I can't find my way home, said the bee to the bird
There was no reply, the statement unheard
We require our dirt to live lifelessly
We slaughter our kids, it's done knifelessly
Neo, neo, nicotinoids. Neo, neo, nicotinoids.
She goes about her work, is precise and thorough
Can't comprehend fear, can't understand sorrow
She's a hard worker, like those she destroys
She will go all the way to kill all girls and boys
No neo nicotinoids. No neo nicotinoids.
I call you
from the land of no gadgets
No iphone no ipad no ipod no nothing
I call you
Listen for my brain waves
They travel silently
Here they come
Now they're knocking at your mind's door
I was born in
the Land of
I left Yearning
in Search of
I returned to
Let me sit in on your crazy world
where cows grow holes and
gunshots heal wounds
Where oceans aren't rising
There is no change in weather
What are you talking about
Man didn't come from monkey
Animals don't feel pain
Hell, I don't feel pain
I drink American beer
This Fear Doll:
Rock this Fear to sleep.
Sing a Lullaby for this Fear.
Then, when Fear is asleep,
gently kill this Fear -
She loves old things.
Old houses, old tables, old drawings, old books.
Old trees, old cats and dogs, old people too.
The old know
we walk bridges across water
from one riverbank to the other.
Rive Jeune to
we throw stones, leaves, a flower
our hair, parts of fingernails into the water.
These sink, or float, will one day
All things old are loved by her
because Old knows Death
in Life is
I'm not going to be afraid to change things
to paint like I draw
to draw like I build
I'm going to do what I want and not worry that all directions that are within me are too disparate
They are all me
I used to have no fear of this
Moving to New York changed all that
But I say screw the Art Market.
Like I have said before, I say it again with renewed vigor
Screw wagging tongues that don't see solid foundation underneath oddness or ugliness which they don't understand
They too readily see it in a more "academic" drawing of mine, for instance
Who cares about the huge family of forms that yes, comes from the same tree -
as long as the fruits that fall are all true.
This theme of Self Protection,
it is quite warm.
And might you be concerned,
the grey swan whispered,
for what will be?
In pockets all the
stars will rise
to smash down millennia later
Upon mourning heads
of state and heads
of empty soul.
The Ants are Busy.
walk barefoot on pine needles.
Beeswax floats out,
like your heart when your Little One
wakes from his morning nap,
The sky it threw me the shadow of a smile
and laughed and laughed in my ear
and I figured that this is the way I can go
and I could get out of here
She said to herself -
I think this is gonna grow
I don't think, no -
From the sea grows a pond
From the river grows a creek
The water finds its way
Baby bird finds Mama's beak
Some things that my art is about -
Desire and Yearning;
Love and Hate;
Fear and Vulnerability;
Pain and Beauty;
Humankind, Other Animals, God and Nature;
The Individual versus the Whole;
Conscious and Sub-Conscious Thoughts;
Conscious and Sub-Conscious Feelings;
Mystery, Movement, Dance and Standstill.
Simultaneous Youth and Age.
Wisdom or the Pursuit of it:
The Radicality of that Pursuit of Wisdom.
On a more Quotidian Level:
Aiming to create something Irresistable.
When I am old and
lose my marbles,
will you tweeze my
chin hairs, and put
color on my lips?
Faucet dripping, house on fire?
Do I smell a smell?
Is the situation dire?
Children bawling, cats mauling
inside my insides
Pebbles, you know,
may glow in the moonlight
If it feels right, go for it
Even though ocean tides can
be heard far away
invisibly erasing the bay
All is good in the realm of reason. Just split your mind in two, your heart in two, your body in two. Numb the halves that disturb you. Hell, split them in three, in four if you like, all is good, all is good. Numb the weaknesses, carress the clarities, control is good, feed your command center, starve your voices.