haiku, for now

The leaves fall - rake time
Again, a bit of world dies
Rake them up. Again, spring.



Addendum:

This is the belated fall.
Let's see what is lost and what shall be sewn
into summer day dreams of what
was then / was now

Unusual Spending on Home

Often, I have found
a locus, a fly, a cockroach – dead, yet

whole on the ground
the body of the insect dry as a tomb
empty, like so many robbed graves

a Sailboat, a Motorboat, another Sailboat
each covered with tattered, weathered wings – a blue tarp
spread across its carapace

This strip of land is a place where dreams go to die,
good intentions to fix, repair, rebuild, reuse, Resurrect

      Echo through the hollowed shells
      that represent my father’s hallowed vision of
      Better

Stray dogs without a home, make shelter where they can take it
Find food in others’ discarded remains of a meal
      They howl, at something, somebody, into the wind

Cries so loud, so poignant
Unanswered

This is where dreams have died, and
Ships sailed long ago

Take in another stray – someday he might love you
the way he never could

for my sister

We are made out of
the parts of our parents, yes.

Their dreams. Their hopes. Their aspirations for themselves
unachieved.

The fights, the battles, the wounds,
scars and
Scabs
that make perfect Flesh
for the next generation

Over generations, the template of our parents’ parents
has only slightly reconfigured
with time –
a few changes, some patches,
no enhancements, Yes.

As offspring, our Bodies are tumors –
did you know how tumors contain
cells of all types, blindly expressed?

Nails. Teeth. Hair. A would-be Finger

yet, the cells only become what they intuitively know to become.

our Identity lies hidden in our family’s junk DNA
(the overlooked) ripe with secrets,
Potential. ignored,
by the conditioning of our parents' well-worn cellular mechanisms.

Don’t fear the reaper, yet.
Shelly’s Frankenstein is our true Father
Hallowed be his name
his Rising from so many dead parts
so much Death, so much life Unfelt while walking around
this fucked up world
(We didn’t have a say in from the start.)

Neither did he, but it wasn’t so bad.
Yes, he was born of a latten want,
a patch to a personal problem Herr Doktor did not quite know how to fix in himself

Still, despite rallying against the sky
he was given the chance to find Life in life
though as abbreviated his time was

(Which is where we come in.)

Do not fear.
There is more freedom, more Self
in assemblage,
no matter the quality of salvaged parts.

Despite a blueprint, a Product in production
you can always fuck with it,
make it Your own
(real or imagined)

As an artist, as a writer,

you are Born to.

hopefully blogging is on its way out

so i can get back to writing here. jumped ship really in 2004 since the surge of drops in the bucket became too much. inspired to write again upon meeting Simon Morris, Robert Fitterman, and Kenneth Goldsmith (well, virtually via Simon's excellent documentary).

uncreative writing just might be the way for me to start writing again. that, and the fact that i've committed myself to an intense writing-based art project that i have less than 3 mo. to complete.

should i get a face-lift?

revisit the idea of writing on this blog? eh....

what do you think? comments welcome.

Love in the time of...

"Most people deceive themselves with a pair of faiths:
they believe in eternal memory
(of people, things, deeds, nations)
and in redressibility
(of deeds, mistakes, sins, wrongs).
Both are false faiths.
In reality the opposite is true:
everything will be forgotten
and nothing will be redressed."

-Milan Kundera

It's around this time of year

It's around this time of year
that the dust gathers itself
and starts its not-so-silent march
back into the memories of the people that so diligently
laid those little bunnies to rest

It's around this time of year
that the shades of pink that break
through the gray of the horizon, seem so
precious, so rare
people are grateful for their trying

It's around this time of year
that the ability to keep up one's appearances -
leg hair, face care routine, hair washing, smile words and smile faces -
hits the snooze, again, and grumbles about
needing more time

This time of year is when we get it;

It is around this time of year that we waste it.

No one expects to hear a thing here

because I have been so inactive for so long. I think as the masses of voices started to take over the airwaves back in late 2004/early 2005, I felt it was a good time to retreat. And there's always the question of when it is appropriate to wear a veil of anonymity. Frankly, I stopped wanting to establish a particular voice online once I got about 4 months into it, back in early 2004. I saw how things were going to go down. Brand yourself through your posts and profile, etc. etc. or be of little consequence. I didn't want to pay the cost of that kind of labor.

Now that there are so many voices out there, with well established online identities, I think I can go back to why I liked blogging in the first place; it was a little space where I could work-out the constant thinking going on inside my head. Granted, I've calmed down with age (ugh, 4 years is a long time), so I might not post as much now as I did back then, but oh well. I am reading and writing this as a conversation with my shadow. Feel free to watch. Or not. Shadows don't have feelings.