I really want to get this going....

Each day's listing is an excerpted edit from my work. These are numbered and sub-headed for ease of read and isolation from full body of continued text. Each small excerpt is a single-themed piece culled from a much larger whole. Please follow the heading numbers down to #1, or click on 'archive'. The highest numbers are most recently posted, obviously. If so interested, for follow-up, you may contact via e-mail shown - perhaps for discussion or annotation needed.

Thursday, January 19, 2006



So by my own comparison I sit here wayward and derelict thinking about everything old and how it comports with the modern day and I realize I'm out of it and lost to the ages anyway and most of my mind is spattered and spent amidst the danky gray smokes of another time and place - Hans Hoffmann and Philip Guston come to mind right off and then Jean Arp DeKooning Reinhardt and everyone else in that smaller enclave of old wealth and wisdom where I once happily found that metaphorical bottle I drink from and drink from still and to hell with all the rest - for my modernism now has taken the curve and headed out and anything left is a shambles of pieces and broken shards of litmus and loyalty broken on the back of some pig in a Joe McCarthy mask and the essence of everything else is of laughing gas and not much else ('over the river and thru the woods' so to speak) but I live by choice in the darker realm where nothing adds to nothing and makes no sense anyway and the cloak of the mist is the same cloak in its fogginess that brings clarity to all that it touches - I outrace ny headlights so I simply turn them off - and some second floor window balcony just above the street gives me the place I need to sit and so sit I do and even with the occasional rain sputtering down as if my own spit I gaze down to the place below and KNOW IT only as some marketplace of filth or some agora of lies wherein everyone passing has two feet in the mud and nothing to show for it except a whistle and a dread as they pass and piled behind me are canvases high with the mighty paints of some other days and mightiest reasons of all - BE THEY art and creative spirit and urge and the written will of WANDER and the flux of all that is - and standing athwart all that I KNOW I HAVE NOTHING TO FEAR and fear not anyway while the biblical page of the ark is moving before me and I sense - though I do not hear - some creator's words passing through me and SOME COVENANT like this is all I was meant to have and where they park the covenant is the Park of the Covenant and when the lights go out it is the Dark of the Covenant and the noise that HOLY DOG makes is the Bark of the Covenant and on and on it goes in some ridiculous Talmudic joke of words and letters and endings and ages and I but a witness witness nothing but ALL THAT IS.
And what did the penitential white collar crook say in his confessional ? 'Bless me father for I have skimmed.'


At 10:38 PM, Blogger Chuck O. said...

It's funny, I never knew Modernism as modern. I never knew post-Modernism as modern either. There's something ironic about that. I guess the modern times I know of really aren't all that Modern, are they? Always something interesting to read here.

PS: The Bark of the Covenant by Holy doG. hehe. Got it.


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