Thursday, February 4, 2016

Through These Landscapes






Through These Landscapes

Everything is moving, even in stillness-
The landscape, the entities, the bodies
               Flight action Kinetic
The simple horizon with vast sky
               Moon, sun---the in-betweens
Chasms between longitude and latitude
               The simple horizon encompasses all
The living in the after lives
               This is where one will always be---upon the landscape.
And the sun and the moon are not myth and some times sun and moon lay upon each other
In deaths…..copulations\
Looking  upon through.  The glass veil.  THrough the glass veil one can look to many outsides.

The violence of birds angels and ghosts with wings whom losing feathers
               Feathers that burst into flames in the crackling air
               You see---Memory always twines through, sky, landscape.
                              The visual is felt inside somewhere inside the interior of biology, nervous system wirings and the architecture of bones……
This is where soul and ghost become
One each other—Ghost duels soul
Soul duels ghost—

    Spectral awaits human. Human awaits spectral.
…...
where the angelic swim the light
    where the demonic swim the light
where the purity of the impure impervious angelic demonic ghosts with wings swim the light

    where Jacob’s ladder is abstracted distortions juxtaposed upon various reversals of itself within the dalliance and refractions of various light spectrums
               Where birds swarm the light
Where spirits swarm the light
Where birds and spirits tear
At the light
Upon the light
           
    Upon the color spectrums---where the statues move about
inside the blasting vibrancy of the wilderness (es)
………..
               A liberation from banal, the collective body mind banal-the singular banal dread body—
The biological banal—escape from the banalities and demands from the multitude of fascist banal created paradigms—derelict---that cork and curdle humanness.
           
Those malevolent spiritus making    dumb     Those that rule the world with the wrong basics

Let the color spectrum archaeology bestow
    Let the unknown be called forth from ethereal froth

There are no accidental divinations.
               Visions after Liberation—to show the unseen X-Ray of things—Kinetic X Rays—the mystical blood saturating the soul (s)//the Ghost (s)
               The depiction that is nature---and that is beyond nature—and that is the supernatural—and that is God—below the dismal bottom of doubt—there is God –beyond God—and the kinetic energy of such things crackles in the wild wind currents lacing Vast Sky.

NO Symbolic Rigour—

Many different strangers
Will see a multitude of various images in……these works…….
               One will see the dead.  The before born.   The Living and those things that are almost forever.—
One will see the memories of others.   The dissolving of the singular till
one finds the tilting emergence of the singular--

Distortion---is the oracle of clarities.
               Alchemy
                                               Alchemy which through mystery defeats THE WHEEL OF FATES FORTUNES

The holiness of birds angels demons in violence ecstasies
                   The devouring of any meditation no matter how brief or enduring duration.
                                   These depictions are places where one can walk about the field.

The interiors of the outside landscapes




** QUoTe unquoTe artist statement to accompany an art showing at XS on Charles Street beginning Feb. 11..  Five total paintings in all.  All for sale.  Three of the five are shown at page top.


Monday, June 15, 2015

Drawn Paintings Archive 1996-2000s

  Recently, I have acquired most of the art archives that still belong to me.  Goes back as far as 1996 in the teen years.  Cryptic material.  Cryptic minimalism.  Below is a taste of over 300 works.  Mostly teenage years.  All these small works together, mostly done on paper/cardboard, tell a cryptic fragmentary narrative.  I was very much channeling the spirits of some kind with these works.  Simple, yet what they are have connotations of complex mysteries.  Hermetic Universal.


















Paintings on Paper from June 12








                            (with Jenny Moon Tucker











Friday, May 22, 2015

Slow Frays Upon A Maryland Dusk (rough drafts)





Below is a hand written draft of the poem Baltimore III that belongs to a recent poem collection Slow Frays Upon A Maryland Dusk.  A book about Maryland, sort.  Possibly Naive.  Simultaneous present archaeology.  Lyical poems.  Where one becomes many.  The refractions of stories.   A work in progress.  Naive.  Naive cruelties.  Also below are a couple of more rough drafts.









Wince

and if the air shattered
and the glass was not replaced--

Bones outlast the meat

ask the chicken bones the rats drag off
and gnaw upon neath dark city bushes.

          songs git forgotten
birds outlast songs--
          feathers outlast birds

          how my brothers growl
amongst the bone yard of dog days
whining
Axe moon? why don't ya swing on down?

and strangers slamming doors

in the dark hallway at three a.m

watch tha blue flash police beams refract
thru tha dark bedroom

Billie Holiday cryin and tha radio ain't on.




Greemount Cemetery  City Graveyardings

Rain froth

I lost 50 bucks
in the cemetery.  Or wasz it
tha graveyard?

Ghosts of young women roosting
from pathetiques.

Light polishes ghost eyes--wives
of past lives--

unfolding terse card game
          card table--spilled
liquor

spilled liquor is like crying over spilled milk.

Gangster city--

Little Melvin Peanut is the King of all the Gangsters

He directs the automatics of figures.

Cattle car death fog bottom bright/blithe

tha heroin slope slouch folks
guy rubs his skinny ass crevice on
top of tha fire hydrant

plastic dollar store soldiers
on 4four year old Tommy's grave site

Father slices his left bare foot
on a broken beer bottle
whilst walking
Cobblestone paths
webbing thar to here
passages---graveyard cartographY

Good rains thunder





(maybe there will be a hard collection of these poems)








Wednesday, March 18, 2015

Birds sensed through the peripheral veils


Birds are divine messengers crossing amongst the visible and invisible.  Spirit realms/other realms of physicality/worlds imagined/the ghost x ray radiations of otherness. The kinetic abstractions of flight amongst the everday visible invisibilities.  All works 2015 by M pony payroll bones. except where noted.
















                                             Collaborative-- Moon Tucker and M Pony


Saturday, February 21, 2015

Cold Brimstone Searing











Cold Brimstone Searing



 

Snow,

snow the promise of more snow revised to include more snow.  Snow white is death.

do you recognize the spirits that are magnetized to your earthly existence?

Do you recognize the spirits that are magnetizing to your earthen existence?

voices inside the wind--voices inside the wind?  Must these days?  days of trouble ain't all the same?  expectorant amnesia?

go cut down that tree old man and get on the stump and talk your bullshit.

 all thE bullshits

I am tired of dementia. some kind of dementia---oh the mystery. ainn't it bigger out there.

preamble violin blues sawing sadly serene providing entertainment for the sunday spring afternoon picnic upon Little Loudon Cemetery.
.....................

wrapped dark over duty---that weather bird   arranged pinesap coagulation--war was and is breathin upon its own

a grandeur strong and queasy in a sill===he beat his fists upon the sheet metal until something almost occurs besides that rust smell drafting thru fade purple evening

man hoots upon a green hill

cold heat of the brimstone searing---and the heat heaving heavy with melancholy lacking wit---the lackey of suicide urge--  SUcculent.

the body --his tombstone and the whole GOd forsaken island sinking slowly sliding sea wave----who is speaking? who is speaking here?   You cannot find the salvage of dialogue here swaying methodically as a metronome do so.

and one day all the birds--every single bird        had fur              instead of feathers.


 let us have children so they shall be wounded 



*the beginnings of a longer prose work