Monday, May 7, 2018
Monday, April 30, 2018
Long Winded
I am trying not to
drink
It is an
unlearning
a rewound
storytelling
Which could take a
long while
as I come from a
long line
of longwinded storytellers
preachers
teachers
music-making
creatures
And
Or
Alcoholics
Addicts
Addicts
Pick your poison
or concoct a
cocktail
Not that the two
have to go hand in hand
but a drink in
hand
often means a story
is on its way
And God forbid you
are empty handed
for your stories may
be presumed empty
stirring off handed
comments
handed to you
by the slurred forked
tongues
of two fisted
drinkers
served from their
personal
in home
basement bar
of self judgement
Spirits are so
entrenched
into the social
structure of my culture
that even the sober
can become addicted
to the social
pressures applied
by the shame of the
afflicted
How early must a
child drink
to make their parent
feel less
restricted
conflicted
dismissed
Strip away that
history
and I have no family
But at least I have
no family to shame it on
Strip away peer
pressure
and I have no
friends
But at least I have
no friends to blame it on
Strip away a
lover
and I have no
other
to frame it on
No leaning
No naming
No projecting
or defending
Only enduring
the voice in my head
that is
remaining
My own story
My own complaining
The energy I spend gas-lighting
myself
results in my own
unfriending
Locomotivation in
reverse
Morale draining
Light heart
straining
Making my brain
filter all the stories I have left
leaving a
distillation
a concentration
an intoxicating
libation
of the angry and
perverse
If this is not the
birthplace
then it is the
nursery
the playground
the classroom
the pulpit
the university
the stage
the fraternity
the PhD
of passive
aggressivity
Sarcastic mystery
Self depreciating
wit
dishonest proclivity
and elevated
lubricating tendency
Virtues that make up
quite a ruthless
personality
But qualities that
do tell
one hell of a good story
Tuesday, April 3, 2018
Inscape
I am a portrait artist
I used to say
I hated painting landscapes
I hated painting landscapes
It felt
redundant
Boring
All that foliage
So much green
It seems like
so many
landscapes have already been done
The only place
in the scene
that fascinated me
that fascinated me
was the horizon
Maybe because it
led me to the sky
Which I would
like to think
I could look at
for hours
Day or night
Feels like an
out of body experience
Like if you look
up far enough
you lose the
land
and all sense of
where you stand
The place you
inhabit
The problems
that surround you
The tasks at hand
Like if you look
up far enough
you can lose
yourself
Just fall right
up into the open space
So I painted a
few skyscapes
Transforming
clouds floating
over ombres of
hue
They felt like
escape
I am still a
portrait artist
But I see so
much more
than I did
before
The planes of a
face
look just like a
landscape
Rolling hills of
cheekbones
Peeks of eyebrow
ridges
Everyones eyes
are a magnificent skyscape
transforming
clouds floating
over ombres of
hue
Some irises wake
you
with the green
of the sun
hitting spring
grass in the morning
Some are elusive
and patient
like silvery fog
that snakes
after the rain
over steely
glass water
There is
electric midday blue
that shocks you
like lightening in your veins
like lightening in your veins
There is deep
midnight black
where you cant
find your way in
or back out
again
And some escape the
day
through soft brown warmth blanketing your tired mind
orange and gold undertones
Burning wisps
slipping below the horizon line
I am a portrait
artist
Who is still
learning
Who begins again
Everyday
For every day we
change
Do we ever really
know what another looks like
To find a
likeness
is to care fully look
is to care for
someone
I must learn
how to care
It is a practice
I look at the
outside
to find my way
in
What stories rise
to the surface
and hold up our skin
What storms
What carnival
rides
What calm
What peace
What vast
expanses of indigo
What jostling
terrain of vertigo
What restless
desire for escape
A portrait is
just an internal landscape
An inscape
And inscapes
are anything
but boring
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