From an old photo of a dead soldier
Killed in retaliation for the horrible Sand Creek Massacre of 1864
Paint on canvas, 2020
Tuesday, October 20, 2020
Friday, October 16, 2020
Just a day in Olympia
beauty in the mundane
the machine elves
a hard woman made of stone
ridiculous wealth
drowning in wine
Wednesday, October 14, 2020
Sunday, October 11, 2020
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.
Saturday, October 3, 2020
Annotated Time Relay
Annotated Time Relay
he crept up to the flaming sword
with the promise we can't keep
ah, the rest of it like a bomb
a spider lingered from his dream
turning this gospel drag queen
into the lost angel of power
of love or of doom?
around the head of his velvet sunset
a dreaming night was gone
amidst the last peal of thunder
spinning overhead, rolling the dice of god
around and around
the grey old wheel is turning
to save me from their unbelief
like a beautiful woman wrapped in her swirls
in a sea of dead pills
while the spinning worlds collide
through the sound of coffee
competing for occurrence & forgotten beaches
a beautiful story being sung of a new world
trying to be born in a haze of blue picture
to still the sands from falling
trying to be born from sea-glass and flowers
trying to be born from computers and time
trying to be born in a sewer of white ashes
we play, always innocent, and search the heavens for you
around and around
the gray old wheel is dreaming
to save me from their unbelief
shining the electric church, empty snow
where all is at peace forever
empty spaces in the sound of gentleness
spaces shining and sparkling, falling heart
a whole in my heart, inside of my truck
a place where they would stop and pull over
to bury the innocent dead animal
the one with the quiet brown eyes, watching us
falling into the whole world filling with leaves
falling into the blood of Christ, garbage and need
written in a vast and lonely cloud of doom
victorious and calm alone in this room
around and around
the grey old wheel is dreaming
to save me from their unbelief
hanging above us all now with knives
wide of her angel wing heart
dropping what I can't seem to quite remember
dropping onto a fly spinning through air
whom calls these droning forgotten words
who see's the one found against the wall
with padlocks and moth eaten shirts
a thousand years ago
whom do you call for on the dome of the living
whom do you hold when the flash is right
sound upon sounds, ranting to my silver ships
ancient hair spreading your utilitarian obsolescence
around and around
the grey old wheel is dreaming
to save me from their unbelief
a wave of ocean and a dreamy ambient composition
children play at forgotten memory
unknowingly competing against the side of reason
rocking and swaying like these lost little girls, stereos pulsing
unfolding in her head
children playing on and on
falling into soft sound
falling into the theater
the theater of love
out in the hollow and black
the remembrance ending the words
softly pacing the stars in nothing holy burning bright
around and around
the grey old wheel is dreaming
to save me from their unbelief
searching the heavens for something unfading
it had to be that way
like water sparkling in western light
empty space falling into my wounded
loves and vines and desperate blood
made whole in five acts
the one remaining hanging in the sky
violins on fire and guitars gently weeping
no need to make sense now, look around
big sky holding down metal and love
singing to stars in a blazing white wind
flowers and horses and a singing kid
around and around
the grey old wheel is dreaming
to save me from their unbelief
Thursday, October 1, 2020
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)