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.
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