... If rape or arson, poison, or the knife
Has wove no pleasing patterns in the stuff
Of this drab canvas we accept as life—
It is because we are not bold enough!
- Charles Baudelaire
(Roy Campbell's translation)
"a mile or more in a foreign clime, to see farther inside of me" - syd barrett
But I sold my freedom
For free room and board,
Like a monkey in a zoo. - Daniel Johnston

Friday, March 23, 2007

about him...

Who/What is him... ,

him... is a name stopped short of complete expression..... an existence stopped short of complete manifestation... an entity stopped short of its complete individualization. him... is an attempt to capture the glimpse of that which just stopped short of an occurence, the glimpse that was just caught for a moment by the corner of the eye and the likes of which can only be pondered upon by the presence of imagination or the mere lack of it.
In this light Shakespeare's "What's in a name?", can be extended to "What's in a name, or the rather lack of it".

If the imagination is in the eye, then the eye is what is I (and him....) Imagination stopped short of expression, of manifest expression, of formation for I am but my imagination, and the very lack of it... Wht I see is all I am and wht I am is wht i fail to see.

Leonardo da Vinci once said "Art is never finished; only abandoned.". Art is an expression for imagination and its abandonment thereafter, or in other words the lack of it thereafter....

him..... art.... expression..... imagination.... all references to one and the lack of one....

Monday, March 12, 2007

dancing in the moonlight ...

At times I wonder, what is it that a man lurks around for in the silent corner of the enchanted night while the crowd gathers around the burning logs in the revelry of the millenia. What is it that his mute mind whispers to the wind behind his ears as the silhouettes of the forms swinging by the firelight gently morph into shadows of wolves, dancing in harmony to the decadence of the un-dying night.
And why is it that he feels a smile stretch across his cheek while drops of tears stagger down his moist skin like a river cascading down the scars of an abandoned past.
Perhaps, that is why no matter how much we enlighten ourselves we shall be no more wiser than this fool in the corner that is throwing his tear-laden smile at us.

(Photo:courtesy the internet)