September Drawn Paintings Part TwiCE
all works on paper with oil pastels, acrylic paint and oil paint except where noted. All work is for sale or trade. If interested please contact.
the above on hard stock cardboard
Outside. the place where always finds another outside. There are no parameters that's the terrible thing. A ghost always learning to be human.--Poetics Visual Depictions Music. Something called visions. Not really entertainment.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Monday, September 2, 2013
New Work/ Odl Work/ Drawn and painted
New Work/Old Work/Drawn and painted
Monday, August 12, 2013
Four Poems from ANathema Blues drafts 4FOUR and 5FIVE
GREEN GRIEF (anathema blues draft four)
StaY longer stranger she never spoke
He was sewed shut with sloss iron like a chunk of time and high on shards
---Locked inside the outside of the oak dooR
never saw the money,--Over Yonder ouT in tha Street
hallucinating the heartbeat of mountains ---
shame is mY religion---I shall not be moved
witchblade knife and I round the corner
skip it across green moonlight.
I never lost one minute
Empathy
I like chicken language. Slanted sharp Farm tools---Smell of Autumn Hay
The sudden clearing when you reach the river
Train roar on the trestle over the Coosa
River suffering ecstatic confusion of a 100 year flood
your eyes already sleeping in the valley,
and the dark haired woman with a nervous cough---
and I'm from the south,
sing the darkest doodle
woodpecker pecks till he gets his fill,---LOUD AS FUCK
I go and sing a new song for each room. EverY room has a lonely Elvis ghost crooning Moody Blue
I Learn from Mr. Presley to go and to sing to all them ghosts I do not know:
Dog daYs (anathema blues draft four)
Drove my black truck down to tha Coosa river when tha engine went broke—I thought I was in a coffin—I Set tha motherfuck on fiRe--
Birds of my secret childhood thought the sun was going up---
In the next chapter trouble went down. Tha road went wrong like a three legged dog with rabies----
Dry bones under a pardon’s scalding violin...you own the inside of death---
Dark water under dark water where the light breathes brightly dark you move those mountains while I rambled river songs ---
I kill tha motherfucking moon and don't you forget that!? I learned this on the playground---I learned it from a blue sapphire preacher who got killed crossing the afternoon street.---I learned it whiskey eyed red in shame---
We will kill the old red rooster---Sister, every GodDamN dog sure must have his day ---
DOG daYs (anathema blues draft five)
Drove my black Ford down to tha Coosa river when tha engine went broke—I thought I was in a coffin---
—I Set tha motherfuck on fiRe--
Sparrows of my secret childhood thought the sun was going up---warble whacking in tha outta pLacE MagnoLia trees---
In the next chapter of the weekly television series trouble sure went down.
Tha road went wrong like a three legged dog with rabies----
Dry bones under a pardon’s scalding violin...you own the inside of death---
Dark water under dark water breaching dark murk water where light breathes fierce lightning brightly till gaping dark roots deeply sinister.
You move those mountains while I rambled river songs ---HARK AXE HAPPENSTANCE
I kill tha motherfucking moon and don't you forget that!? I learned this on the playground---I learned it from a blue sapphire preacher who got killed crossing the afternoon street.---I learned it whiskey eyed red in shame---
We will kill the old red rooster---Sister, every GodDamN dog sure must have his day ---
Blackout mirror skY ---reflections plum red fires--------------------
THree divergent drafts of the poem Daughter, Anathema Blues
DIVERGING DAUGHTERS
Here are three divergent versions of the poem Daughter from Anathema Blues. This is obvious mythos storytelling as I have no daughters in the biological sense. The father is a traveler from a night of a new moon. The night of a new moon is the most shadowed heavy night.
I recall the boat and water imagery sources from the pond at the Black House/Black Castle, Stone Mountain, Georgia from 2005-2008 autumns.
THe unicorn image is all ambiguous sexual mythos. The peacock imagery sources from the memories of seeing and photographing real live peacocks in a Louisville Kentucky Cemetery way back in 2003ish...?
The language is flowery and exaggerated into fantastic stupidity. Shape shifting into birds goes contra against the mythic crypto nonsense of the medieval unicorn.
THe masculine rhinoceros feminized into the slinky feminine of the horse with a phallic horn.
The natural runs contra and friction against the fantastical reaches/wretches of the unicorn.
The narrator drifting into sleep within the first two versions reveals a lack of imagination--a real lousy excuse for the fantastical to conveniently manifest.
I agree and disagree with all these comments. This poem may not even make the bound version of the book.
ANy poem is my daughter, son or childhood.
The photographs source from the Proctor lost photograph archive. I believe the girl is a great great Aunt who passed away unfortunately around the age of 11 or 12 years old. The man in the fotograph is her father. He was an officer in the Rome, Georgia Police Department.
My daughteR (Anathema Blues Draft II)
When I go to sleep. When I drift to sleep. ThaT weird TimE I must feel vital in LifE… My daughter shape shifts into a unicorn. My beloved mutilates into a unicorn.
My daughter is my wife. My beloved mutilates and untwines into a peacock……into a screech owL.
When I fall hard into my death bed, my daughter leaves our small old farmhouse through the backdoor and the back porch screen door slams and daughter walks into the rain
my daughter is the water, boat beating with rain----
Her spectacle Spectacular spector ravishing, her promenading toward us with pale face straining eyes, She was rising into slumber sexualizing the various chorusing morning choirs and the cry of warning and forget-me-not came into his filled with water and the directions that were futile---
My daughteR (ANathema Blues Draft III)
When I drift to sleep. ThaT only TimE I must feel vital in LifE… My daughter shape shifts into a unicorn. My beloved mutilates into a unicorn.
My daughter is my wife. My beloved mutilates and untwines into a peacock--
When I fall hard into my death bed, my daughter leaves our small old farmhouse through the backdoor and the back porch screen door slams and daughter walks into the milky rain
my daughter is the water, boat beating
I am the fishing boat full with rain and leaves.
DaughteR (Anathema Draft SIX)
My daughter shape shifts into a unicorn. My beloved mutilates into a unicorn. My daughter is my wife. My beloved mutilates the un twining into a peacock
I recall a memory inside a Louisville, KentuckY graveyard--
When I fall hard into my death bed, my daughter leaves our small old farmhouse through the backdoor and the back porch screen door slams and daughter walks into the rain
My daughter is the water, boat beating
I am the fishing boat full-- with rain and autumn bright crimson leaves
Monday, August 5, 2013
Anathema BluEs: excerpts from three different drafts involving a mutuable poem
ANATHEMA BLUES EXCERPTS AND DRAFTS
The OCCURRENCES of the common as inexplicable and the occurrence as totality event as irrational mystery holds cruel dominance throughout this work.
I am perusing drafts two, three and six of the poetry/prose manuscript Anathema Blues. The whole work in whatever version explores metaphysical oblivion and deep south culture through visions of nihilism (s). I once thought I had a completed version of this book. Glancing over three drafts reveals vast divergences involving same text/poem/narrative/prose/sermon/vision. One is not necessarily better then the other. This work obviously keeps beating the dead meat of a horse. What follows are four different poems/prose which utilize much of the same material as well as the source material.
These are incomplete drafts. Punctuation and Grammar are haphazard to reflect content. This book began to coalesce in 2010
A seventh draft will manifest by the end of September, which has the ambition for publication through a printing press in Maine.
Sharing these provides ambition to conclude this overwrought work.
Photographs are from my abandoned family photo archive found in my grandfather's death after his funeral.
...............................................
Arriving to leave with a stranger’s guilty verdict (Anathema Draft two)
Tha dead I buried---Returned---Breaking the ground Breaking the dark dream of the egg
We are writing prophecy leading horses into the rain---No sister with silver eyes—no sex in the daylight froth or …---
Misty morning will bring pale red fog----
Soaked---Aggrieved sinister Tramping Southwards wayward sloshing
Nodding ouT beneath noon while ugly nouns keep talking whiling our hours farther wayward
You lead him out into the rain---As Now is a brief interlude---a chasm between where TimE is God Judged this is the incidence of chance occurring. You abandon him in the rain
Those living go climbing the ghosT mountain in the fog shuffling, where death waits on toP. How the thunder went in reverse and children buried the evidence of civilization, --
At the gashed darkness where our stone bridge went fallen ---obscured sunk depths
arriving worn weary I'd rather vanish into your fog when you knit feverish pronouncement upon my slow body and dumb ghost
life is death being lazy while a voice steals everyone's body
The door forgets the room The room cannot find the door And whose house are you in?
Time is just going somewhere else…. Strangers were always waiting………I cannot feel tha blood in my bodY
Your door knob is missing
Sleek clouds have thrown their riders, and the bees are returning to honey, the clover at the edge of the
cliff ---black sheer stone as eyelids closing-- lead those back to childhoods
I saw three girls stolen---inside a tarnished mirror. They dashed down to the shore --throwing shoes into the sea. They take off one another’s dress, then play pretendon the rocks that jut out over the faded water last days.
S
Strange, bees do not die in their own honey, and how the deadare torn off, how death moons are hauled into catacombs.
Cleaning the kill scraping all the way to the wet bones
II
Daylight the awful bells
houSe on a darkening slope
up, like Judy, to be whacked
dead and alive.
Who tries to hold
Down the embankment toward childhood--
A mule on the dark dirt road through blistering moonlight.Sudden charcoal shadows shouting
Thieves pearling
away descending light
frothing shadows grieving
inside disunion
Daylight the awful memory
Glass bottles exploding
Teenage delinquents shooting silver plated antique NAZI pistols stolen from Grandfather’s Alzheimer….
All the bells cascading crashing
Who are the ones Abandoned in the dark hum woods??
Bad moon bad moon bad moon bad moon bad moon bad moon bad moon bad moon bad moon bad moon
Arriving to leave with a stranger’s guilty verdict (Anathema Draft Three (3)
Tha dead I buried---Returned---Breaking the ground Breaking the dark dream of the egg
We are writing prophecy leading horses into the rain---No sister with silver eyes—no sex in the daylight froth or …---
Misty morning will bring pale red fog----
Soaked---Aggrieved sinister Tramping Southwards wayward sloshing
Nodding ouT beneath noon while ugly nouns keep talking whiling our hours farther wayward
You lead him out into the rain---As Now is a brief interlude---a chasm between where TimE is God Judged this is the incidence of chance occurring. You abandon him in the rain
Those living go climbing the ghosT mountain in the fog shuffling, where death waits on toP. How the thunder went in reverse and children buried the evidence of civilization, --
At the gashed darkness where our stone bridge went fallen ---obscured sunk depths
arriving worn weary I'd rather vanish into your fog when you knit feverish pronouncement upon my slow body and dumb ghost
life is death being lazy while a voice steals everyone's body
The door forgets the room The room cannot find the door And whose house are you in?
Time is just going somewhere else…. Strangers were always waiting………I cannot feel tha blood in my bodY
Your door knob is missing
Wayward YondeRs (Anathema Blues Draft Six)
He was standing in the rain. My darling never took --- his hand
Tha road I was upon washed ouT under (ASUNDERS) him----
Sloshing--soaked piss soaked rain---Aggrieved sinister tramping Southwards wayward suckered sloshing nodding ouT beneath noon’s ugly nouns
Promenading and soliciting lurching lechery--gnashing
Way Yonder we go duped n galvanized with dirt dobbeR heroin. We are together we are alone. We are the lone chicken that did not know why it crossed tha road.
I am the road or you are the Road. ---
We were two lurid and gone We were vanished varnished upon narcotics and/ or
bound and gagged –sexually tortured by Baptists
Our veins Flow with Heroin---We drink sweet tea punched
with Kerosene
Sudden------
Death and I heard A lullaby
It was about a rocking chair That rocked Itself….
Or the Local RodeO that goT shut down whilst all those horses pale in their pastures them HORSES bucking hooves in God’s Abstracting Mansion -----
Mother Father’s everlasting Feud cussing From God’s Lone parched acre
Crisscrossed pine tree Jail bars—Now this is veering towards the personal
The dead I have buried keep returning
The dead I bury keep returning to the sender
Breaking the dark dream Egg
Horses in the Age of Rabies (Anathema Blues Draft Six)
Together leading horses into the rain…My wife and I leading horses in the rain. My ex-wiverY and I leasing horses deep inside black Market Thunder rain--
Rain Cascades through the sun beams.
—You lead him out into the rain---There is no time like the present. Don’t put off what you can do today—Now--- is a brief interlude---Now is eternal judgment upon the internal and external life.
A chasm where Time is God Judged—The cataclysm we are running out of patience waiting for--- This is the incidence of chance occurring. You abandon him in the rain
Those living--- are extroverted are climbing the ghost mountain in the blanched fog ---shuffling broke down waltzes sloping upward
How the thunder went in reverse and children buried the evidence of civilization, --- - -
Confronted by broken bathroom cabinet mirrors, within the murk of the slough of despond
Empty emerald Oxycotin bottles---
Together---So happy together --whistling the gaps---gathering horses inside tha rain.
AllatoonA Pass opaque at the bottom of tha lake.
COLLABORATIVE WORKS JULY, 2013 PART TWO
COLLABORATIVE WORKS JULY 2013 PART TWO
Part Two of recent collaborations with Jenny Moon Tucker. These are the last visual creative works manifested during the stint of living within the quadrants of West Philadelphia. True collaborations, each of us would often simultaneously initiate two or three drawn paintings with quick spontaneous succession. Deliberation only deliberation is the accident. Some of these have the quality of channeling, that is manifesting images which seemingly come from beyond the self. What I find intriguing by this second set is the submerged continuity of images strongly suggestive of myth and folktales that Jenny Moon Tucker kept manifesting. I have also included the reverses of some works for they are just as interesting---as pulsing living X-Ray Mirrors.
These drawn paintings are works that stand on their own as well as collectively jigsawing into the mysterious holistic. These are gestures of energy and movement, preliminary as well as coda. All works seen below are collaborations with Jenny Moon Tucker. All works are available to any whom may be interested. Feel free to contact.
Woman leans upon dark tree during full moon
Mining silver in the echo of the abyss
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