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..."