Viewing entries in
consciousness

sluice

i was born to chill you

lastingly

you’re good at this,

i think post-rinse

my own cold surge turns me tepid

as your nudity swirls for eternity—

contact quick lingers in my membrane;

the filth i came for—all parts out of my purview

the charge is long and clear at last

black suds

deep scents

mingling with your sliced hair

thick but fair unwanted parts

i am nothing but a puddle

set to drain


contained

if only the pink and white translucency wrapped around your soft hands held me instead

if i were bluish green would my feeding off dirt and sunshine concern you gently

if only my hands and feet were soft enough to play along—i can be inviting


if i were rooted grey and thick would my gravity disobey shadows locked in unnecessary skull

if only i could let my body be with you in dayspring unexpectedly

if only i could shake my mind’s nests free before seven a.m. nightmares


if i were to allow my morning mouth to loosen around sounds of insecurity and hope

would the burning scent i initiate instead be so damn enticing


perspicacity

brought before the sun shafts,
senses lit

squinting at certainties
covered in unanswerable questions

asking in the throat,
if soreness when swallowing

should disappear
if refused such constriction?


pondering beneath lids,
if vision when natural

could heighten in mind’s eye
as if on inner journey?

contesting wrists,
if sensations when wrought up


could be alleviated
if stillness once more was common?


wondering of lips,
if sought numb and cold


could ever be relearnt
if those ghost kisses were buried?


challenging the tongue,
if these textures of morning


would slim in size
if night’s palpation is omitted?


will daylight,
shredding and sharpening—


while we try blinder, stiller, duller
but shrewder—


ever escort us home
as whole again,


or are we condemned
to be outwardly shone and sore?

how to struggle

in order to completely     survive the day    

untraumatized, erect    associated, whole  

regulated, adjusted      nervous systems intact    

senses processed    

personalized, not taking personal    

mobilized, self-aware



memories always accessible waiting just where they belong

dreams only peppered in unpleasant ‘nightmare’ not in the vernacular

engaged through and throughout but not used up, no never

remember, you may nap



apply unaffordable essentials

to your life, liberally

massage deeply with ring fingers

only, so as to merely surface pat

but assuredly affect change

—this skill may take time



patient communication

forgiveness work in the same safe space

on the cleanest floor

mindful mindful, mind your breath


embrace unwanted change

but remember to change nothing

when mercury

appears to be behaving backwards


stomach in up, shift in your seat

erudite posture, core considerations lovingly

carefully, unrefusingly

recognize your thoughts, acknowledging what comes next


let things go in layers

but don’t let them fall away for sure;

the weather changes frequently, &

who here still believes in time?

unfolding knowingly

gentle, gentle breathing past it

chanting, humming, shuddering’s fine too

respectfully recognize and know your feelings


a soft embodiment of struggle


cotton in your ears a sacral melt before you rest

imagine an egg beneath your neck let incense mingle with your hips

let clog bits uncongeal harshest exhale now out the mouth

soft sight beneath heavy lashes fluttering toward a roll over on your right

up you go


centered


survived


& off to bed,

you’ve reached

night.


Capsized or Captivating?

La Bateau by Matisse was cut out of gouache colored paper in 1953.

Cutting into color reminds me of the sculptor's direct carving.

La Bateau by Matisse was hung upside down in the MoMa in 1961.

Seek the strongest color effect possible... the content is of no importance.

La Bateau by Matisse had remained in this way for 47 days—even his son hadn’t caught on.

There are always flowers for those who want to see them.

La Bateau by Matisse had been viewed by 116,000 visitors during this time.

Would not it be best to leave room to mystery?

La Bateau by Matisse was viewed three times by a stockbroker, Genevieve Habert.

What I dream of is an art of balance, of purity and serenity, devoid of troubling or depressing subject matter, an art which could be for every mental worker, for the businessman as well as the man of letters, for example, a soothing, calming influence on the mind, something like a good armchair which provides relaxation from physical fatigue.

La Bateau by Matisse had produced a “‘stabbing certainty’” of an inversion, which propelled Habert that third evening to notify security, journalists, and at last the appalled curators.

The essential thing is to spring forth, to express the bolt of lightning one senses upon contact with a thing. The function of the artist is not to translate an observation but to express the shock of the object on his nature; the shock, with the original reaction.

La Bateau by Matisse had been elsewhere displayed correctly, but also hung this way before—recorded older framing holes.

Exactitude is not truth.

La Bateau by Matisse is a paper-cut of a blue boat and its reflection beneath.

When I put a green, it it not grass. When I put a blue, it is not the sky.

La Bateau by Matisse is still housed in the MoMa; it's forever housed in the 1961 headlines as well.

Impressionism is the newspaper of the soul.

La Bateau by Matisse was created near the end of his life.

I wouldn't mind turning into a vermilion goldfish.

 

 

 

 

N.B. italicized lines are quotes from Matisse; further facts have been gathered from Wikipediaartsy.net, and the New York Daily News.