sensory organs revisited
Untitled for the Night
Can’t scream with sore
lungs, can’t talk with
forked tongue, pushed
along by a fiery wind,
my body crawls on all
fours, over the hills, over
the bridge, stalked and
chased by an angry fire.
What does it want?
What do you want?
Flash of light, burning
bright, wolf, fish, cat,
dish, hunger without
stomach, violence
without arms, deep
desire, deeper, higher,
it’s after me but I’m too young.
I need time, time to be
and there are books to read,
and people to meet.
I’ve yet to live my life,
up close, to pull it
tight, against my skin.
I deserve to live, I want to
live.
No, no, I won’t run
bend or fold, I won’t
succumb until I’ve won,
I won’t resign until I’ve
tried, to face the music,
to face the fire.
(July 2000)
Part of my poetry collection · July 29th, 2008 · Leave a note (3)
Conditions were perfect
Mural painting, part of a set design inside the Simerom factory venue, Sibiu, Romania, 2007.
Part of my photography collection · July 29th, 2008 · Leave a note (0)
Misfortune
There is no need
no need
for this to be said
but to say it
to say it without
love would be wrong
Part of my poetry collection · July 24th, 2008 · Leave a note (0)
The Tenth Circle
How quickly this capitalist rot spreads to my core, attacks my nervous system, extinguishes the light of inspiration, passion and love; and how foolishly I respond with a cure of clarity, “reduce the thing to nothing”, chastise myself from life and flee difficulty like a chasing wave. Me, the fool who oversleeps in a bed of laurels and accepts others into the fold, to transmit the rot, to be childishly happy in the arms of this festering disease. Why should I wake up and punch clenched fists through thick windows, to let the possibility of something different in, something so distortedly and disturbingly complex as the intelligence of my audience that for so long I have neglected? Death to the infidel in me, who drinks from the corporate cup and bathes in the tears of the down-trodden; create for me a tenth circle and fill it with eternal clarity.
(August 2006, London)
Part of my poetry collection · July 22nd, 2008 · Leave a note (0)
Sketch of an Internal Electronic Thought Stream
An anonymous internal electronic thought stream. A simple text box on your desktop, accessible via your mobile, laptop or other portable device. For use within a creative institution, art school, drama school, university department, conservatory, artistic company…
Like Twitter, you are able to type in a line of text, an idea, a thought, a reaction, a word, a sentence, a poem, a hyperlink. All data forms a stream of real-time data.
A live feed that excites the intitution’s creative consciousness, a stream that communicates the intitution’s complex states of mind. The expression of collective culture through the exposure of fragmented individuality.
It is anonymous. It is humane. Electronic and therefore humane. It belongs to all. It breaks the taboo of artistic ownership. It bears its teeth at the culture of self-importance, of ego-centrism and of the pursuit of ‘free’ market competition. It initiates memes. It provokes conversation. It provides discovery. It demands reflection. It disturbs. It can be ignored but not forgotten.
It would become central. Collaborations would form. The cognitive sediment that would line this river bed permeates all areas of creativity. It would affect daily life. It would not dominate, it would activate. It is frightening and dangerous. It is frightening because it would lead to action, and dangerous because it would raise questions. It would be a social dream matrix, active in broad daylight.
Part of my thoughts collection · July 17th, 2008 · Leave a note (0)
Early Bauhaus Design
Taken from a slide at Goldsmiths College Library, London. Origin unclear. Probably Germany. Please clarify.
Part of my found objects collection · July 17th, 2008 · Leave a note (0)
Martin Kippenberger
Cover scan of retrospective exhbition programme for Martin Kippenberger’s The Happy End of Franz Kafka’s ‘Amerika’ 1994 at the Tate Modern Gallery May 2006.
Part of my found objects collection · July 17th, 2008 · Leave a note (0)
Body-Water
lie back body and ride the river in pouring rain with water lapping over face flooding nose with river grime head bobbing side to side water enters open mouth eyes observe passers-by burning bodies and falling bombs bouncing bottles of poisoned dreams rotting apples with wriggling cores dead cicadas dead cicadas dead cicadas chest and lungs drawing water swallowing maggots mangled trees on collision course with floating head split the skull see the brain with rotten core and dead cicada with open mouth praying in the dying light to leave the floating world behind and beat and bite into the night bobbing on the beaten brain luring all the passers-by to lie back bodies and face the sky and ride the river to the sea sever the reigns and set them free sever the reigns and set them free set them free set them free free free
March 2006.
Part of my poetry collection · July 17th, 2008 · Leave a note (0)
House
In this house of skin and bone,
frame supporting silky chasm,
I step into the black abyss — where
organs spin like jellyfish,
and heartbeats pound on goatskin drums,
where spleen and lung dance as one –
but in the dark, deep inside, who am I
but a guest it seems, the guest of me.
February 2007.
Part of my poetry collection · July 17th, 2008 · Leave a note (0)