cellar door

Can should & will

Silhouette dressed
Visible and visited
On her surface
Poetry is old and scarred

Seen through our eyes

When it is ours

what will we take?


As the Moon



When is it?

Where is it?

What can we take


What will we take when it is ours
Does the world fail us
Are our words are no longer good

night sky

old and scarred

Poetry if it is to be good should be
Re-visited looked at again
As if it where a strain of virus mutating

We will take what is ours when

The world fails us


Is our ability to do good

claim the word which is ours when what fails us

Can should & will


Silhouette dressed against a night sky
Poetry can be visible and visited
Like the moon on her surface old and scarred

Poetry if it is to be any good should be
Re-visited looked at again
As if it where a new strain of virus mutating

We will take what is ours when


The world fails us

Is our ability to do good


claim the word which is ours when what fails us

sensation

Marianne Stokes "Madonna of the Fir Tree", 1925 

On the blue summer evenings, I shall go down the paths,

Getting pricked by the corn, crushing the short grass:

In a dream I shall feel its coolness on my feet.

I shall let the wind bathe my bare head. 

I shall not speak, I shall think about nothing:

But endless love will mount in my soul;

And I shall travel far, very far, like a gipsy,

Through the countryside - as happy as if I were with a woman.

-Arthur Rimbaud

Stop Time

I am
not here

a voice

on
the surface

another winged holy measure
subverting

prose and purpose given
its vice

and sleepless
nights

i imploded
into chance

what is it

why is it

who knows

why know

Conspiracy

Language and
Logic

Are

Outside of
Me

Existing in
Their

Own sense
Of self

Poetry

A Light
Whose hand

Art
Is crafted

Everywhere
Forever

Dreams of
Being

You

Within
Me

no poetry tonight

no poetry

tonight

i cannot write

language

and logic

not with me

the color of

a tree

will be 

argued

an entire 

night

everything

meaning 

anything

blinded 

in a 

light 

winged 

holy 

thing

bleed and then turn left

Words surrounded
Our encampment
Time beginning
Sex
Poetry, lies

and

fire
Lit throughout the
Night

What happened?

And to that young man

Fate had flung together

No words matched

Gathered
In afterbirth

Of cities

And streets
A mid-wife

Witness to

A beginning

Of

Dangerous
Prose

You Born

Among
The copulating serpents

I

Inconsistent

Naked and ignorant

In turmoil

In shit

In chaos

Together

Our
Lust created

Alchemy

Our death
A breath
Of lies

Your savior of

choice

Designing cars

Isotopes

Heroin

Turn right go
here
A few miles

Further

You will

come To A Foreverness

In a basement

In Seattle

We are

Already dead 

nothing last for nothing or no time forever or ever

empty house sits

cold in 

winter

empty old house

sits cold

naked alone

cold

old winter

sitting empty

naked

and alone

crystaline-rush

from my latter... a double exposure. 

No time to waste

Nothing goes unnoticed
Yesterday
Wrapped in secrets of tomorrow

A precession of voices
Refused to reveal its
Mystery

Moments lingering on a
Melody
Familiar yet forgotten

Light kept locked the keys
Of a future

Even here

influence noted

a random whim: constant and variables of a personal landscape

 

1988

1998

2008

4 x 6

house of mem

working late past midnight tightening the seal for winter weather is nearer everyday. not fully recovered from the summer of financial ruin (treading water just staying above the red), yet many fine things already are born from its dust... looking into the unknown always demands leaving some form of security behind... yesterday uncovered the above coat of arms depicting heracles with the hydra..

5 X 7

while in transition without space for larger canvases, looking to old masters for inspiration.
cezanne's "fruit bowl glass and apples" is the subject of a quick and overly satisfying challenge... and perhaps the beginning of a series of smaller interpretations... "thoughts of subversive in further classical training"

corrected quote to read "We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it. The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely." Oscar Wilde

outside in

small gains in
a world with
more chaos to give

Persistence of Memory

Washed up on shores
Of time
You and I
Unknown Holy creatures

Before this

Recluse genius
Hostage to a truth
Of noble mind

You and I
Forever knowing and
Not knowing perfected meaning

Seen and unseeing forces
Of goodwill and evil
Twins born of ancient ancestral
Stars

Before this

Soft hands separate
A swelling membrane
This between
You and I

one for the time being...

In truth I am a liar

I believe what I am are the things I will become

I have no economy

I am a mutable fixed stranger

Inwardly I cry outside I am a shell

I’m hung up on words

Exhausted in meanings

I can’t stop speaking or thinking

I maintain my weakness

I maintain my inspiration with grass

I believe what I think I am I will become

Memory is meaningless and all persuasive

I watch a half-naked moon

Waxing in black air

Nietzsche claimed God is dead

I claim I do not care

But this I can not go on speaking

Without risk of an

Honest portrait of self

state of poet

the

state of poet

is a 

poem

i

wrote

labored for a day

or so

on

its words

its

meaning

in

words

but this isn't it

it

began

like somewhere else

i

forgot but wrote it all down

can i

hear it

if

you listen

the

sea

another poem

tomorrow

another poet

state

of

occult image

to change

ones 

instinct

is to

change

ones

odds

of

survival

instinct

informs

physical form

one who 

changes

their

form is

known

as 

a shape-shifter

or changeling

these are Darwin's

creatures

to change form

is also

to change

identity

this

is all

important

who

one is

is

what one

is

5+4=13

everything
we spoke
it’s ridiculous was
so
long ago
lsd
the first
time I
to think
all this matters
before since
the reality
you
are a
star
to ten
years,
ago
maybe
later
after
everything
we shy
boy then
you saw me
before I saw I was
that we knew
that writes
before this
remember
ask
I
hands
of those
who
what else
was saw
reality
you I
was
clouds
a bright blue
sky
but that
this
1991
you’ve know
all the long
before memory
remember
this
that the first time
I remember
we meet
face could
a
man
I would think
such a there
the first time
we spoke
blurred moment
interrupted
baal
after you
was remember
so sad
I remember
was a of
you
lingers in
memories of I’ve
thought
of you
love
ever you
are
you
before that
my memory work
getting stoned
there was this
when there
was
remember
as I something
there
I bought your cd
how can’t recall
I can’t write me
reality
is not
so
simple
in the stoned
enchanted
was television
after write this
as I know
if it is I who to face
you wouldn’t
have noticed
or talked
you liked
my ideas
you
said

revelation baby

it's hard not to

think

when it's all

done

there'll still

be here

still be

now

it's too easy

to think

there's no

tomorrow

when it's all

in the past and

yesterday is

cold

it isn't hard

to remember

enough to

dream

another tomorrow

here with

the stillness

of the sea

i think i am in hell, therefore i am...

new work the "jagerleisa?" commissioned by Brandon Yakitori begun in my makeshift Claremont, NH studio - a small very recent highlight living in a town where there is no place to go... but up and i must tear it all down to get there - so far so good, my psychological state is stripped down to the primal elements of despair and catharsis, as they intern harmonize with the random forces of chaos and *luck. thank agog for small miracles... 

lv*

a daze of work, honest.

fell off in my hands. honest. i am very dirty here, can you tell?

empty space

from here i get a little signal so i can sometimes send you my thoughts... sometimes... and only if those thoughts are worthy... what am i saying... forget it, forget everything... back to my empty space...

kitchen of tomorrow

some believed that in kitchen of the future - "mothers would push buttons fast to irradiate frozen, computer-inventoried pre-fab meals: split second lunches, color-keyed disposable dishes, all part of the instant society of tomorrow. A society rich in leisure and taken-for-granted comforts..." my-kitchen of tomorrow now looks like this...

working on miracle street...

Interior view of 174 Main Street and a small glimpse of the task before me.

#13

What was i going to say? comm'on man... really... what was it? 6/6 always holds a specific relevance for me (it relates to the christ story in some sort of way, but more of that later... i suppose). 

the impetuous for this story began somewhere between 1993 - 1995 and my introduction to a chemical substance known to incite the "nietzchian  superman complex" --  and yes, those two years may have lingered on for two centuries for all i know... i have all my chemically induced text to prove it... 

anywho this story ends up, of course, back on a long, long greyhound trip home (for three days and three nights remember that christ story i promised you) and this now begins my thirteenth year of a humbled, stung-out return to my native new england coast... 

meantime, at present i struggle with being newly unemployed (perhaps the best shot in the arm my 'artistic' career has had in sometime), new mini-film projects in the works, a new home/studio to build, and lots to go through/clear out as is my compulsion to save everything...

whatelse? well, lets see... here it is...

Where the air is clear...

May 25 Sea Point Beach Kittery, Maine. i'm here as often as i can and thank you to my beautiful, crazy, amazing friends who make it possible for me. the day was perfect and if you're reading this then you may have a clue why... like the singer said, "it's here where the air is clear, where far off things can be quite near..."

there, here & now

yes, we are leaving...

it is early spring in this small town. a view from my bedroom window looking east. yes, the documentation will continue of my departure - and arrival to whatever is awaiting there- a few towns south.

...a house wide with dust...

...there was this town...

...in the church of my heart - the choir is on fire...

views from the terrace...

my reality... comprised of chaos and disorder...

my views from the terrace...

rizotto, the stuffed tuna, and the orpheus tree - traditionally 'up' until easter but what the hell?!? ...so much for tradition.



the 'fated sky' and another view...

?THAUMA TURGIUM!

friday, 4 april 2008 -- first friday at the Main Street Museum!

?Politicking Magic; The Iconographic Cross-Currents of Cartooning and
Conjuring; Selections of Graphic Art and Artifacts from the Chadbourne
Thaumaturgium? exhibition from Thursday, 3 April ? 27 May, 2008

Opening Reception Friday 4 April, 2008 from 6 ? 8 pm. champagne and
cupcakes!

Aerial Suspension (of selected patrons of the Museum) at 7:00 pm
our little-er members defy gravity with Montague Chadbourne,
prestidigitator and visiting research fellow for the main street museum
from new york city.

also: "TAROTovMEM" the random digital tarot readings (RDTR) of mark ezra
merrill. come experience it!

but wait, there's more! as a spectacular observance of the birthday of
graham robinson (main street museum roadie and esteemed volunteer), with
cake!
and our house band
Pariah Beat!
roots music and so much more!
playing the Museum Stage -- 9 to 11pm

All Free and Open to the Public! Donations accepted for the band!

self-portrait as marcel duchamp

one of those televised lifetimes...

you know me nothing is immediate god what is going on mopping up my life televised reality banality nothingness foreverness forget i said anything seriously forget it gorget me that's it thats the name live long and only for art love music find me in the purple light a great height falling felled picking myself back up again its this work like sisyphus said a nation of finks ask me ask again forget it forget everything forget nothing being time enough to be late the center of truth today is 1 2 3...I found the center of fruit is late, It is the center of truth today, Cut the apple in two,Oh, I pray it isn't true, I found the center of fruit is late,

Is the center of truth today, I cut the apple in two, Oh, I pray it isn't true

Tarot of Collaboration

Mark E Merrill as the fool...

onward...

the house mark will build. photo is last summer. (originally built 1888 - but as now no heat, pluming, or electric - luckily i have that three year architectural degree - and fancy new drafting software for my mac. plans include a 450+/- sq ft second floor painting studio, down stairs wood shop, stained glass studio, and of course some living space... ok. time to get to it...

IT IS ACCOMPLISHED?

when they look back at all this will they say he was a kind man? He was a good man? That he had plans? That he had wisdom? Bukkshit man!

soon...

...soon, all accounts of my language will s h i n e through. What this means is anyone's guess. I find I am now writing to appease the academic demigods to whom I am so... lovingly indebted. Is this what I imagined it would be? Does it matter? What matters? Speak, now I ask you... what matters? Is it this? or is it that? A jot? A tiddle? Can you tell me? But ov who do I ask? This this. This now, now and forever... Remember me as I am... as I was, as I would have been... I am yours... and no other....