Deer in the headlights

new drawing

A3 charcoal, graphite, coloured pencils

My own medicine

Years of idle inactivity to spite the dream-pushing slave driver

Trapped in super awareness, craving for others

To join it in some selfish sameness

While the range rolls on in a continuum of

With or without me

Fresh bits per second of seeing into and through

The Framework

Of belief in Self and pretty doings committed

Alone in all this space

Memories stored in others while

My body destroys and recreates itself

Changing what goes into the blood

For a stronger future.  There is

Basking and relaxing and sunshine enough for everyone.

No maths or war drums and

No waiting, though

Discomfort in longing, still.

A rush apart – strange smoke

And pain in new places:

The moments serve to separate total being,

Chaotic punctuation

And I’m left to ask myself some scary,

Scary questions

I take walks outside to look at the ocean

To empty me out:

So many hooks I am hung upon

And my alien reflection looks up,

Talks through the polished floorboards

While the waves silently scream

Chill out!  You’re learning how to breathe

 

see Anonymous ART of Revolution

Kara Thrace and her special destiny

I got the crazy, but not enough mad

I got the woman, but no girly for no lad

I wander possible planets all day

But my autism isn’t on par, they’ll say

I got them original uniquely intelligent ideas

Yet the genius escapes me for lack of paranoiac fears

Like I’m almost there, always just out of reach

Of Their measure, Their standard, those

Prerequisites They preach

Poised to spring for the throat, holding in all my claws

I simply haven’t the human heart to kill

Though death-dealing burns through all fours

Crimes out there I’ll never commit

Grime of hateful spite I’ll never spit, ugh

Time to think but never sit

Rhyme they might not like one bit

But I honestly couldn’t give a shit

Cos I got the steel tits to go for it

see Anonymous ART of Revolution

The physics of specifics

tagging in Grahamstown

The physics of specifics

Being an artist

Contrary to popular belief

Is not very romantic at all

Especially here in (South)Africa

Where even the braai grid

Has its uses.

So, out of the hard drive then

And into the fire

With all these old ideas

(that I could not sell)

There is some peace in secret

Knowing it will all go with me

When I die.

I am good at general knowledge.