held, all that will be left to ask really will be “and now? “ by lsd
painting works by phil hale.
not included is his portrait of pm tony blair.
fight war not wars ..
fight war not wars ..
fight war not wars ..
fight war not wars ..
thanks crass,
that’s very true. by lsd
representations of the specimen are dissected and then reconstructed through artistic interpretation invoking entomological, forensic and artistic methods.. by cp
if you happen to be meandering around brooklyn this upcoming spring-filled weekend, be sure to stop by the domino sugar factory for kara walker’s new installation. it reminds me of this scene from the neverending story, which is reason enough to check it out. by lil
smoke signals from man ray. by sv
“emptied gestures” is an experiment in kinetic drawing by dancer/artist heather hansen. by lil