The building in the sun

 

Beyond words or identity

 

The ancient perfect day

 

Death of the father

 

eclipsed doorway of blood

 

follow thine own star,  I suppose it should be said

before darkness yields to dawn and night to the black net

oxygen winds humming across the long empty beach

trace fog and sand skimming around the dead from the seas

 

Man the post & gust the wind for Abraxus

Midpoint the waves & run on the edge of this knife

In dark all night visions blood spills out and soaks the yard

So upon waking the Adjustment Bureau

Blunts the goal 

Roads the gain 

Cuts against self pity

And forces discipline

To drive on for balance and an effort made

Remember, you fool!

Death is upon thee and her black shrouded skull whispers ever closer.......

The road to your house

 

Inside a world without end

 

break glass with words to clear head

 

Key of G: em-D-C (vi-V-IV)

Oh cages of dirt,  

calling out to all songs

Won't you find the skeleton key

The boy king ruled the night with robots and stars

 

witch broom

 

19x25

paint on canvas

2022.GC

Back from the Dead

 

deeper than the deep blue sea

 

Brutalist

 

Dead gods and the darkness come again

The dead Gods probably don't listen anymore

and the clouds hold poison knives

the gold thread kisses all but me and

her lost voice, her hand in mine, her awe and love reciprocated 

are lies I made up in dawns bed

Like winds across the womb of bones in a box

just another illusion of Maya I once believed in

this black hate embraces me again and like a joke

I am enfolded within oblivions loving caress

Emotions on shuffle, hand in the wine

I am nothing and nobody

the engine of inspiration silenced

as the news tells hourly of gods rejection 

while they laugh and spit and fuck each other

Give me your hand, empress of dreams

this last prayer cast out for the little ones 

that held me up like a hero 

and made my stupid life finally matter

I am pain and only live for others now threatened

for the weak ones crossing the world of lies

I hold back the winds of terrible rage

I am the dam of fearless judgement

and my teeth are bullets for fools saluting flags

Even the few friends seem fake

and canonot use my own name

the waterfall rages through the night falling

and the noble animal savages what it can

stealing freedom in the dark

I live only to feed the birds now

until death comes sweetly

befalling the wings of grace

And this typed confession is spread out

out and over the world

to be turned finally to the dust of ages

forgotten, unknown, unloved, and empty

May death come to this creator!

this mad and horrible god

May waves of cosmic fire

destroy him

And free the innocent souls 

the happy and innocent souls

trapped by the fearful and lying Archons

of material dominion

set all the ghosts free

and may they live again

in a place without pain

and times endless

onward

march

before bed the concrete house

Concrete and ocean

Before bed time the trees fall kind of dreary and numb, 

broken even to tears, 

to the beach plot where its all laid out in the wind swept hill

and I have ten years of my time

no time before I succumb with wild horses

to smoking and alcoholism

in my brutalist tomb of safety and windows light

of coffee and paintings the size of my wall, 

my wallet the size of the ball

all night long the art life for me 

as the smoke goes up into space with my 

holy ghost

outer space swimming with weird lights, 

I am quiet inside all day

and with what time I have left tonight, 

tonight, and only now tonight, you are the one

you are the one

I am with you now come get me

black iron lovers

stand up and fight, the moons white slice through yellow bread.

a howl is heard screaming up from the broken distance. 

something is reborn, 

something that had been afraid, stepped on and squished. 

waterfall roaring up and into this full ear of rainbow

and the blood pumps like a drum of war, and the blood spills out red into my hands

kill the monsters its shouts at me

kill the rot with this flame of blazing word,

a flame of blazing birds, 

a place without unheard 

kill the rot and harbour the deal

until time turns over and dies

"American Gothic"

welded steel in concrete

painted black

sculpture, 2021

House

House edge with pond

20x30

paint on canvas, 2021

The Silver life left

The silver life left

18x25

paint on canvas

Broken Glasshouse

Broken Glasshouse

26x38

paint on canvas

Castle by the sea

 "castle by the sea"

  55x49

  paint on canvas

A hollow victory from my ghost dream of freedom

 

Soft in the head

 

cries easily and constantly expects war

always ready to fight to the death

it's tiring

loves cats and is good with plants

walks in nature to forget

let's go easily and becomes nothing everyday

with coffee waiting he loves the cold and when its dawn

the blankets are heaven and often

there is no need to live

ready to give in the last breath and disappear back into wonder

soft in the head he is like the fool 

of the magic cards

 a pawn of love waiting to be reborn

sculptural head

 

Sand Creek Massacre, 1864

From an old photo of a dead soldier 

Killed in retaliation for the horrible Sand Creek Massacre of 1864

Paint on canvas, 2020

Just a day in Olympia

years of changes

leaves in the rain

the tidal wave swallows the land

beauty in the mundane

the machine elves 

a hard woman made of stone

ridiculous wealth 

drowning in wine

cloud erasure

 

Peaceful total-existence 

In the rapture of the cloud erasure

crackers, whiskey, cats and sleep

A little bit at a time. I unravel my old earbuds and Posey turns it into a toy and I enjoy her cat-ness and don't react. She settles down in my lap and purrs and rubs her head on me. She is more like a small dog than a fat little cat. The machine starts in the morning. The news cycle hammers on, suggesting thought and untruth and unbelief, and the soul drifts farther into a quiet absence. When it can. Rain shuts it all down and presses us inward towards the human hearth. Everything is wet outside and the wind is biting in the trees. Candles burn quietly and soft music can be heard far away. Responsibility is an anchor. It ties me to the world and to theses people that I try to help out. It feels to me like there is a candle burning dryly in the pouring rainstorm, and it never goes out or looks weak or dim, and nobody ever finds out why. It just is. Black cold and wet night, the dry light is white hot. Tonight is the night the candle got all wet with rain and yet burned brightly. Like it is in the temple of stars right now, unassailable by tempest or divine successor, or the hammer of fate.  It just keeps on going like it is inside you and everything else all at once. Right now. And a few people remember it as a pillar, and the rest forget, and still, somewhere, it is a light in the darkness of doubt, available to anyone, anytime. And nobody ever finds out why.