Sang bleu (In the wilderness)

five black chickens quarter death's door
facing the great ghastly tree
blackened mass pool black
upon dry ground

beneath oxidized sun
drained bow in reverence
take down this night
a dedication to holiness
chilvalrous command

ink sweat
sang bleu
the waiting room of the mind
the pattern we cannot discern
assaulted sky
young blood upon her feet.

--27 Oct 2009
--25 Nov 2009
--28 March 2010

somewhere between blood and rust

seething shores descending
sons stagger unhinged and flay
keep safe between bridges
diving to conquer a thing found
dislodged still.

dredges tension sticking
pressure columns palpitate
beating to a future
scars encrust.

the history of rust aching
silent daughters disembowel
a sieve filtering language and bones.

....some glad morning when this life is over, i'll fly away...

suckle unto a solace falling
unmangle and let stay
tincture tastes a stench remembered
among massacred dancing toes
stabbing kisses that damage and hang
spewing severed perception and flesh.

...i'll fly away, oh glory, i'll fly away...

--21 oct 2009

weeping pear

"I bruised my pear. It's weeping."

--composed by Pintitombi

Flaneur

Flaneur for surprises. I'm bursting open with feelings
spilling me bare.

---18 Aug 2009 at 9:38AM

On the ocean (for my sister Jessie)

this moment finally
full of desire
i can touch it
it's right there
everything passing
egypt is waiting us
holding on where the sky ends

this moment travelling
destiny telling tides
surrounding us around
but i'm out there
on the ocean
soul overflowing
reaching for them
feeling life
for us.

--3 octobre 2009

an anecdotal glimpse

"Unknown Journeys"

And then I saw him. I saw him from halfway across the gallery, a guy zooming in on one of my tee-shirt designs, the one titled Yeux Noirs Self Portrait. I was still drinking the first of
two night's glasses of red wine. I approached him and introduced myself as the creator, "my name is Maxime," as the artist whose artwork design he was shooting. He then hurls the camera video around upon my unexpectedness asking me "what's my work about?"

The camera is practically kissing on me for an interview. I quickly shoo-flied away the usual petite swell of shyness, the immediate self-query of "oh what do I say and do I look a bit retarded behind the camera?!" and dived upon the opportunity and embraced the sharing of who I am and the ideas and emotions that excavate my work. I speak say words of memory and loss, something I know to be true for me, but that I now have no actual memory of what I said. Then I tell him I have 4 designs hanging on display in the exhibition...he says, "Where is another one?" I responded, "down the other end, follow me please."

He and camera video trail my excited nervousness to my drawing of three feet titled in Italian and French, Abbozzo _Trois Pieds through the tightly packed plethora of bodies smiles nodding, the buzzing of energy and the subtle frenzy of hands reaching for delicious hors d'oeuvres walked around by a lovely perpetually smiling woman in a black veiled thing wearing red or carmine lips, russet titian hair up on high or above shoulder. I can remember seeing her eagerness for all to partake in her delicacies.

I say, "This one is mine." My mouth opens something about the body, the figure in transience and that the image being a detail of a large figurative drawing I'd just completed; a comment about time. Only then do I ask this blond tall quite good looking Aussie surfer type man what's his name, who is he and where from, what, newspaper or whatever and why is he videoing some of the works, and mine in particular? Dylan answers that he's with the Gallery and that a video is being made documenting the variety in styles of the tee-shirts in the exhibition and that my work struck him as very different from most of the others and stood out striking his attention.

I can testify that you never know where something will lead. Have courage, spread wide and leap off the mountain even in despite of the fear, following your joy with unknowingness,
anxiety and uncertainty! But you may know this and by your life can testify also.

Joseph Campbell

It is only by going down into the abyss
that we recover the treasures of life.
Where you stumble,
there lies your treasure.
The very cave you are afraid to enter
turns out to be the source of
what you were looking for.

- Joseph Campbell

The possibility of the heart bending
breaking from too much.
A tender thud.
Weight to yearn and cherish.

--9 sept 2009

Guts of grace

Every face you meet the cusp of a story.
Thousands exist in the bowels of the city.
Grief happens. It is passive.
Mourning a thing to be dealt with.
Oblivious you fall open the door feel the wind.
Walking into the ordinary terror of your life.

Guts of grace.

---9 sept 2009

somewhere between blood and rust
--8 sept 2009

crash

we impact each other.
our lives.
we crash into each other. various ways and times.
we are connected.
life is mystical.
a paradox, uncertain and beautiful.

--26 august 2009

life is short but sweet for certain

i am bleeding sunshine.

--26 august 2009

Remembering George

this video was made by another self-taught artiste in milwaukee jose chavez. jose too is another inspirational artiste impacting the arts.
you will see jose with george in the studio in the pix when he's welding.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oe3og8aY_nA

george and evelyn the lady you see with him ( they were partners),

http://evelynpatriciaterry.com/news.html

http://www.evelynpatriciaterry.com/

both of them are special spirits and artistes beaucoup mucho talented and have and continue to influence my life. both were very supportive and encouraging of me as an new to art and emerging artiste in milwaukee at university in art school.... well not even emerging at that point as i was at the early stages of my art exploration. they were my mentors and they were influential and brought a strength to the arts community in milwaukee and nationally and internationally.

both are beautiful souls.
george was a unique light, generous of nature and spirit, a beautiful man. george and i had many many long conversations about many things.
he was a searching soul as i. i miss him. and it it is sad to see this video but it is warming to my soul too.

we impact each others lives. we crash into each other in various ways and times. we are connected. life is mystical. a paradox and uncertain and beautiful.
reminds me of the lyrics/poety of the musician singer songwriter dave matthews of the dave matthews band which i love, i'd love to see them live ......................
"Life is short but sweet for certain."

art is unending and has origins in a realm without words and labels,
but when art is true it is felt and seen. george impacted my life and that of many many others.
i am grateful he was my friend and a fellow artiste.
george passed away unexpectedly a few weeks ago of an aneurysm.

i'm sharing with you a glimpse of george's life, his spirit. he is truly missed
by me and many.
the legacy of his art lives.

---22 august 2009

morning tears flowing in joy

She's gone and got herself a universe.
--22 august 2009

Noah

this thing.
this thing inside with me
like my brothers and sisters
will not let me go.
though i am leaving
i hold tighter
kissing me.

i am breathing
gleaning this thing into being.
i feel noah's mouth talking
enfolding me.

--11 august 2009

wet flesh translucent back

maybe i'm misunderstanding something as i have a limp horn.

--- écrit le 10 aout 2009 à pintitombi who speaks of a wet-fleshed individual.

in praise of winter walking

on winter walking there exists a perpetually blooming bush deep murky purple flowers en route down church street turn around corner then more down hill walking to exercise track that each time startles always in awe. even now i feel its vibrant nonchalant thereness, a kind of beloved mocking my senses into awareness of acquiesced petals floating abstractions gracing the ground. purple praised up hands against the blue beyond.

it is speaking to me, '"i cannot be denied, come unto me,
you cannot resist my infinity, gaze upon me. i am beauty."
it speaks the truth.
i am humbled to be enraptured so. hallelujah, hallelujah!

--20 july 2009
--2 august 2009

I'm a sea pig.
--16 july 2009

before her leaving

before her leaving, i too could not imagine her not being there. and that was my greatest fear, the imagining the thought of her not being there, the unfathomable fact of how i could would exist without her. my mother was also my bestest friend so that makes the longing deeper. this void has evolved into a bearable unbearableness. life. soulful loving and to be loved as such
is a double-edged sword.

though i have lived to testify that the mind and the spirit are resilient. i have journeyed within descended down the abyss and struggled through and beyond my greatest fear. i have survived.
i remain here. and, paradoxically, i sense that this loss and suffering that i experience is in some mysterious way is a gift.

.....i am floating in a most peculiar way.

i am joyous to know that you and your mom are best friends.
that is a blessing.
grazie for the anche.

bacibisou
--15 july 2009

Will this world remember you

Calliope the Sea Pig is shy, bold,awkward,grostesque,spirited and creative. She loves reading&writing, grasps writing tablets wearing beautiful shoes.

Umheimlich, unknown known

anche

...i have visions of an aching ankle.

a thousand sunflowers

...merde i wanted it for you like a thousand sunflowers tommaso...
i shall cease talking now.
--23 juin 2009

Saudade - Remembering Rosie

We make memory,
born back ceaselessly,
deepening the darkness.
Irretrievable loss.
--6 July 2009

We make memory, born back ceaselessly, deepening the darkness along with the irretrievable loss that surfaces when we revisit the past.
--15 June 2009

( inspired 7 June upon hearing reading of F. Scott Fitzgerald's 'The Great Gatsby' )

phoenix

...out of here and into creation.

--3 juillet 2009

Quiver

it's like a flagrantly thrown dagger with no thought for the hearts in its path.
--écrit le 5 février 2009

Vermillion gape

Take me with vermillion words.
Cleave me.
I can take the weight.
An open violet gape wants to create.
I have enough inside.
I am not closing the cave door.

--le 5 juillet 2009

Internal Dialogues

SOME FIND HER BEAUTIFUL

"Love finds and sees beauty,
so those who love her find her beautiful,
i'd imagine.

(pregnant pause)

But damn,

(petite pause)

she ugly tom."


FAME HOUNDESS

"i ain't no pyscho celebrity fame houndess"


"to grease my sustained interest and energy"
--written dialogues, 17 july 2009


KEEP REPEATING

"and you, i repeat stuff tom.
i be repeating stuff over and over,
damn, over and over,
keep repeating."
--verbal dialogue, 1 july 2009

Matin d'Adieu Michael Jackson

Dear God, let us be alive before we die.

and the telling and the telling is the story.
and the story is the searching, the understanding.
-le 23 juin 2009

The violent hours

The violent hours.
Thoughts like tired birds.
To be beloved in this world,
The hungry night.
Redeem what you must do now.
A conscious decadence
Trying to tempt truth to dance with me.
What do i know?
Breathe fearlessly.

-le 7 mai 2009

Asphyxia

wake quivering
wings beating
soundlessly
different voices lock like bulls
sprewing orange glow at raw dusk.

-19 march 2009

...exalted cage

i am early up by grace
sqawkings speaksings piercing each night
just there beyond the pane
my exalted cage

i yearn one voice though
there there up among unseen
my feather friend

i am gratedful to witness the cyclical permutation
as dawn veers her head latterly
the world shifting as darkness distends
the sun's ebbing presence in the heavens reversing.

-le 4 mars 2009

melbourne eyes

....succulent and vivid

Sunday Morning Permutation

i'm up early here being graced with many wonderful different birds talking singing sqawks
to my ears that speaksings to me each morning just beyond the glass of my elevated abode.
i yearn one daily voice in particular to see his or her song and what types couleurs of body feathers is worn up there in all those tress by that one my feather friend. i am grateful to witness the cyclical permutation as dawn veers her head latterly, the world shifting as darkness lengthens with the sun's ebbing presence in the heavens reversing.

Cleave

To suffer ones death and be reborn is not easy.


to find those things
those things that linger there
still


time lost in histories
to live fully in this world
then banishment complete
left only for mice to read



memory's fascist face
narratives of the child persist
when stories stumble


things turn up telling me
write about me
tell this idea of myself


enlightenment
our mind remembers
a realm of wonderful
and feels the radiance of untruths


i have thieved everything away from you
the grandeur of this life lived
those we need to know most
we know least
all what remains is what was
its pregnant absence

...fire words and cool heat

the sun is rising again
kiss me again with your eyes
yes i am the one
-7 feb 2009



it's a beautiful night
from here to all those stars



fragments
feel the phenomenon
the words coming out of silence



the darkness behind the romanticism

and stones move silently across the world

the idea of stones as travellers
not fixed but erratic
a location of sentiment
broken away from a mother bed
carried centuries away by glacial stares
create whatever needs to happen
mother stone
body of stone enact one place to another
listen imagining dreams
and stones move silently across the world.

-écrit le 6 février 2009

third person narrative

......third person narrative evokes the writer and the character(s).