shadow grounds

27.12.17

voice

in the construction and constant re-formation of this self and personality it is natural to look nowhere but outwards, rather than in, as an instinct. watching the others and how they live; their faces, their eyes, and what secrets play across their features that they aren't telling. subtle and not-so-subtle hints at the inner workings of the human, and how these behaviors relate or don't relate to my own - i am an amateur researcher of my own kind, of the humanimal i both am and wish to become.

one thing i keep noticing, time and time again, is the presence of and absolute necessity for an individual voice.

11.12.17

THE impulse

-brevity for aesthetics' sake-

the stars are so close and looming, it's like i'm underneath a blanket with holes in it... and my bed an enormous field. a tipped-over cow, asleep, serves as tonight's pillow.

the snow ravages a town. with low, dense clouds and growling winds that shake bones, only ice and powder are left behind. sleepy humans rise and face another dawn, still half-dreaming

and

hyde park, uk

poetry can be so abstract as to become almost meaningless - a line of words can be a curtain concealing entire worlds of meaning. if these worlds are not easily accessible through the experience of reading or hearing the words which have been chosen then it is only mediocre poetry. good poetry takes effect immediately upon being read or heard, though true understanding is of course another matter. maybe true understanding (whatever that means) is not as important as true experiencing.

i've been reading bukowski and cummings and hughes a lot lately. i think these are some incredibly good poets - i only feel, and see, when i read their words. the poem itself is a door into sensation, image, life. i love the simple look and feel of their poems, too - it's like looking through a window into an anti-extraneous world. FINALLY. simplicity!

is it all pretention, any rendering of the Real Life Experience through hypersensualized art forms? transforming the Glorious It into something easy-to-swallow, or pleasurable, or labyrinthine, or beautiful?

(we humans are quite obsessed with beauty. as individuals we know when we sense it, we know when we do not. we lust after beauty for it lends meaning to the mundane, though only with the use of perception).

i only ask because i wonder why it is that we create, why we simply must add to the chaos, add to the pool of the collective subconscious. maybe it's all we can do.

. . .

this is the perfect driving-and-howling-in-the-desert-at-night record.

so many good songs. each one a world unto its own. "cuts like drugs" an instant classic of the 90s. unwound sounds all over and inside this.

hoover - the lurid traversal of route 7 (1994)

BECAUSE YOU AREN'T AFRAID TO KISS THE DIRT

(AND CONSEQUENTLY DARE TO CLIMB THE SKY)

31.10.17

the raw sun

musically i am in a void filled with the great warm Nothing.
warm like a pile of dried leaves which we crush,
or perhaps the fluff from an out-turned childhood pillow.

i wake up in the middle of the night just after my soul is sucked through my skin -
i open a window and a crackling fire of ice enters my lungs.

exhaling smoke.

🌕

with tenderness i go finding and seeking

finding less than sought

seeking more than found;

days filled with fiery sunshine

strange hurt i knew

that made

me seek the burning sunlight

rather than the shade

in months of snowy winter

when cozy houses hold, i'd break down doors

to wander naked in the cold

(paraphrased, langston hughes)

egon schiele, house with bell tower, 1912

🌕

i

acknowledge my temporality
rest my head
look into animal eyes
touch my skin
remember the soul

speak a word

revert to purposeful

purposeless
-ness

🌕

UZEDA - "right seeds"
4, 1995

italian noise rock

incredible female vocals