Labels: appearance, experiment, Homework, inspiration, poetry, Primessa, spoken word

Time is finally found

Beneath fallen grey wings

An arm and leg length blown

Heard him swimming away

Not far behind I bless

Time is finally found

Burning ancient idols

Waste hanging between clouds

Above messy lonesome crimes

Erased by my sad captain's song

Time is finally found

In boots made for walking

In dreams made for talking

Arrows missed and diving

Chasing the anchor down

Time is finally found

In a bottle of maps

A charm made of seas

Protects his eyes from harm

When a kiss binds the sun

Time is finally found

In a night without a fight

When the arms are put up

The watch gives up the hunt

And finally leaves it alone 

Labels: dock rock, Homework, spring, titles

This is one of the first poems I wrote. Still living with my parents, I wrote after midnight in the darkness of a home office, in front of a beige computer. I was a member of an online art forum...

A few computer nerds with a penchant for word porn, before any of it was hashed out to tag trends, would gather and write to find a place in the universe where we could be a pair of heart eyes. Just a pair of heart eyes. Bleeding soul meetings were attended from Sacramento, London, Montreal, anywhere with dial-up.

Our emotions were celebrated and we tried to find more of them through a poetry community. It was the birth of my sky, made up of all these wordy constellations. Not one, but many stars guided me through some tough moments. At some point, I followed one's song to the west, but that's another story for another road.

This poem, Skinned, was written around 2001. On the mathematical scale of my growth, I was at 2+2. Perception was the main theme of the year, and remained a major traffic light for a few years after that... The fertile silence of that room was a treasure I continued to seek every time I opened a window.

This poem doesn't resurface with a nostalgic tune to take me away from my seasonal dive, it's a breath of compassion, filling my lungs with a cleansing sound. The vibration of a sun swallowed whole.

How many times will we be reborn?




More tracks on SoundCloud.

Labels: alarming truthness, artform, cult, echo, From Obscure Light, Homework, must i say what this is

Dear Charlie,

The darkness that surrounds me is not a cell. It seeps to the center of my breath and steady on trajectory, it holds my heart. I am not hiding in silence. With every death occurring within my body, many different systems of thought cross my mind. With every tilt of my gaze, another face appears with a signature that begs recognition. Through darkness I let the ones I've felt fall away. It is the only way to stay...

Breathing new life into my visions, sent out and left to float around my field, pictures, songs, letters, one you so brilliantly threw my way, like stale bread, stays close. Hot hunter of words, Alphamaneric of the first order of Codes, bless your star. Combinations made by your pen sends lights up my spine. Like buttons, pressure on my sight. Circular, so gently, around darkly skies, lives this bright promise of Home.

The silence I pay today will pull back the pieces together once again. A launchpad for fireworks. My shoulders are weak beneath volumes of grievances collected from pocket watches, handkerchiefs, high heels, teddy bears and jars of vinegar. Like sun to fresh cut flowers, silence will drink up what it can and I will be left with only an empty shell to emerge from.

It has the potential to be noise, but it is far from it tonight.

Labels: artform, cross-border, Dear Charlie, Homework

This piano is wireless. Free of power chords. Free of superficial sap.

This piano has one key, and one key only, repeated for every finger lost. One hit and retreat.

Broken voices built upon broken bones yet nobody knows, nobody knows this note.

Distant desires pulling that one string over and over and under this precious hammer of yours.

Broken voices built upon broken trust yet nobody knows, nobody knows this note.

This piano is full of white empty space, enough for names and questions to disappear.

This piano has one key, and one key only, repeated for every finger crushed. One hit and retreat.

Labels: artwork, Homework, poetry

HOMEWORK
APRIL 21-27

Though sometimes it’s impossible to do the right thing, doing the half-right thing may be a viable option. Give an example from your own life:

Here lies my first time... taking on the positive outlook of a Rob Brezsny assignment. I find it quite fitting that it orbits around the mighty right. Being right has nothing to do with the torment or bliss shaped by the actions taken on the virtuous path. Righteousness, on the other hand, is a distinction that is acquired through a rainbow of morally high standards in action. Deeds that can break your sense of self in various fragile pressure points and leave your ego in pieces, in a mess of human remains that will loom over you at every crossroad. Doing the right thing is a never-ending effort to be true to and for others, even if that endeavour stabs you in the heart or mind. This said, doing the right thing can take a minute or a year and can involve the dissolution of self into the essence of a generation, a time and place.

Zeitgeist

When it comes to right and wrong, good and evil, the V2.4 combinations are endless. What can look fine to me might look wicked to someone else, making it difficult to find the juste milieu for anyone who has their heart in the right place.

A few months ago a puzzling email radiated my computer screen. It was from a dear friend who was experiencing a rough ride in her end of the world. What troubled me is that she never explained what the source of her pain was. My first reaction of course was to reply to the missive with questions and words of support, but she specifically asked me not to. She added to that request her concern for my safety, which fuelled her calculation.

What was left for me to do? Taking a plane was not part of the equation, unfortunately. I didn’t have the phone number of my pen pal so all I was left with was the choice to reply or not to the message. I felt I needed to reply, if not to inquire about the problem at least to let her know that I was now aware of her situation and that she was in my thoughts. But after much consideration I came to realise that sending those words to her meant comfort for me and for her, the possibility of a nightmare, or worse. Who could say?

Well the beauty here is, my dreamboat mentor, through this assignment flickers my intent to reach out to her without placing any risk on our communication. This is me, doing the half-right thing.


xox

Labels: confession, echo, Homework, secret

All mouthed off?

Times are bad when you can't lift a pen to save your life. Whatever you call that pen, guitar, spoon, calculator (gasp!), you want it to do it's magic like that one time you forgot to eat because food was the last thing on your mind when your hunger was being tamed by the light carrying beast. Light inducing beats.

Sometimes, you stay in your igloo and wait for your cage to melt. Sometimes, upon your lap falls Homework, whether you like it or not, leading you down a path that you might not have willingly chosen given the choice.

"Jeopardy, Jackson, always works."

Labels: Homework