_______________________________
This day: 25-5-09 8:19am
London Paddington to Bath Spa
Collaboration of notice: jam/bfr
_______________________________
Yak Yeti Yak
words, taking turns.
____________________
tingly buds. suds. mushy generals. hiking chille pods. vibrant options. zigzags. ruffles. and four-leafed walls. a wish? a flower. salt pepper. grated. shoe. horse. hats on heads. woven. spiral lights. two lanes. green glass. chisel chains. crimson whine. electric wizards. bold and blue. lemon twist. stars half price. and neighbors crunch. cushioned existence. soda pulp. hooked. spoons. tasseled corners a float. snow mountain fusion. porcelain, ideal standard. cobblestone wall pop outs. charcoal. chiseled. pine cones. guitar. chrome statue. eleven circles and a stringy thing of tin. maybe more? stripped wool. wicked patterns. wood. water rings. mist. laughing rose bushes. clenched noodle. cling-clangs. spinal eruptions. seven circles more.
__________
and later:
on the ticket
__________
tracks. bath tubs in kitchens. droplets of fuzzy blue bonzais. mohawks flapping alone. black bird. blue sky. stomping to check. gaze. white buds booming bright. laminated inside. popping drums. twelve different trees. giggles and hums. archways. cardboard barnyards and cotton sheep. peeking through corners. man and dog. best friend in coffee castles. two browns in the middle of yellow. staring ripples-illusion of optics. graffiti on canvas. plumb bark and steeples. pomade. stronghold. spears.
beautiful Bath.
Sunday 31 January 2010
Friday 29 January 2010
buckets
T w e n t y n i n e
Like me. Today. Odd numbers. Times chime to rhyme and ring of stings of unknown. Measures. Denial. Destinations.
Wet.
Like corrugated cardboard in that puddle.. the algae on the tin roof.
The f ears on repeat. Whether to rise.. one said you'll never know.
Orange sky? Not today. Not tomorrow. but a kiss goodbye and a false
w i d e stride.
I carry buckets. I carry buckets. I carry buckets.. like them, but not at all.
Morning buckets on bus. Fumes. Fish. Farm. Fins.
Bags leaking. River map with suspect. Gag. My buckets go up stairs.. sparkling. On the outside. In disguise. Sit. Stare. Blankly as I have been. Unable to do most. Head filled. Refilled. Drilled. Song of a violinist under a bridge in the shade. Shadows. Reflecting. Echoing. Alone.
Shower cap.
Long brelly, suit plus thirty lets me pass. He gives me a gift.. one he didn't know.
Better than wrapped. Better than this and that..
his smile...
today I wear it on my sleeve.
Next to the other shape.
Buckets lighter and heavier at the same time.
Grateful.
Putty chin.
Time to roll..
time for the masquerade.
Like me. Today. Odd numbers. Times chime to rhyme and ring of stings of unknown. Measures. Denial. Destinations.
Wet.
Like corrugated cardboard in that puddle.. the algae on the tin roof.
The f ears on repeat. Whether to rise.. one said you'll never know.
Orange sky? Not today. Not tomorrow. but a kiss goodbye and a false
w i d e stride.
I carry buckets. I carry buckets. I carry buckets.. like them, but not at all.
Morning buckets on bus. Fumes. Fish. Farm. Fins.
Bags leaking. River map with suspect. Gag. My buckets go up stairs.. sparkling. On the outside. In disguise. Sit. Stare. Blankly as I have been. Unable to do most. Head filled. Refilled. Drilled. Song of a violinist under a bridge in the shade. Shadows. Reflecting. Echoing. Alone.
Shower cap.
Long brelly, suit plus thirty lets me pass. He gives me a gift.. one he didn't know.
Better than wrapped. Better than this and that..
his smile...
today I wear it on my sleeve.
Next to the other shape.
Buckets lighter and heavier at the same time.
Grateful.
Putty chin.
Time to roll..
time for the masquerade.
Monday 25 January 2010
bruised baNana
From a different port. Entry.
Reenter.
The Monday mayhem as they call it.
From the south,
I release.
East.
Beasts-of crowds and flurries. In a hurry. Hurry.
Like my bruised banana, eyes stand.
Still.
Swaying.
Curved. Clenching. Withholding the
u n a v o i d a b l e
heaviness.
Back and brain-extended train. journey from Games and Guess.
Quest.
For less. Stress.
More blinks, links.
Relinquished-
for tock of this tick ing in my mind..
will nOt stOp.
This woman has been staring.
Glaring.
Without shame..
Into, onto, at me. For a multitude of minutes, I test. Her. Write. Look up. Stare. Look down. Look up.
Stare. Stare. Stare. Stare. Stare.
Caught every time.
She
is
worn.
Possibly unraveling, like much is...
Waking in higher spirits, I walk gently.
Slowly-
in preparation to peel that bruised banana...
and take a bite.
Sunday 24 January 2010
SaTurDay TuRn bAck (11) delayed
_____________________
this day: July 8, 2009
_____________________
-writing while walking-
_____________________
Wanting to wait and wishing in water-wells for women. Worldly. Whys and wheres. And where nots. Why nots? Walk with white on a whim.. warm in wool, like a whale on a wave... watching.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NFhqghww9sM
Sunday 17 January 2010
snipits read
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
for this I cannot take credit. These are not my words. My eye was caught.
I care to share.
collections of my scribble, blink, think.
-------------------------------------------------------------
It moves toward a thin line where what happens can or not be repeated by interpretation of the text.
We can lose the movements, the feelings linked to these movements but there are still souvenirs of these lost feelings and movements.
We can learn the experience of not knowing and the playfulness of being in the dark.
For the blind man in the dark room is looking for the black cat that is not there.
Art is not a code that needs cracking.
Keeping art separate from explanation.
Celebrating the experience of not knowing and unlearning.
for this I cannot take credit. These are not my words. My eye was caught.
I care to share.
collections of my scribble, blink, think.
-------------------------------------------------------------
It moves toward a thin line where what happens can or not be repeated by interpretation of the text.
We can lose the movements, the feelings linked to these movements but there are still souvenirs of these lost feelings and movements.
We can learn the experience of not knowing and the playfulness of being in the dark.
For the blind man in the dark room is looking for the black cat that is not there.
Art is not a code that needs cracking.
Keeping art separate from explanation.
Celebrating the experience of not knowing and unlearning.
shaDED pocKets
He sleeps an incurable dream.
She walked beneath my shoulders.
He reads with interest.
She applies with moisture.
He chews with force.
Sleepy one wakes, moves. Supposedly. He. Looks beyond pitch. Black. Lenses. I cannot see with certainty, I will now not sink alone.
We dig and search. Similar pockets, we grab-each. A book. Matches. Awe. Orange. Nothing to read and cannot light. Marlboros, he inspects from another lintless pocket. Decadent in denim, crossed-legged and momentarily arms to match. In turquoise, like the iridescence of a fly's eye..bugged out from another night. Hidden. Not so much his pleasure on this lambent day.
Lights in the sky-Knitted at the wrists. Shielded.I want to know if he is in my head as he is my pockets.
Does he want to share a square?
Colorful companion and an orchid diagonal.. I will never know the answer...
and I think it may be better that way.
She walked beneath my shoulders.
He reads with interest.
She applies with moisture.
He chews with force.
Sleepy one wakes, moves. Supposedly. He. Looks beyond pitch. Black. Lenses. I cannot see with certainty, I will now not sink alone.
We dig and search. Similar pockets, we grab-each. A book. Matches. Awe. Orange. Nothing to read and cannot light. Marlboros, he inspects from another lintless pocket. Decadent in denim, crossed-legged and momentarily arms to match. In turquoise, like the iridescence of a fly's eye..bugged out from another night. Hidden. Not so much his pleasure on this lambent day.
Lights in the sky-Knitted at the wrists. Shielded.I want to know if he is in my head as he is my pockets.
Does he want to share a square?
Colorful companion and an orchid diagonal.. I will never know the answer...
and I think it may be better that way.
Saturday 16 January 2010
in tHe STudiO
In an invertebrate's dream I wouldn't be this bear. Bogged down. Out. In. Every direction. Ripped. Chained. Strained. Weather-rain. Beyond. Whether. Or not. I chance it. I follow the beat. Street of spine. Disaligned. Wet and wetter. Matted moments. Matter most. Dark. Transfers through a portal. Pothole. Possibilities. Hibernation halted by a sandy shore and rust...
She called me Black Beauty as she healed. Heels to the horizon.
now, a
h e a d a c h e. Head in sand,
grand.
SaTurDay TuRn bAck (10)
______________________________________
these days: July 8 2009 to Jan 12 2010
scattered throughout, Ps dropped. Just some Ps on a page.
_______________________________________
______________________________________
these days: July 8 2009 to Jan 12 2010
scattered throughout, Ps dropped. Just some Ps on a page.
_______________________________________
______________________________________
this day: November 2 2006
______________________________________
______________________________________this day: April 11 2006
______________________________________
Thursday 14 January 2010
grandfatherly glare
_______________________
whilst I remain:
sharing of a different day.13.
_______________________________________
He stared at you with spite.
You, in all black and cracked. Screen. Solitaire. Remnants of a night's nail. Knight. Long and thin. Stringy. Downward face. Focus.
He, unnoticed to you.
He. Didn't blink.
Speared with his sight, you.
I.
Fought back.
Peer and
pencil.
Ravenous graphite.
Grandfather.
Like a bat. Quick. You, flew.
Away.
With stealth.
Another came. A new you.
Desire to cross. words. Dead pen.
Try and try.
Silent. I, dug.
Without eyes.
Without ears
Without audible
words.
I handed
you a candy cane to complete. To keep.
Dull point.
A new you.
Still me.
and still him,
staring.
whilst I remain:
sharing of a different day.13.
_______________________________________
He stared at you with spite.
You, in all black and cracked. Screen. Solitaire. Remnants of a night's nail. Knight. Long and thin. Stringy. Downward face. Focus.
He, unnoticed to you.
He. Didn't blink.
Speared with his sight, you.
I.
Fought back.
Peer and
pencil.
Ravenous graphite.
Grandfather.
Like a bat. Quick. You, flew.
Away.
With stealth.
Another came. A new you.
Desire to cross. words. Dead pen.
Try and try.
Silent. I, dug.
Without eyes.
Without ears
Without audible
words.
I handed
you a candy cane to complete. To keep.
Dull point.
A new you.
Still me.
and still him,
staring.
Tuesday 12 January 2010
RE
Slowly into it all... timidly. Y e a r ning for that deep breath- a relief. I am in the slow lane. Seemingly forever so..
People passing like gazelles into this c o n c r e t e terrain. I take my first steps. S e p a r a t e. Card empty. Empty. Recharge. Rebuild. Refuel. Relive. Revive. Revitalize. Reveal. Restraints. Reality.. release.. into the night.
Earlier than it seems. Remember- not so fresh air..
repair. Relocate-
Relapse. Ticks...
Contact of eyes exuberant. Five in less than four. Ten, a young love to multiply. Notice:
He wiped his knees before he sat... another sits with a stick. Chin rested upon. Long face, I understand. Scent enters at Bank. No cents. Nonsense. Unpleasant.
She flees. Jumps. A gray and furry, silver sparkle of lip. Man like monkey hangs. Hang on. Monkey bars. He is red and red and red. See through eyelashes. Gingerale. Ale. Inflicted. Infected. Influenced.
She with a broach, a pin, on top. Bran muffin balancing above her forehead. Poised with brass buttons of a soldier, the double row. Each large, imprinted-Adolfo.. bags, mittens like my home.. Brown and burgundy. She side stands. Ah, gift granted, a seat-next to mine-she topples.
She may read. She may know. The above is her...but, there is nothing to hide...
but I close my book anyhow...
Rewind: Stickman, broach on a broom and monkey from a bar all exited with. At my same. Smile.
End.
as if I knew.
caterpillar speed, I returned.
People passing like gazelles into this c o n c r e t e terrain. I take my first steps. S e p a r a t e. Card empty. Empty. Recharge. Rebuild. Refuel. Relive. Revive. Revitalize. Reveal. Restraints. Reality.. release.. into the night.
Earlier than it seems. Remember- not so fresh air..
repair. Relocate-
Relapse. Ticks...
Contact of eyes exuberant. Five in less than four. Ten, a young love to multiply. Notice:
He wiped his knees before he sat... another sits with a stick. Chin rested upon. Long face, I understand. Scent enters at Bank. No cents. Nonsense. Unpleasant.
She flees. Jumps. A gray and furry, silver sparkle of lip. Man like monkey hangs. Hang on. Monkey bars. He is red and red and red. See through eyelashes. Gingerale. Ale. Inflicted. Infected. Influenced.
She with a broach, a pin, on top. Bran muffin balancing above her forehead. Poised with brass buttons of a soldier, the double row. Each large, imprinted-Adolfo.. bags, mittens like my home.. Brown and burgundy. She side stands. Ah, gift granted, a seat-next to mine-she topples.
She may read. She may know. The above is her...but, there is nothing to hide...
but I close my book anyhow...
Rewind: Stickman, broach on a broom and monkey from a bar all exited with. At my same. Smile.
End.
as if I knew.
caterpillar speed, I returned.
Monday 11 January 2010
WARrior of the cOOp
Momentarily released.. from it. The place. Cave of green. Limitations. Sanctions by sacrums.. Slowly out. Wise to Body. Bound. Bounce. Back. Flex to reflex. Like magic hands, the Mary of Rose.
D6 held to regulate. Oh, I miss. Bomber. Cold. Brisk. She says it's summer here... Experiences shape the silence. Smiling sun reminds of what could be. Wishes to flee..to that volcano beyond. Warmth. Healing. Blue. Yellow. Tan. Grains. Dusk to dawn. Timelessness.
From behind the bars, reunited with it all. Movement, lights. Rattle of red. Frigid anticipation at the stop. Mumbles of unknown. Exhaust suffocating us slowly. The us being only me. Him-reading over my. cold shoulder. Not today. Warmed by a touch of home- Yesterday years, a decade plus. Cape, revisited. One bullet missing. Pockets plump with preciousness. A sister's touch. An uncles square. Chipped.
Daydreams and piano ears press the pain away.. purple seats and lilac ruffles, crocheted.
A moment of silence. Goddard.
-
-
-
-
Graciously interrupted by a lift of helpfulness.. a step out-down-over and on.
and
I'm
left to ponder this growing magnetism of humanity. I feel. Connection. Wonder. More and m o r e.
My chest cavity, an abyss of wild flowers. Severed, breathing, bloodless. Growing. Rapidly. Vines swirl. Buds bloom.
Spring came early-if even for a moment...
Please don't pick the flowers.
They hoped to last...
Wilted by human touch, I run from the sunset.
The snowfall returns.
and
I'm
a warrior of winter.
D6 held to regulate. Oh, I miss. Bomber. Cold. Brisk. She says it's summer here... Experiences shape the silence. Smiling sun reminds of what could be. Wishes to flee..to that volcano beyond. Warmth. Healing. Blue. Yellow. Tan. Grains. Dusk to dawn. Timelessness.
From behind the bars, reunited with it all. Movement, lights. Rattle of red. Frigid anticipation at the stop. Mumbles of unknown. Exhaust suffocating us slowly. The us being only me. Him-reading over my. cold shoulder. Not today. Warmed by a touch of home- Yesterday years, a decade plus. Cape, revisited. One bullet missing. Pockets plump with preciousness. A sister's touch. An uncles square. Chipped.
Daydreams and piano ears press the pain away.. purple seats and lilac ruffles, crocheted.
A moment of silence. Goddard.
-
-
-
-
Graciously interrupted by a lift of helpfulness.. a step out-down-over and on.
and
I'm
left to ponder this growing magnetism of humanity. I feel. Connection. Wonder. More and m o r e.
My chest cavity, an abyss of wild flowers. Severed, breathing, bloodless. Growing. Rapidly. Vines swirl. Buds bloom.
Spring came early-if even for a moment...
Please don't pick the flowers.
They hoped to last...
Wilted by human touch, I run from the sunset.
The snowfall returns.
and
I'm
a warrior of winter.
Saturday 9 January 2010
SaTurDay TuRn bAck (9)
____________________
this day: January 30, 2008
They will never know you were here..
__________________
this day: January 30, 2008
They will never know you were here..
__________________
jan 5. isPY
JAnUaRY 5. t w e n t y t e n.
________________________________________________________________
Confined by injury. Out the window, I saw. I snapped. I spied.
I documented. I share:
________________________________________________________________
Confined by injury. Out the window, I saw. I snapped. I spied.
I documented. I share:
Wednesday 6 January 2010
dandeLioN tEA
Unable to travel.. stuck to mend... I share my world...I take a sip.
Jan 6, 2010.
________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________
____________________________________________________________
____________________________________________________________
Monday 4 January 2010
the RETuRn of the TrAveLs, post criMbO : MoNdAy KnuCKLeS
Monday, Jan 4
A tightness that won't quit. A tense rubber band.. stretched to maximum threshold. This is my leg. Strum my banjo.. We have moving on our mind.. but n o t h i n g. Still Monday, still here.. back on it.
Moon light awakening. Buss miss. Bus wait. Again. The same. Drab faces and dragons for heels-me, a slug today. With a crutch needed. I saw several people with them a few days ago. (sidenote).
The usual pavement dance, slow motion.. dodging spit bombs.. man immediately in front of me didn't mind practically showering me with his putrid flem wad. Continuation of disgust. Maybe I will make a spitball machine for next time.. purely for defense. Or just carry a shank.
Friendliness, 7 o'clock hour,(clearly, me included): Man wants on big red- door closes. Man knocks. Driver ignores. Driver drives away. Man punches window. Man shouts. Monday knuckles, fists ready for the new year. Plan of perforations. No Bow, No Driver, just knuckles like the Andes, deep and jagged... and me, surrounded by stone faces. Chiseled with this frost. Another mountain, rush. I think not.
Impatience resonates. Still here.. Missed trains.. like missed opportunity. Stalled. Stop and go. I know this story.
Frosting roofs, like waffles..and sugar stick grass. I can taste it. The land of gingerbread... memories of no matter whats surface.
I woke with a sweet tooth today... the sky begins to brighten, like c andy floss. With a blink I snap the image...
Stalled again. I'll never get there. No jet pack, just a pen... and pain....my shield is up.
The collective rage is intoxicating...
deep breath.
and
my
imagination
wanders...
A tightness that won't quit. A tense rubber band.. stretched to maximum threshold. This is my leg. Strum my banjo.. We have moving on our mind.. but n o t h i n g. Still Monday, still here.. back on it.
Moon light awakening. Buss miss. Bus wait. Again. The same. Drab faces and dragons for heels-me, a slug today. With a crutch needed. I saw several people with them a few days ago. (sidenote).
The usual pavement dance, slow motion.. dodging spit bombs.. man immediately in front of me didn't mind practically showering me with his putrid flem wad. Continuation of disgust. Maybe I will make a spitball machine for next time.. purely for defense. Or just carry a shank.
Friendliness, 7 o'clock hour,(clearly, me included): Man wants on big red- door closes. Man knocks. Driver ignores. Driver drives away. Man punches window. Man shouts. Monday knuckles, fists ready for the new year. Plan of perforations. No Bow, No Driver, just knuckles like the Andes, deep and jagged... and me, surrounded by stone faces. Chiseled with this frost. Another mountain, rush. I think not.
Impatience resonates. Still here.. Missed trains.. like missed opportunity. Stalled. Stop and go. I know this story.
Frosting roofs, like waffles..and sugar stick grass. I can taste it. The land of gingerbread... memories of no matter whats surface.
I woke with a sweet tooth today... the sky begins to brighten, like c andy floss. With a blink I snap the image...
Stalled again. I'll never get there. No jet pack, just a pen... and pain....my shield is up.
The collective rage is intoxicating...
deep breath.
and
my
imagination
wanders...
SaTurDay TuRn bAck (8) delayed
__________________________
this day: August 24, 2009
@ LBC
__________________________
1 to 2. Two to one. A win. We won.
Time in and out. A fortress. Personal chambers shared. Extended. Metta.
Share the thought. Positivity pointed. In. Out. Unknown. Problematic. Together. Here. The room. And beyond. Like a ripple.
Body sensations change like a wave.. turning.. churning.. yearning.. sessions of extreme heat. Bubbling within. Boiling. Frothy like salt water, preparing for a meal.. Wire in the wind transmissions and neural activity blankens the usual mind chatter.
A focus of purpose with intent. Kindness, and nothing else...
The acceptance of that something else when it appears...
We are only human.. we are not machines.. we are not puppets.. we are all learning. Constantly.
A good hour shared.
Remember it.
SaTurDay TuRn bAck (7) delayed
_________________
this day: 15/6/09
District 7:45am
__________________
Inkless-it's a crime strengthened by graphite candy canes and silver piped speckled squares. Black and whites, gray finger prints. Pressed intently reading and fading into the oblivion of the tissue offerings of paper.
Crinkle cries. A stream from pores of the girl in the corner. Craving distractions, a delusion, pressure and pain. Press into the green and blues.
Bumping and swaying like in strobe lights of a journey through portals. Mystery man tied tight across, dances in place. Flexing and stretching, squishing feet and the brightest blues. A smerk of Guess Who lips and tricks. A costume by day and possible mohawk by night. The trains race.
I am f r o z e n. I am frozen in the bliss. Impatience. Uncertainty of healing.
Maroon Mondays.
MIND YOUR HEAD.
this day: 15/6/09
District 7:45am
__________________
Inkless-it's a crime strengthened by graphite candy canes and silver piped speckled squares. Black and whites, gray finger prints. Pressed intently reading and fading into the oblivion of the tissue offerings of paper.
Crinkle cries. A stream from pores of the girl in the corner. Craving distractions, a delusion, pressure and pain. Press into the green and blues.
Bumping and swaying like in strobe lights of a journey through portals. Mystery man tied tight across, dances in place. Flexing and stretching, squishing feet and the brightest blues. A smerk of Guess Who lips and tricks. A costume by day and possible mohawk by night. The trains race.
I am f r o z e n. I am frozen in the bliss. Impatience. Uncertainty of healing.
Maroon Mondays.
MIND YOUR HEAD.
Friday 1 January 2010
shapes. circles. 28-12-09
this day i went out and saw circles.... many within minutes. more than the 51 pictured below... with every blink another was found. surrounded indeed.
pics. sNoWing on Oxford ST.
snow.
lights.
shoppers.
laughter.
shoppers.
laughter.
OXFORD STREET 21-12-09
snow.
lights
shoppers...queuing for tube!!
hahaha.
wOw.
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