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"Political language... is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind" -- George Orwell
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Delayed Eye Movements
by stylus via reed Monday, Apr 2 2007, 11:03pm
international /
prose/poetry /
literature
to (brett)
Rememberwhen we tried to find happiness in a syringe; that Chinaman with nimblefingers dancing about opium tipped needles,those Asian places the smoky streets while you painted in blue-fire-hueswith your ginger skin and we drank women wine and "It's Alright Ma" (I'm Only Bleeding)
There was Nell's sugarcane face and blue-sky-breasts somewhere over the MLCand that little uni-student who had a yoni like an apricot in a battlefield.That day we met the sage in mission clothes and asked him (he wouldn't replywithout brown muscat we purchased) said Art was Ayres Rock's shadow on the south China sea.
ImagineWe bought tickets to a Mongolian temple to watch the carp and learn.
ReflectionsLoved to watch you paint to the tune pulsing in my veins, tinker of the Art world.
Rememberwe were broke. had my final realisation when you conjured $190,000 withyour brush in three weeks.
You painted Rees & Bacon on ordered canvas to the rhyme of prevailing aesthetics;a case of mistaken identity I think.NostalgiaGot sick of watching carp relish birdseed - the Abbot insisted that we stay; proximity was the reason.Benedictionsat alone at the pond when a hummingbird dived from the water into the airtapped me on the forehead with its beautiful beak three times
saidthe only value anything hasis the value given it then refused to answer further questions regarding Art.Took the gander out of the oven - people were coming to dinner without appetites,I'll save you a piece.
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