Friday, June 25, 2010
FiberGlassEye
Emptiness resonates through a telephone pole-lined horizon. To your left, white, and to your right, black. A bend of space time then crushes your brittle head into a watery substance. It is nothing they ever imagined and they all praise you. Ahead of you, grey, but behind you, the same emptiness reigns as before.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Conflict
Exerpt from Friedrich Nietzsche's The Birth of Tragedy
--We will have achieved much for the study of aesthetics when we come, not merely to a logical understanding, but also to the immediately certain apprehension of the fact that the further development of art is bound up with the duality of the Apollonian and the Dionysian, just as reproduction depends upon the duality of the sexes, their continuing strife and only periodically occurring reconciliation. We take these names from the Greeks who gave a clear voice to the profound secret teachings of their contemplative art, not in ideas, but in the powerfully clear forms of their divine world.
With those two gods of art, Apollo and Dionysus, we link our recognition that in the Greek world there exists a huge contrast, in origins and purposes, between visual (plastic) arts, the Apollonian, and the non-visual art of music, the Dionysian. Both very different drives go hand in hand, for the most part in open conflict with each other and simultaneously provoking each other all the time to new and more powerful offspring, in order to perpetuate for themselves the contest of opposites which the common word “Art” only seems to bridge, until they finally, through a marvelous metaphysical act, seem to pair up with each other and, as this pair, produce Attic tragedy, just as much a Dionysian as an Apollonian work of art.
In order to get closer to these two instinctual drives, let us think of them next as the separate artistic worlds of dreams and of intoxication, physiological phenomena between which we can observe an opposition corresponding to the one between the Apollonian and the Dionysian.
--We will have achieved much for the study of aesthetics when we come, not merely to a logical understanding, but also to the immediately certain apprehension of the fact that the further development of art is bound up with the duality of the Apollonian and the Dionysian, just as reproduction depends upon the duality of the sexes, their continuing strife and only periodically occurring reconciliation. We take these names from the Greeks who gave a clear voice to the profound secret teachings of their contemplative art, not in ideas, but in the powerfully clear forms of their divine world.
With those two gods of art, Apollo and Dionysus, we link our recognition that in the Greek world there exists a huge contrast, in origins and purposes, between visual (plastic) arts, the Apollonian, and the non-visual art of music, the Dionysian. Both very different drives go hand in hand, for the most part in open conflict with each other and simultaneously provoking each other all the time to new and more powerful offspring, in order to perpetuate for themselves the contest of opposites which the common word “Art” only seems to bridge, until they finally, through a marvelous metaphysical act, seem to pair up with each other and, as this pair, produce Attic tragedy, just as much a Dionysian as an Apollonian work of art.
In order to get closer to these two instinctual drives, let us think of them next as the separate artistic worlds of dreams and of intoxication, physiological phenomena between which we can observe an opposition corresponding to the one between the Apollonian and the Dionysian.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
En Gallop
This place is damp and ghostly, i am already gone
And the halls were lined with the disembodied
And dustly wings which fell from flesh
Gasplessly
And i go where the trees go
And i walk from a higher education
For now, and for hire
It beats me but i do not know
And it beats me but i do not know
It beats me but i do not know
I do not know
Palaces and stormclouds
The rought straggly sage and the smoke
And the way it will all come together
In quietness, and in time
And you laws of property
Oh, you free economy
And you unending afterthoughts;
You could've told me before
Never get so attached to a poem, you
Forget truth that lacks lyricism, and
Never draw so close to the heat, that
You will forget that you must eat, oh
-Joanna Newsom
And the halls were lined with the disembodied
And dustly wings which fell from flesh
Gasplessly
And i go where the trees go
And i walk from a higher education
For now, and for hire
It beats me but i do not know
And it beats me but i do not know
It beats me but i do not know
I do not know
Palaces and stormclouds
The rought straggly sage and the smoke
And the way it will all come together
In quietness, and in time
And you laws of property
Oh, you free economy
And you unending afterthoughts;
You could've told me before
Never get so attached to a poem, you
Forget truth that lacks lyricism, and
Never draw so close to the heat, that
You will forget that you must eat, oh
-Joanna Newsom
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
Bishop
The silence of the room ran through you like a rifle round. You then tilted your head back, and blew on the wall, as if to make it distort from your omnipotent power...
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Giant
I stay fastened to the idea of travel. With molasses in my veins and a leaky head, there is finally a light at the end of this smoking barrel. The plucking of steel-wrapped hair resonates through my hands and I thank you for this country land. Flaked and melted, my wrung neck is healing and my tree is aging. We remain alone in the void, aimlessly floating, while every now and then we bump shoulders in conversation. This void aimlessly floats as well as everything else.
I've been locked up in my house for some time now.
I've been locked up in my house for some time now.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Pt. 2
I know there's a place where the weeping willow blows
sweeping and grabbing my head hairs, dropping little
yellow flowers onto my skin. Leaving old leaves
inside my shoes, there to remind me this time
exists with and in me. Dangling its rope like
limbs at me; to reach up and pull down.
A green carpet for me to rest upon. Gnarly
bark the opposite of the smooth grey coat of
a city dove. How none of it knows my language
yet created it and is for it; what is this? and
this? I wonder here what are the things we can't say?
don't have the words or gestures to convey- the sound
the willow makes on paper leads on.. astray;
from the truth of it all- oh my god
how it is so wonderous. does it know itself? The
colors in blue tail feathers, but one can only hope
to find a bite to gnaw on, shuving its beak
forward, turning its birdhead sideways and at
an angle to see straight.
sweeping and grabbing my head hairs, dropping little
yellow flowers onto my skin. Leaving old leaves
inside my shoes, there to remind me this time
exists with and in me. Dangling its rope like
limbs at me; to reach up and pull down.
A green carpet for me to rest upon. Gnarly
bark the opposite of the smooth grey coat of
a city dove. How none of it knows my language
yet created it and is for it; what is this? and
this? I wonder here what are the things we can't say?
don't have the words or gestures to convey- the sound
the willow makes on paper leads on.. astray;
from the truth of it all- oh my god
how it is so wonderous. does it know itself? The
colors in blue tail feathers, but one can only hope
to find a bite to gnaw on, shuving its beak
forward, turning its birdhead sideways and at
an angle to see straight.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Closed
[id] officially cut off all ties. I renamed my blog, and it's name is above you. [id]: volume 1's owner felt no necessity to "blogging". Oh well, we all keep pushing on...
IN YOUR FUCKING FACE!
IN YOUR FUCKING FACE!
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Wonderful Spaniard.
I have washed myself in the fountain of a king.
it was there under the lime trees, where I waited for you,
I meditated in the water for you
twisted columns led to twisted stone faces, a golden
ceiling, hand-made forms of disciples.
you never came
I asked a guard when you may find me,
and the room shrugged, the way that people do when
they´ve lost all interests.
forty meter shafts leading the eye up to stainglass
reflections on a window pain
overlaying the lime trees. reminding me
of the sacred beginning, when all was not as it is now.
I ask again when will she find me?
in the blue light, when will we stand?
it was there under the lime trees, where I waited for you,
I meditated in the water for you
twisted columns led to twisted stone faces, a golden
ceiling, hand-made forms of disciples.
you never came
I asked a guard when you may find me,
and the room shrugged, the way that people do when
they´ve lost all interests.
forty meter shafts leading the eye up to stainglass
reflections on a window pain
overlaying the lime trees. reminding me
of the sacred beginning, when all was not as it is now.
I ask again when will she find me?
in the blue light, when will we stand?
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Evangelical
I would highly recommend watching the A&E documentary entitled "Jesus Camp" to fully witness the exploitations that Christian fundamentalists use to recruit their own children. They view the world ultimately as some religious battleground. Frankly, it is disgusting to see these border-line schizophrenic parents embed their own belief system into the blank canvas that is their child's brain. Usually, the parents do pass down their religious traditions to their kin, but when such malicious intent is involved in the act, this coincides with the most-feared Islamic "extremist".
In the documentary, the head camp leader Becky Fischer runs a Pentecostal camp for children in North Dakota amply named "Kids on Fire". Here, it follows three Evangelical children, who all exploit themselves unwillingly to the demands of their church leaders. Levi, one of the kids who is home schooled, was asked by his mother how he would feel if they forcefully taught evolution in his academic life. He almost cringed at the resonance of the otherwise widely-accepted view of how life came to be. This twelve-year old was force-fed to essentially reject anything not pertaining to what he was taught by his mother. They claim to adopt the easily-refutable concept of creationism, but obviously this goes hand-in-hand with my earlier post concerning Christianity.
Later in the movie, a man (whom I forget the name of) recruits the children into his pro-life abortion campaign. He gives them a presentation of his views, naturally dumbed down with a frightening overtone. They oblige and continue to congregate into a seemingly possessed group to chant in tongues to their lord. The children, the man, and few other adults proceed to place red tape with the word "LIFE" scribbled on the front. Their next step is to bombard Capital Hill with the views that were forced into their heads. The man took advantage of these kids for his own militant intent. These kids are too young to understand both sides of situations or to even develop ideas pertaining things bigger than themselves. Like someone said while watching this, these kids need to be playing and getting dirty, not repenting constantly with some predisposed idea of hatred for themselves and a country founded on mental freedom.
Watch this and soak it in. I feel that in no way does this documentary reflect all Christian ideologies or even most for that matter. I have alot of respect for most Christians, so please don't transcribe this as so. You can find this documentary online for free if you're good. If not, rent it via NetFlix. View this movie, and see the things some people will do for self-fulfillment.
In the documentary, the head camp leader Becky Fischer runs a Pentecostal camp for children in North Dakota amply named "Kids on Fire". Here, it follows three Evangelical children, who all exploit themselves unwillingly to the demands of their church leaders. Levi, one of the kids who is home schooled, was asked by his mother how he would feel if they forcefully taught evolution in his academic life. He almost cringed at the resonance of the otherwise widely-accepted view of how life came to be. This twelve-year old was force-fed to essentially reject anything not pertaining to what he was taught by his mother. They claim to adopt the easily-refutable concept of creationism, but obviously this goes hand-in-hand with my earlier post concerning Christianity.
Later in the movie, a man (whom I forget the name of) recruits the children into his pro-life abortion campaign. He gives them a presentation of his views, naturally dumbed down with a frightening overtone. They oblige and continue to congregate into a seemingly possessed group to chant in tongues to their lord. The children, the man, and few other adults proceed to place red tape with the word "LIFE" scribbled on the front. Their next step is to bombard Capital Hill with the views that were forced into their heads. The man took advantage of these kids for his own militant intent. These kids are too young to understand both sides of situations or to even develop ideas pertaining things bigger than themselves. Like someone said while watching this, these kids need to be playing and getting dirty, not repenting constantly with some predisposed idea of hatred for themselves and a country founded on mental freedom.
Watch this and soak it in. I feel that in no way does this documentary reflect all Christian ideologies or even most for that matter. I have alot of respect for most Christians, so please don't transcribe this as so. You can find this documentary online for free if you're good. If not, rent it via NetFlix. View this movie, and see the things some people will do for self-fulfillment.
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