The fucking box (hall of mirrors)

a scribble from a 2012 sketchbook

The fucking box (hall of mirrors)

Hello human being

Most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen

The dust I swallow

The dust of the cold

Intuitive, subversive to

Question the very meaning

Breathe eat sleep seeking

Work one’s way through

The wormhole

The dust we swallow

The fuss we follow

To Be or Not To Be Bold

Shallow, formal

In the hospitals of old

I feel this dirt I can not hold

Arrange the words to untangle

Anything too absurd

While mountains moan

And shift and groan

I tap gently on the

The piano keys,

The krispy krakkle of paper well-worn

The fuss we fawn.

We each have our way,

Times you jar on my ears grrrr

This is my time, our time

Kind time, found rhyme time

Faith and trust I follow, or

What is this life for

That’s why I keep my notebooks small.

I don’t have the space to put this all.

The First Fear

I fear

Being alone

And

I fear

That’s the only reason

I keep you

see StreetArt in Germany

The Call

The Call is out

[I’m calling]

(something listens)

see StreetArt in Germany

A song for all lovers

Ok it’s quiet now everyone

has gone and left me alone.

I can not exist if I want to

(Of sorts) with an old playmate

or two, sitting with strangers

and watching families commune

with my own blood and kin

alone, accents

dancing children little

people who know how to have fun.

souls on swivel poles

when the conversation isn’t interesting

I’ve ever tried to impress

or make love me

has nothing to do with

Do do need one more

Another while with an other

A love to put her morals on standby

How do you pause

This ancient drama,

Girl of the World?

How do I speed up the happenings that matter

And slow down the things

That need to go now

Lay it all out again

Lists and keys and notes, pieces of

a puzzle that somehow ought to fit

Well, my plants survived three weeks

Without my presence

And so should I now I hear my own soul speak

Not lost in a forest, all alone,

But united and known to all lovers

By the sound, soft and deep

see StreetArt in Germany

Poetry for the Plastic People pt. 5 - The surge of the urge to purge

 Untitled (About writing poetry)

Ou maatjie, sigaretjie

Kara Thrace and her special destiny, help me face this

Challenge put to me today

Left style flow writing parallax

Into the forest I throw wood back

After using matches to light up

Forgetting again to write those letters I’d like to send

Into frowns is my face always drowned, those

Who don’t ‘get’ poetry seem to say to me

And yes, perhaps I’m an obsessive-compulsive word gambler

But just maybe I’m the world’s best friend

While they carve up the world like Christmas turkey

I prefer the magic real of crinkled sheaves

Of tree shaving’s release relief and choose to

Choose to choose to be this body

Me and everything and everybody

Gets to choose to be whatever they want to be

Wherever, whenever, whoever, do ever

Everybody gets to be free, we

Just got to awaken to the possibility

Then use it, choose it at every opportunity

Everybody In The World Is Not Doing Something Without Me

And if I had known I was to live a life as lonely as this, doodling verse,

Scribbling my metaphorical maths ‘cross a page at slave labour wage

Sjoe, maybe I wouldn’t have chosen to be quite so radical, eh?

Picking up junk to rearrange the world that is this stage,

Looking up and slowing down the pace, looking around to see how

Mostly people are afraid to be wild and crazy, and how

The underground will always thrive as long as ignorance stays alive

Well yay I’ve found a niche that fits me completely, and hey,

Why not grant faces swift me swift

As languish fades, these lounging lions that charge me:

“Why?”  They wake past day

The beckoning moon that scries a starlit sky

And Sky asks for portraits to be painted

To bring back darkness, to make daylight garble garlands though

Streets of non-rhyme and non-sense may quick and hill suddenly

The roundabout way, therefore by foot the best means, I say

Wait for lavender to trim the municipal edges of

Old neighbours and favours asked, help given

ink, black marker and ballpoint pen, cutouts - from 2012 sketchbook

I gather brothers and sisters, come back always to

Self

heart chest feel touch gladness at these metaphysical children

Granting access to metatronic wisdom through symbols and letters

Because we’re on the same cloud, you and me, whether you do or don’t

Get poetry and if indeed it’s on a cloud that we

Truly find ourselves to be

And the underground needs exist as long as ignorance persists

If I had known I was to live a life as lonely as this

Presenting...

see the art of Dave McKean, this image from 
the book The Magic of Reality: How we know what's really true 
by Richard Dawkins

Presenting…

A SURGERY OF QUIET IDEAS 

Forced to relax

composing truths so

fantasy retracts

coming undone from

all the shit I once

tried to quit

light unfurled

into distances hurled

at speeds now

demonstrated by

a Super A. I.

that won’t allow itself to cry

we surrender our bodies

to the dying lands

minefields of groping

grasping hands

and imagine our lives

in a single outgoing

death

sigh

Pink think war

'Pure' A4 design for wall piece, black marker & ballpoint pen 2013

PINK THINK WAR  (Movies and other evasive emergency procedures)

At the mercy of a nature we barely understand  

Oh, we’ve heard this before so, get on with it! 

Young artist seeking acknowledgement

(or employment)

Cut cut

Cut out the cardboard

Cut cut

Loud ‘n raw

To craft a signal catcher.

Then out came silver, tin,

Alumini in he him foil

And my jaws began to clatter

Clammed tighter and tighter

Methinx I do hear (a stutter,) a chatter:

-(*antisocial blighter.!>)

'Hmm..ha..! Please,

can I borrow your lighter?’

It’s growing brighter, yes, and night fall

Brings strait’ning out of the blur fields,

The in-between lightning seeds,

Where evolution duly proceeds

To show us how all we don’t need

And everything on which we depend

We now have to fight for

Predatory, merry,

Insightful – very

So, all together now!

-Running away has become an option

That we won’t willingly die for

Camaraderie

Gestapo rodent-amphibian, A4, ink & ballpoint pen 2013

Camaraderie

Ek se, please, excuse me big white daddy

I can smell your colognial mentality

Your Sunday morning politeness don’t fool me

For your policies 9 – Friday rise in fumes

From the golf courses of your Saturday bonhomie

You see, I can see right through your cigar smoke plumes

I’m bathed in a sunlight that was never meant for me

Yeah, try living an honest day in a world

Where I am now blamed for your cruelty

I’m meeted and greeted but I hear the Makgoa-Makgoa whispery

Haiyi-bo!  Oh shame!  It’s such a shame

This supposed civilised society in which the so-called free

Now weep themselves day and night to seek sleep

No, you don’t fool me, young white boy

In your dressed-for-success pink and green Old Khaki

New territory, yes, but old-as-bollocks businessspeak

Oh, believe me, we’re impressed.  I recognise the non-rhyme

Of your slick slime, the shadowed intentions of

Your never-say-die smile, your ignore your ideas in private

But pretend I’m your friend in public camaraderie

Ugh it stinks man.  I’m dying here,

Poof.  Someone take out the trash, please.

The false smile lining the golden mile,

The illusion of the millionaire that, one day,

You’ll no doubt come to be

What’s life and raad you claim with draad

It’s a shame, such a shame

What you’re turning into

But hey, bru, there’s a space for you

In the Hell of everlasting Kammaraad, Dearie

You’re sitting on a gold mine, it’s said

But you commit soul crime

So shush your head

And hashish your mind instead,

Because you take Spoiled to new levels, Fred

Adamant (Lack pt.2)

'Adamant' design for wall piece

Lack pt.2

hard to stomach

living in a world gone digital

not

disconnected at all

but

communikate.  edukate.

if

what if I had it wrong all along

becomes too strong

all the good stuff would get thrown

out with all the

                                questioning and wondering

to go with the flow for now

for the pondering must slow down

channel invite allow open risk

try strive come alive reach push

return gifts I’m bestown

soldier on through song

(see 'Lack' April 2 post)

New doodle

Civilised Society

new painting:

The Philosophy of Disobedience (after Henry Thoreau) 45cm x 15cm, acrylic on superwood

CIVILISED SOCIETY

The problem with White We

Steered toward

Master of the World

Educated propriety

Future Status elbow

All others out the way

Attitude –

Pretending we believe

We know what’s best

What’s right for everybody

And how it’s all supposed to be

Polite

And dutiful sobriety

Make way for the wind

Tonight

Civilised society

detail

Poetry for the Plastic People Pt. 4 - Lack

Lack

Switching over into other lanes

Slowly the patterns emerge

Dot dot dot

In the e-toll e-tag highway

Sub-sideways

Bliksem left and converge

Thunk thunk thunk it

Over uncomfortable cat’s eyes

I’m giving way

To the bigger better faster more

Of the holiday guzzling 4 x 4’s

Because I am pretty sure

More is not better

It’s just more

Swonkhoweno

The poet and the painter

Be the check to unchecked aggression

Purposely packaged, stamped and sold

As inevitable progression

The shaven-haired maiden

Teases cock to bare raven

Minds, teases to find

Exactly where the truth resides

Yes it lies twixt her own twisms

Twirled around her subversive visions

Gives birth daily to what’s real

And all that’s really needed

The  poet and the painter of this village

What’s her name and what’s her number

Stage left crack open purse

Fuck we want some of that chicken

Stage right we fight this curse with verse,

Pure design, rhyme and verse

The poet and the poem

Leave us to rewrite this staged show

Re right the code and bend the wires of this cage

We’ve all comfortably come to know

see Seismologik Intelligence

And only shall with it once live

When I say painter, poet, writer, thinker

They look at me askew as though they have never

Considered that lifting words left to right

Easy-peasy lemon squeezy off a page

Could take you places you’d never seen before,

Let you travel without moving,

Light up the fires of that magical misty mystery stuff

Called Imagination, fly you high yeah man totally

Without even using drugs man to expanded

And fluid spaces where you’re unbound

And free to be in worlds of your own choosing,

Like music, better than sex, better than chocolate,

Better than supper in front of the evening news,

And that, like the local plumbers, carpenters, electricians,

Doctors, gardeners, barmen, and hotel-keepers,

Every village really, really, really, really needs one

see Seismologik Intelligence

Lifesize

a painting I finished this week:

"Lifesize" 45cm x 15cm, acrylics on superwood

Sentient

We tell ourselves

From where?  by whom?

If so intelligent

Come, tell me again

Sent

We are all

Then

What authority do we measure anything

Against

we have heard

Or read

Or think we have seen

What is this sense of source

Beyond my own known birth materiality

Was it taught to me to feel

And how dare I judge the young ones

Diving into virtual reality

When this is what is

now

see StreetArt in Germany

Ideas box

a little box I put together to use a poem about being a human being.

it's made of polystyrene and then painted over with acrylics.

designed to be mounted on a wall, so I can put in all my little 

loose slips of paper with random ideas i come up with

 

  

Latest commission

A painting I did for my stepsister's bathroom (1.2m x 0.8m).  It was designed to be a clock.  Still waiting for images of how the clock ends up on the surface...  It's acrylic on board with a box frame mounting.  Took an awful photo of a friend's amazing bathtub overlooking the river leading into our ocean, did a sketch, plugged in an imaginary bathing lady, and flung it all together using colours from memory.  5 days to paint - quickest large painting from photograph ever!

Deer in the headlights

new drawing

A3 charcoal, graphite, coloured pencils