apocrypha -in progress

And then the singers danced and the dancers sang, to them there was nothing but time and the music. To them there was no life, no death, no beginning, no end. Just the rythmn and the night. And all were happy, though a few knew why. And without the music there was nothing, they did not exist. There was no being, there was only nothingness. (repeat infinitely). And the happy departed and all that was left was the sadness. Swaying side to side, feeling and knowing that this was the end. This was the instantaneous movement that all had been awaiting. That all would partake but that none would survive. But some would try, not to escape the fleeting, but to hold fast to the feeling, the touch, the smell, the sound. The rush became too much to bear, and then it was gone, forever. The stillness took the place of the sound, the quiet too over the prophesy, to them it was the end, but the movement continued, and the rush became the touch, and the music became the solitude, the comfort, and the isolation of it all was the only thing remembered by the one.

537

...paper bricks are done... (for now).

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fremskridt

begrebet angest, or the recognition and realization of one's true identity and freedom

proficere

the longest fall to earth

wiffle

army ain't got nothing on me.

Phi

the longest and most charming love-letter in literature

Columbidae

Bronte's Consumption

Apropos

Capture

Feast

Chase

Face My Demons

Salacious Departure

Fade Away

this is me, be no one else

I see my work as a journey to find out who I am. This journey takes me across multiple mediums without settling on one in particular. I view it as a personal device that I have not quite figured out. Process is what draws me in the most and is usually more rewarding than the final piece. My work is about psychological themes that resonate universally but also about my own idiosyncrasies. It is based on my dissatisfaction of myself and the struggles that I go through to come to terms with the person I am. This is accomplished through the exploration of emotions, fragility, and circumstance.

The life of Miss Always Invisible

i've begun to build monuments around every breath that you left for me to find and every daisy will die in an effort to find out if i'm on your mind. i make believe what you would say if you were here. it's all just pretend anyway. the stories in my head repeat again and again until i start to believe in them. i wish that you thought that i could do great things, that you didn't ever want to slow me down. i looked for you when i learned to use my wings, but you were no where to be found. I don't know the feeling of your sweet arms, it could have been the best time that i've known. maybe the reason that i was here was to watch you go. i wish i could have been someone to you, but you were meant for something better. it doesn't matter that you don't know who i am, cause she, and not me, will always be part of your history.

Origin of Ecstasy and Rapture

1. Temple of the Pearl, demands archer to deceive beauty

2. Archer watching her sleep, readies his arrow

3. scratch of arrow leads to eternal infatuation

4. furious divinity brings curse to beauty, archer hangs up his bow

5. beauty waits for mysterious bridegroom, the archer

6. discovery of archer as bridegroom after arrows prick,

7. beauty searching for archer in desolate land

8. beauty in the face of the Pearl, with grains, wool, and water.

9. beauty in the face of the consort of Hades, with a gift

10. archer carries beauty, who is in a deep sleep

11. archer pleads with the Lightning Bearer

12. beauty and archer happy together

hideous and undesirable

speculation of the expected

ode to burden

roman a clef

orlando has come to me for an interrogation. i turned away responding 'why would you think that?' he asked me again. this has gone on for way too long, he says. guilt has not passed, neither has contempt. she asked me once again, "who are you?" i've lied before, i'll lie again, i've had practice, i've carried it all my life. it began when i was 12. orlando says, 'you've sabotaged yourself before, i know that you will do it again' absolutely not, there has been nothing to destroy. it has only been me the whole time. stupid and naive. fate has a different plan for me, not the one i wanted but the one i have to accept. you go on ahead, i'll try to catch up, but i've been stranded on this road for a while. just try to remember me when you get there. orlando says 'that is no way to think' it is the only way that i know how. nothing has proven me wrong.

and then i say: 'Books have always been things that have baffled me. i've always seen others reading, but i've always been passed over. i've been curious about how words are read, how those words make paragraphs, where the titles come from and the hands that hold them. i like hearing stories filled with plot twists, but have never thought of reading a book, novels or poems. some people ask me which on i like reading better, but i don't know the answer because i don't read. in the stories, i get very attached to the characters, i like listening to poems now, but epic stories are very emotional and seem to be the ones that have intrigued me the most. i should just get used to listening to stories because learning to read is impossible.' orlando doesn't understand. he sees the world through the eyes that have held and read a book so he can't see the world through my illiterate eyes.

the muse's manifesto

darkness creeps over the waves to make sure that i have not gone away. this place is not safe. it seems as though people are lurking around trying to make sure that i do not fall, but they dont know that i am already lying on the ground. sustenance does not come. trances happen, but the angels do not come. the floodgates await the river's early thaw. i used to be a down-home funk prescriber, but now its just an endless cycles of rain delays. all alone forever searching for an answer, screaming to be heard, but confusing their own need to listen. you don't have to try and make it on your own. begging god to give me solomon's wisdom. i can't stop my thoughts and close my eyes. this is the part that i can't get right. i have abandoned any other way around. i dug my grave and there are not blanks in the gun. goodbye friends, true love and happy endings.

melpomene's tear

falling upward

the recurrence is typical and expected. this time will be different. i won't succumb to the emotion that it wants me to endure. it wants me to be fractional and deficient. it wants me to thirst for what it preaches. two, pair, couple, duo, team. hopelessness sets in when Turan whispers in my ear and fixes my gaze on cupids bow greet a buccaes. the unit of measure is the moments spent trying to harmonize a solo. good enough is the inexorable sound of the void's echo when reaching out to take hold of the one she has molded for me.

wasting what matters on matters unnecessary. you always said that the time would come when things would not align with me, you, or the motives we share. no, not right now. maybe when the ice thaws the apprehension will become confidence, bane shifts to advantage. the hairs on my neck hold onto Sethlans' breath as he taunts and sneers.

contradiction/captivation

the great caper of robin goodfellow

maybe it is my nature, maybe i think too much, maybe believing gets me through. seeing everything from here makes the view fake and distorted. but i saw the gospel, i saw the facts that were laid at my feet, before my eyes. but it was a lie, a fiction, a myth, a fabrication, a deceit. what does that make me? a fool, a patsy, a chump, a loon, a sucker. i need reassurance. i need patience. to see what others see, to hear what others hear, not the superficial, but the testimony and the genuine. passions perish on the shit of the charlaton instead of the aching of the prolific visionary.

a decision

i have a lot to say...

well maybe not, i don't want to let it out. it is safe here with me and you. isn't it? yesterday, there was a moment. i only remember the feeling, not the intercourse. the words began slowly then built up upon one another until i was alone. the words from your mouth made the distance grow greater, wider, deeper until the silence came to become the above and below. in the dark, the solitude twists to perform around me. i try to fight, hoping to let the sound bring the faint glimpse of comfort. but the stillness wins, overpowers, conquers.

the words have disappeared...

i break...

shards of glass hit the floor making a puddle around my feet every time this happens. the chandelier below reflects the one above sending light into the cosmos that is beginning to form. not to be seen, heard or touched; only to be understood. an unknown pattern comes from beneath the surface, color, texture all changed from what existed before. but it is not complete, only to be repaired by the one who broke it initially. it wont let me let go. i stare. i follow. i listen. another shard falls away. it is too grueling to see the creation of the new pattern begin. glass falls shattering into disarray. alternating between after the before and before the beginning only to come back to the end.

pure in the cask; exiled from the sour

momentary gratification breeds relentless isolation

views of the ego