writings

Tuesday Night Post # 2-5 /  by DBL

Good evening to you all,

On this slow and grueling Tuesday evening my body seeks to lay in the soft heap that exists in the bedroom I have created in my head which is filled with foam like material that gives to my weight just enough to make me feel like I have no mass but still have a shape.

-DBL


*     *     *     *     *

Shoreline

Every time I open my jaw I can hear it rip from its joint
You know when you are sitting in the grass
Mind wondering
Hands that yet to go idle
Ripping moist green grass
As you mindlessly listen to your lover’s story
That feeling
That rip
That sound
That’s it
I open and close my mouth wanting to hear the noise
Feel the discomfort
Maybe it’s just to convince myself that
that is what it sounds like
Or it’s just that I still don’t believe that my jaw is doing that awful sound
Well eventually I forget cuz the dull pain at my temple starts to wander in
Maybe it’s the opening and closing of my mouth that has allowed the pain to return
or most likely it’s the five blows to my head in the last month
Hmmm but one wasn’t even to my temple
Ok to be honest three to the temple
One to the cheek
and another flashing one to the right side of the back of my skull
Elementary says the one to the back of my head would be the one to worry about
Strange
That one was the least of my troubles
Some say life can hand you a beating
But when that beating manifests itself to multiple beatings
That’s just a joke high tailored for irony only seen around these parts
Much jokes have meaning so what is the meaning of this one
What does it mean that the struggle did not end with me getting the worst of it
But feeling it
Sunken in the buff at the edge of the water
Sunglasses glaring this magnificent sight back whence it came from
Hat dipped low
Face trying to find refuge from this glorious sun
I sulk
Not in pain
Not in depression
Not in anger
But in existence
I play back the new visuals I have learned
The new stories to lament
This edge of earth I have built a humble home for this
moment of near life …
I’ve lost my train of thought and all I can hear is that
creaking
ripping sound
Sometimes the body is a glitch of useful actions
coagulating to a gunk of festering reactions
I have a perfect seat for this momentous view
The grey clouds that I have been enjoying
part
Orange glow reflected below
as this was above the dawning sky
A perfect audience at an event not so extraordinary
This sand so moist and willing
A seat for my ass
My head speaking in one-line stories
I sink in to this mystery that I think exists and I think I am attempting
To solve
Water in my boots darken the shadow that already is draped on my shoulder
These cold knees ache only in this contest
I am only a net filled with lost shoes and thrown away wigs
As I float away
I remembered that I left
a black pen in the pants that are in the dryer



Tuesday Night Post # 2-4 /  by DBL

Vanilla Friends,

Nothing to do on this Tuesday view of this post.  Eating cheese and crackers I serve you one more just to get some laughter.

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *

It resembles the urge to urinate on an object to be neglected. 
Primal reactions that we keep from arising.
Actions that even the most educated blue bloods, especially the blue bloods, will have arise like eruptions of vomit when poisoned with a tainted substance.  Maybe it lies dormant in between our connecting nerve cells with no purpose, but as a reminder that we live in a visceral self.  A self of only a few that can be confused by behaviors that existed in the primordial ooze.  Convoluted structures that we extrapolate from necessary patterns and triggers that have no purpose in biology, but serve to add symmetry and un-kink the fluid thought of reaction. 
A play that replicates nature so as to learn from it. 
In this action origin is lost, distance is made, action becomes reaction of the one long forgotten.  Lost is the thought that started the first.  Finding the end of the ropes would only serve to tighten the delusion of a solid foundation. 
A foundation that is to be uprooted if it is to be discarded. 
So strong is the urge that it transcended with us as we voyage into the digital ether.  A higher self lifted on the shoulders of the previous self.  A dusty note from a memory not forgotten, it was just misplaced.  Let me describe this in accurate terms; a memory not lost, but in our endless procrastination it was left on the back burner. Bubbling over steaming…this is a different kind of smelt fish.  
The verb is the description. 
We understand things as they pertain to us.  To understand the Natural Law, as we see it in our endless wisdom,  we must not enter it, we must let it enter us.  We become the concept.  We have hooves. We must fly. We must melt.   Yes us. A bottomless possibility of new, higher, sounder, fire, lighting of the speed kind.  A lesson in play. 
This is play we are play science is at play.



Tuesday Night Post # 2-3 /  by DBL




 Feathers of a similar bird with confusion distilling their evolution,
            The way we meet our fellow neighbors as we approach this Winter Solstices, like much things, has an E at the beginning.  Just as mail has been thrown up into the ether, so have our desires.  We shop for the traits we know and we discard the unknowing things that fear has wrapped its tail around, blinded and bonded, it keeps us from wanting.  Misspelled words are now re-laced and misplaced chromosomes.  In an action exist movement; in a word exist data, these words you read are a reaction of movements made and data gathered. At the end of this E, extends a slightly replaced intent.  A speaker that has no voice, a feeling that has no choice, this is my limb.  Exposed with no remorse a solid unit of grounded sorrow and ignited delight.  Do, as you will to this false anonymity, after all these feelings hide behind this divine brick E-Wall.  
-DBL


*     *     *     *     *    

The Sale
Rash, flash, this arrogant talk
and thrash that thrashes
Where do you wander
When you don’t have the cash
Tell me the moment you had a good time
I’ll tell you the time I spent it
committing the perfect crime
Simple folks find pleasure in sunsets and ocean breezes
On a Saturday night
I open my mind’s eye
with a severed wit
events to convince the other
with no time to seize

Table set and plates are adorned
I hope to find the word
in you that burns

Tell me

In faith I find no comfort
I only do
as I want with no one to help me sort
A simple act of willingness
organizes the blocks
These blocks will fall
Mix arrangement that seeks to spell meaning
False sense of security finds a way
to hold on to illusions and insecurities
With these words I thee wed
Into a conversation left to you maybe unsaid

*     *     *     *     *

Flow

Thumb
Thumb
Click
Expand
Shrink
Click
Page up
Click
Side scroll
Stillness
Flood of passion
Visual emotional response
Smooth tactile eruptions surface
Symmetrical evaluation of form and color
Inventory of social clues & social economic plans
Digestion of subliminal archetypal communication and projection
Summing up                      diffusion of fear
Reevaluation of self                      pheromone data mining
Plateau                     resolution

*     *     *     *    *

A Meeting with an Image Taker

A flash
A singularity
A taken image
These are things I share with you because I do find it disturbing
Not to find morbid analogy in happy occurrences
I’m just turning a human want into something that is joyless
These words rolled out my mouth very well and very nice
My feelings are much more silent and much more bright
I’m the type to shy away from portraits
but on this page I have to swallow the thought
that we all enjoy seeing not touching what employs us
After all my sight is visual
Lights and shapes are what control me
Without the image I have but the feeling to toy with
I hope my thoughts find you well
We all do need someone to
Hold us
See us
Remember the shape we had
during that moment
The movement
this is the thought of historians
If you need a thought to share
By all means let the curious unravel
A line left unsaid
is a seed discarded
And image unseen
is an artist obscene
Never fret for your untimely arrive
Where we meet only depends
on the photorealistic memory
that our thoughts can gather
As I empty out my roll
take the time to cleanse your wounds
the intake of fluids can drown or clean
these gentle walls of Maya
Close the shutter
My form is yours




Tuesday Night Post # 2-2 /  by DBL

Americans,

This post comes via on the road. At a few workshops this week. Hope this post finds you content with your exercised right.

-DBL

* * * * *

Waking to take the day
To the same point I did yesterday
In the morning I cleanse my body for the daily bread
That I will earn until I am dead
It's hard to see past the daily squabbles
As the news person speaks their coded babbles

For you my disregard for worldly affairs
Leaves you to judge what's in my daily prayers
Please excuse this informal approach
With great respect I hope there's no reproach

My ways are set to such a degree
I've lost the fear of injury
With honest words I introduce myself
In hopes you return a simple hi in good health
My clothes that cover my body
don't say much on me
I hope I can uncover my honest decree
Yes I am looking for a reason
Just like you I can appreciate the changing seasons
This I say probably will have a larger cost
I stand by my need to expel misery
This I find in honesty

Let me have my respect and space
I am more than just race

Tuesday Night Post # 2-1 /  by DBL

Friends,

So here we are again

-DBL



*     *     *     *     *

In This Action They Trans-versed What Already Was Rehearsed
(Stories of the Two)

Life is forgiving
This life forgetting the next
A chain of memories dissolving into self
Not paying for the scars
This one was for free

A devil gives only what is wealthy when it is lost
Turning pages in anticipation following you just to see
In that time I spent staring at a lovely space
My head held to low missing every beat

No sense in taking it all
I found myself waiting for the fall
In autumn time I avoided stepping on the leaves
While you dissolved in their misery
As we stumbled to meet in the middle
We ended up stepping on our feet

Every part I remember
Especially when I rubbed them free of soreness
Your transition was warranted
With this revolution I was left with defeat
Solo los quedamos con Dolores

Glimpses of the lovers in past lives
Of lovers in twisted embrace

Now on this cloud

A time line of encounters
A radiating spectrum flooding my consciousness
An awaking of the past
I can only make sense what weathers
This subliminal task

A body with its breath fingered though mine
Mutual termination with passion as a noose
Mended hands flowing away from the truth of the fire
A growing mound growing old and tangled
Enemies of the state finding
destruction in our hate
Individuals of influence dancing in a hall
Judging not
who we were
what we were
where we were
But living tall
Children touching
holding
sensing
questioning
A rock with its shadow
A rain fall on a meadow

The brightest one in which I saw you across the hall
One glimpse I knew I knew you then
Never again did I see you again
To make sure I had a chance
I replayed again

Far I am from the one I was
I can only recite what never was
With knowledge came a void
A void of miss-care and neglect
My rational mind becomes a holy reject





Vacation Return /  by DBL

Hello interweb,

It's been a bit since I have posted. Few hiccups along the way.  Started to become a good worker bee at work. It is time once again to continue with the real work. The one that wakes me up everyday, the one that is and has always been my true love. The work of creation and creativity. Nothing is lost only gained. Nothing is destroyed only transformed.

Lost some value work along the way but this just means I have to create more. With this I leave you with a lil something. It's all in fun and in desperate need to be the only thing I can be, human.



Changed my hair to be a winner

I tried to grow it despite my lack of dinner

When I changed the color

I soon realized I was a broader version of my mother

Then gorged on avocado to make it grow

A thousand days through rain and snow

I found it pleasant when it shielded me from the cold

On my way in from the weather




Wrapped round with this stringy leather


One false move I tripped on a hose fell flat on my face

and broke my nose

When I made my way up my room

My chilly toes with ample hairs

lost their traction

There I went tumbling  down the stairs

My hairy friend his name is Scotty

Took his scissor bite

trim me with no remorse

Needless to say the cut was shoty

When I sported this new cut

As I entered a dancing club

No one seemed to notice the twelve foot hair that wiped the floor

The single hair survived now tangled in every foot from the wall to the door.

In the darkness my head was jerked

In every direction

fuck yeah it hurt

No one saw the reason

They thought it was just the new dance in season

A pretty lil lady soon came to danced with me

At least as much as I could see

My face was in pain and a lil bloody

When the music finally ceased

I got on my knees

Holly fuck that was scary

When she saw me she thought I was playing

But said yes anyway now we're married

Tuesday Night Post #50 /  by DBL

Hello,

Excuse my truancy.  Hears my note.

-DBL


*     *     *     *     *

The count down
There is a measure of time
to flow in a rhythm of dread
With each given thought 
a new one is read
Center choices are renewed
Several become askew
There's one choice
flow foward never down
A choice overcomed 
from the ones that everyone removed
Sitting square with a lean
This lonely choice is obscene



Tuesday Night Post # 49 /  by DBL


Criminals,

In all our individual squareness we still find a way to break law.  A break from images I settle for some words.

-DBL

*     *     *     *     * 
 
     

Stepping lightly in a maze
Every turn can be a phase

Let one fall the rest remain

From the top there is only fear
for all to swallow and disappear

In that moment civilization maintained

Laws are made to protect
Dignity left out by the great architect

Beast rely on the love

In the holes left by hasty design
Leeches settle in civil decline

Life is lived never shoved

In the mist of discontent
Masses drift with no vents

Shedding all that remains excess

In the end we find the truth
In nothing but the bitter root

Slowing down what needs not progress





Tuesday Night Post # 45 /  by DBL


Scattered Few,




"The closer I got to the reconstruction
 the farther she got"





The closer I got to the reconstruction
the farther she got
In a way I found what I was after
Not the truth but the way the truth makes us respond
But then the truth is the way we respond
Myself to the ground I followed the line
Every lovely curve
To every abrupt change
The lesson was in the way
I had to shift to fall into the groove
On time nestled
another split apart
Just as I was a child knowing not when to let up
Things broke and several pieces went a missing
Union came not at the moment
Union is not a definition
Union was the memory there after


Tuesday Night Post #44 /  by DBL



For there to be union first there must be two or more things to unite; a cast of characters to portray the waves of reckless bodies accidentally becoming newly formed moments of ingenuity.  Or reflect the unraveling creative darkness that is consumption.  Imploding stars.  Particle accelerators. scientific advance...these unions are the ones that flicker brighter after they end.


Here are a few photos of heads I am working on. 







Tuesday Night Post # 43 /  by DBL


 I’ve given it a bit of thought.  I have decided to tweak the Tuesday post. From now on I will see Tuesday as a checkpoint.  I will use Tuesday to present ongoing projects and document them.  I will also hope to present my concepts and intended goals.
The way I approach my work is very fluid and intuitive.  I find that sometimes the only way to comprehend something is to unravel with it.  It might be a bit unorthodox, but the result is in the action. 
If you wish to find meaning in my work I would say the definition is in its temporal whole.
There can be times when discussing meaning is unnecessary; times when even the artist can be wrong about their meaning. 
I periodically go back and write notes on my notes.  It helps to keep me focused and see the whole, backing away from the sometimes, sticky parts.  I have been putting it off, but I think its time to look back at the notebooks and sketch books.  Maybe present some pages on Tuesday. 
It’s been a busy two years with many obstacles and sidetracks, yet with some fruits to enjoy and many to nurture.
On this Tuesday I will post one of a few things I have in the works. 


Union

Union is a series of drawings depicting various stages of union.
What do I mean by union.  This I hope to illustrate. 
Here is one drawing in its temporary stage:







Tuesday Night Post #42 /  by DBL



Strangers,

So I did not post last week.  I have no excuse but my own will not given.
I hope you enjoy this drawing from my sketchbook and some words for you to read.
-DBL

 *      *      *     *     *




Tales From the Sketchbook
In search for the structure that make my behaviors’ unfold
I search the pages of my own sketchbook
A book funded by the cult of the white box
A clean white page
A symbol of creation manifested into empty space
My rule as I have formatted
Create a destroying force that ends in a balance of form, concept, and beauty
Design is a result of the actions existed in between
Beauty is not a promise but it lives in the moment that is soon lost
A loose fitting composition
held together by its individual decisions
The action is driven by the need to fix
The fix is directed by the action beforehand
A promise is an experience
The result a map of every moment felt
 

Tuedsay Night Post #41 /  by DBL



Broken Ones,
Good night.

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *


There’s a shoulder
An arm to go along
Existence trails on the realization that there is a hand
A thumb with sharp pain
This I remember
The real that is me turns
As I step on the edge of the steps that
Flow below
My thoughts are on the step I have not taken
Altered views show process is
Not a thought
Yes
when hands run on the surface of what I am
I remember also
This is not what it means
but begins as it starts
In the end
There is
a foot with a brother that is the left
Not forgotten but easily replaced
Prosthetics are
 but a replacement of
what we wanted to hold on to
Taken is a part
of the whole
that does not effect the new
At end of this new I hired a friend
She made a crate
66x24x12in h
there I put the me that that I seem to lose
the thing that always seems askew







Tuesday Night Post #40 /  by DBL



Readers

I am returning to the series “Stories of the Two”, I included a short one just to recap myself.
-DBL

* * * * *
Out This Chair

Out this chair
sticks two arms unadorned
Made of wood on end small hands peak
Held out in front reaching from the back of this chair
Held out in front of me
Wooden
Bare
In no resistance
This chair I think
My friend to seek
Sitting
holdin weight seems improbable
a hand shake stiff
familiar to my touch
options end in mystique
Stepping back making space for this interaction
Forward came the hands
Hitting the ground a finger splintered
To adjust this new change
A simple action complete
Three-strand rope finds its way
Circles just above the wrist
Even layered rest the rope in rolls of 4
If you ask I will speak
As it is I own this thought
Rise to its legs
The chair is held

* * * * *
The Return
(Stories of the Two)

An event not recorded but always remembered
Both left with a part they did not previously know
In his thoughts he tried to let go the things he did not own
In her action she tried to dispel the image that allowed her throne
The flesh remained in his heart the rest exchanged for the divine spark
She remained free to allow this cruel earth to destroy
What remained of this seraph on earth
A want to perish
A persistent love
A rope that ends
For her a new life that began

Now both at ends that differed from the beginning
They met
They embrace
They unified the actions that made them complete
As fire burns hot and energy is consumed there exist an exchange
If we remember that we wait for an outcome then it soon ends
If we feel that there is a process that is where it lives
In this story of the two the beauty was in the exchange
What remains to understand is the in-between

* * * * *
As a surprise I left her with a thought
And empty one that later fills
I find that when I try to find the end of a tangled rope
I must forget that there is a beginning
I slowly find the way
If I see that parts are undoing then I know I am on my way
If I stray and start to maneuver the other end confused
I don’t move
A change of thought
I know I dropped a few
Of the things I thought I carried well
As I age my arm degrade but my balance achieved
Time for me to remember myself and who I use to be


Tuesday Night Post #39 /  by DBL

 
Gentle Followers,

Back cause I could not stay away.  Wanted a longer break, but guess I had more reason to write than to break.

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *

Hear that creak
that people speak
A language not well known
In one hand
held
the thoughts that interfere
In the other the thoughts that make things clear
Open palms
Intertwined
The hands put aside
Not used to caress
In their travels they fake disinterest
An image taken
from the recess of the mind
A hope left
for the unkind
A single fish
swimming in shallow waters
Cutting through the water
No direction
just joy in the sensation
In its speed exist its agitation
Primitives waste time on meditation
Round the earth
With no rebirth
Soon the waters ended
A land once a living soup
Turned upside down
Pre-dawn nuke
Mismanagement
with the forbidden fruit
Grabbing hold of the fabric of time
Nothing
Never
Ever left behind

Tuesday Night Post #38 /  by DBL




Brethren,

A joke is funny only when people laugh.  When is it inappropriate to laugh?  Give it a try to laugh out loud is to show the light that shines.  

-DBL
*     *     *     *     * 

Mincey Sweet

Laying low on her side

Saving tears for later tries 

Moving slow to not surprise

Crawling in between to paralyze 

She rises up when there's a threat

Even though in doing so there is regret

Danger near it is queer 

it is erect

Falsely feared is the love 

She kept so near and left it shoved 

in her hub

Never took the offer sent

From other ones but kept it bent

in her fold

As be known to the rest 

She has a throne but she stands alone

in her question thrown

If I fear what I love than is what I love what I destroy 

With a look she made it shook

With a wall she made u crawl 

Singer sent to find the foot 

of yet another timely hook

Lets pretend we were never there

Let it happen once again in disrepair


 *     *     *     *     * 



Enable Me
(Non Existent Virtual Conversation)

Hey u

:D

What's new

:(

Moving far

8)

Can I get there with my car

:)

Don't go there make it here

8/

I'll be ur prowler

...

Are u scared

:{
You should be

:|

Can I come

:/

Can I be ur lil helper

;/

Did I say it wrong
:p

As I thought

:]

Just a thought

:8o




Tuesday Night Post #37 /  by DBL



Shoppers,
Usually around this time of year I feel a bit down.  Not because of the melancholy holiday season that helps us remember what we have loved and lost, or the drones of shoppers scrambling around trampling for the holy spirit, or the bombardment of Santa’s puke of green and red smeared over every wall, not even the tiresome list of holiday songs which sound off the many things this holy day represents, Rudolf I assume, got me down (well to be fair they did but not do to what many might think).  What has got me down in the past were feelings of guilt knowing that many of my love ones would be buying me gifts I would love and need.  Need? Yes, need like a new pair of pants or a bundle of fresh underwear.  
They would be putting money and time aside for me and in return I could only provide my acknowledgement and gratefulness.  Having been a fulltime student with a job in the past and being employed on and off since graduating I have never been able to consistently return this gesture.  Yes, many would say a nice handmade something or another would be quite a sweet gesture.  In the past I have done this but making something for every love one is quite a chore.  A chore not cursed upon, but a chore that required time and sometimes some income for supplies.  Others would say why bother.  This season was invented for spending and capital gain.  Well I feel the same, but that does not stop my love ones from giving to me. 
Well this year I have been fortunate to find consistent income, time, and patience, which provided something for the many that I love.  The list is long, many have touched me in profound ways but only a few consistently do it and are at arms length, so only the very close made it to my shopping list.  
To consume this is a thing we all do.  We also produce.  We are living in rough times.  Many are unemployed, underemployed, or heartbroken and at the end of their wick.  In a few months there will be more in this pool.  Our troops will come home looking to get back into the world they left and might have forgotten.  Where will they fit in this struggling economy?  How will they readjust?  How will they forget the world they left?  They are coming back from a world turn upside-down.   Will it feel the same in our world?
This holiday season I am a bit more joyful than in the past.  I am even getting a kick out of blaring Christmas songs, maybe in a semi ironic way, but the child in me will always be present, or presents???!!!  For some things turn for the best, but these are awkward steps on shaky ground.  There is a long road and a dark one that needs a bright light.  Personal embers ignite this internal light. 
God speed America.
-DBL

Tuesday Night Post # 36 /  by DBL

Followers,

A little collaboration this Tuesday.  With me is A Rose Perished.   This post is a bleeding of lost thoughts trying to find a meaning.

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *

West Wind Finds Me

As a child I left many doors closed
At times eyes shut with light switches up
Several evenings adorned I felt exhausted
I would need this for the trip back, she said
Of course I conceded for lack of mis-contempt
Just this once, I cracked the window one hair’s width
In this space entered
What I called AAron
Bringing back physical objects proved difficult
Though not impossible
As I learn I void
Fully adorned I felt more fully exhausted
I remember a box with a square hole
This I found familiar



Tuesday Night Post # 35 /  by DBL



Aphenphosmphobes,

Hears a song.
-DBL

*     *     *     *     *

Pedophobia

Running with one side to hide
I find no peace in being recognized
Shortness is the best
I hope to die at a quicken pace
No one showed me how to eat
From the hand that is human mystic
In my mind I have one resolution
To find a friend in dissolution

Marking the points that make it clear
The end is near and it is fear
Thinking oneself as just a smear
The end is near and it is fear
Wishing the enemy wishing it near
The end is near and it is fear

Saving time for conscious delusions
Lets erase our erroneous conclusion
Whose to blame for my low self esteem
Is it just in my bloodstream?
In years to come will you give me a vaccine?
Or will the fear find its way
To turn on it’s self and disobey

An assault rifle to commandeer
The end is near and it is fear
Revolutions water the mouth of the financier
The end is near and it is fear
Population is the evil says the marketeer
The end is near and it is fear

Ending in the right ends in wrong
We all seem to sing a similar song
Taking in any innovation
Without proper investigation
I love the sight of kerosene
When it douses the natural machine
One way I chose to live
Is to choose to believe

(repeat)