Well Rested,
I am not. A short half awaken thought.
-DBL
To some the obvious selection for failure is the fool. Shrouded with fabric that only children can see, this idiot surmised quick with no mistake. A fault on a jagged cliff side gets lost in rhythm of the irregular.
A hat to signal approach, in the fools walk you can see, stumbles fluidly. Just a laugh is a iron steaming hot bent on spreading this embedded joke. Clinging to concepts desires left alone, abstracted, detached the fool seems malnourished of everyday foes. Just a joker to twist-a-side the truth, in the corner the fool ties the shoe.
In the moments you try to find clarity in the actions that border on obscurities, there the fool traces what can be seen. Picture pleased, there the fool hides in actions.
Writing
Tuesday Night Post #3.3 /
Programs,
System Reformation. Belief Reformatting. Corporal Reformation.
-DBL
can systems really be about destruction?
de-constructing what is not understood
breaking apart what needs to stay
exploring touching reaching for a core that does not substitute
voices recall the past reformed
tongues collided fire revolves
center to the draft of senses
of need
of taste
of knowing and recalling
systems feel
do they feel?
does human well being involve feeling?
feeling is core?
this narrative of sight belongs to us
me the vision seeker-the Light bouncer
deforming planes confusing eyes
deceiver of the Light
efficient divider grower of worth
on this dividing line that she sensed
cubs were lost blood lines severed
her four legs knew this rhythm well
its the constant motion that delivers this sense of vast space
space so vast there is only self
the outer reached it limit
the inner reached a depths profound
Deliverer of Light she will never forget your smell
She tasted you once, strike you down
severed member searcher of Light
She sees no road
She sees no inner end
She pounds on pavement, crumbled glass
soft sands of beaches along the coast
tracking lacking worth
Tuesday Night Post #3.2 /
Lovers,
Its tuesday
-DBL
At this moment I am frustrated. Dealing with caves of pastured hills I resist but I enter, knowing what will occur will be a sense of being outside in the darkness. Just as the walls are moist, so are the chilled blue blades of grass. This is where I end up tired and achy. On trips to wild reactions and decisions I take my naps in institutions. Naturally the seeds that germinate from this conclusion share the same commitment as my execution. Dialing the proper number to call the doctor, to fill the prescription that murders the patient, in this proof your fail is the solution. Redialing context of dissolution I stand proud on broken and swollen legs. Tree trucks left to spoil, finding necks long and hard, wheels in mud stuck, the child cherishes his freedom.
With growth and pain rounded fingers feel around as wealth regains.
With repetition I find nostalgia when nothing changes assuring I remember the following.
With repetition I lay my head at the feet I adore without no standards.
With repetition I assure the memory deforms in dome or shelter bending as needed for the assault.
Gems, found in beds left for dead.
Tuesday Night Post #3.1 /
Fanatics,
#c0z3n
Man has taken from a womb. Destroying as he creates.
Stealing as he rapes.
A newer thought of a feed back loop that spreads thin
evenly across a surface
Of a man given a gift which he sees it as that
the structured thought was the first to notice
Repetition makes the group
Consumption closes the loop
In this act in his behavior he climbs
only to end up face down
People seed in their weight
end for them left in a gram of ash
Tuesday Night Post #3.0 /
Select Few,
Art as religion.
Art as Prayer.
-DBL
Laying on three rocks. My left foot on the noose. My right on the skull. My back on the wood.
My friend the only friend layed below. A beckon of red hanging from his throat. Loyal and true he laid on small thorns.
Just another ripe vision of true. A twisted repulsion to rearrange this off hue. Each turning shadow replaced by her at once.
Lil witch with power summon defaults. Make them special for others that are lost. Take them in kindly, choose them full.
Give them violence, put them down on moss. Slight adjustments of light are strong enough to confuse. Who follows who, paradox of the muse. Set it balance, sphere and cube.
Step into the darkness. Walk among elders, grab a limb. They swing you distances, as you loosen the leaves. Failing to see how distances bleed. Set it balance, puddle of gore and pile of ash.
On a high rise, looking down at her virtue and benevolence, remembers the frost. Memories of canopy high, bare feet on moss.
Forgetting the chaos, stepping ahead, circuits converging we are all lost. Set it balanced, flesh and mind.
That hazy air that finds you on an off day, that's where I laid. A faithful friend he will follow me as far as any liquid end. With his beacon of love he’ll help me up. No fear is pending. Vacuum of light where no one began.
T and Light /
I only started to under-stand what she said that early morning. Now that I have legs. Strange as she was she painted long strokes of inconsistencies that assure only the wealthy in doubt. I could feel my throat sing in the waters we stood. She answered the question who she wished she was.
“Describing a self which is unlinked from the flesh I will attempt to do. Any concepts obscure or actively trending I find myself attractive to. Finding answers in odd places, when found became quite normal. A maker, a builder, my hands must be occupied. My body is my medium knowing every medium is an extension of the body. Survival of the old world I have kept my teachings. Seeker of new land, I recognize the direction. Always seeking, deciphering the roots.”
I am no fool simple mind still sees light in contaminated waters.
My Wishes for 2014: By Guillermo Gómez-Peña /
My Wishes for 2014
By Guillermo Gómez-Peña
I wish that all my artist friends find a dignified job closely resembling their dreams and obsessions.
I wish that all my activist friends find the spiritual strength to continue fighting the many necessary fights on all fronts.
I wish that radical grace and uncompromising aesthetics remain the driving forces of my troupe.
I wish that all my friends and their friends find tender lovers to survive the loneliness of the American night.
I wish for the homeless of the world to find food, shelter and friendship. These are basic human rights.
I wish that all the greedy landlords trying to evict the working class suddenly wake up with amnesia and an empathetic heart.
I wish for all migrants to cross the borders they wish to cross successfully & safely.
I wish that Obama has an epiphany while he is taking a shit and remembers who he is.
I wish for the new pope to become truly radicalized and get lost every night in the streets of Vatican City catering to the poor and destitute.
I wish for the prison industry to collapse; for black and Latino youth to find a place of dignity in America.
I wish for the global project to continue derailing ad nauseam.
I wish for America to stop fearing otherness and diversity; and for white Americans to become less self-involved, arrogant & entitled.
I wish for the masterminds and perpetrators of war and violence to experience a daily living and unbearable hell; payback can’t wait for their next reincarnation.
I wish that all indigenous peoples continue to find ways to survive and thrive against all corporate and government odds and monsters.
I wish my mother remained a little longer on this earth. So many of us still need her poetic tenderness and quantum guidance.
I wish that my inner demons make truce with themselves. They drive me crazy, especially at night, especially in the U.S.
I wish to make peace with my intergalactic orphan-hood and with each of my multiple identities.
I passionately commit to make all these wishes come true, even if only in the realm of imagination, poetry, grassroots activism and art.
(I wish to thank Emma Tramposch and Anastasia Herold for helping me to organize my poetic thoughts)
LA POCHA NOSTRA LIVE ART LABORATORY
2857 24TH STREET
SAN FRANCISCO, CA 94110
pocha@pochanostra.com
Hell D3C0D3D /
Recall,
On November 2 I realize Halloween at this point in my life has no meaning just like Christmas it has the stench of a sales man with nothing to sell, but an all consuming idea. But I do feel I need a time to explicitly remember the dead and face death as a mortal that I am.
On this day I was lucky to be part of Highways Performance Space Dia de los Muertos Celebration. It was a performance that stemmed from a workshop conducted by La Pocha Noestra at Highways.
The Performance itself was a variety of talented performers showcasing a variety of styles. Ranging from dance, singing, to performance, some including all three. Sneak peek pictures coming soon.
After the show I was honored enough to be invited by Mike Meanstreetz to be part of a jam performance at a house in Echo Park. It was a Zombie Day of the Dead Party. I was happy enough to freak out some more and channel some ancestral wisdom to freak out the locals. Didn't quite get enough at Highways I guess. In the end it was a wonderful piece. Lazer Blade on keys/ sound/ mythical puppet performance, Mike Meanstreetz on drums and triggers, Zac Vidal on sax, and a new one I just met (groove guy) ARCHITECT on sax...SAX, duo it was monstrous.
Here are some lovely pics via Amy Darling.
Don't forget to water your Roots.
Much too Weird for your scene.
-DBL
<a href="http://mikemeanstreetz.bandcamp.com/album/dia-de-los-muertos-performance-d3cod3d">Dia de Los Muertos performance @ D3COD3D by Lazer Blade + Zachary Vidal + Architect + Josie Jay + Mike Meanstreetz</a>
