Hey y'all.
Interesting times are happening.
Attended the Versus show here in Calgary.
Lots of strong work. Lots of friendly folk.
Apparently I'm "That Guy"
Which I've begun to conceive of Westernisms zombie.
The already dead are already free.
Read, "Half-hanged Mary" by Margaret Atwood.
It's a maybe.
Anyway, show was cool...two artists, one canvas.
Initially I had a vision of an aggressive event where to
people would be trying to conquer the same canvas, more like
an art battle, you know...with design strategies as your attacks, counter-attacks.
In the future somewhere that one.
Where did that come from?
Anyway...make the sweetest work you can.
Do what you can...may the day treat you
the way you deserve to be treated.
Here's the first part of a four part poem.
Stay attuned.
The poem is entitled, "Staying In Character"
Actually locating an entry point was quite the problem.
They were sleeping in the treetops.
No one was pointed in any particular direction.
Or everyone was pointed in a very particular direction.
It is not the simplest thing into, you see.
Maybe the story opens up as the sun crosses it.
Either way there is a lot of information spinning in
The slightly audible thrumming pathways.
So we step into the action just an uncountable
number of moments after it begins.
The tale involves some lizardy looking fellows,
and an unreasonable number of thoughts.
Luckily most of those were so whispery and useless as to pass
through the witness completely.
The whole thing was obscured behind the available mind
by the most inconsistent of veils.
We could see in as often as we couldn't,
which only served to amplify the confusion.
They were sleeping in the treetops.
We heard their stirring as the sun crossed.
But that was all.
No appearance.
No guidance through the thick bits.
We're hacking a line through some kind of
new electric wire forest growing on crumbled
Asphalt. The quiet vibrates with the strangest
buzzing insect I've ever seen. It drags some
part of its nature in its jaws. It has a halo of eyes.
No other creature comes near it.
Every piece turns around and the fallacy
opens its heart to its victims.
The hungry are fed and the exact
moment when we expected it to stop
and transform into a sense of something
beyond itself comes and goes. And we look at each other
with a sweetness previously unconsidered.
It's really a good way to begin all over.
