pastorals (#'s 27 and 19)
Sweatshop. Beehive.
Copper eye
In fishnet; I'll bet
The last of my dust
That there's no one
To trust who doesn't
Spell fatigue with dip
Of morning milk.
Oh, sure
The finger dries, but
What size then, the decade?
Grindstone. Udder.
Dry, white minutes.
Soft flesh sullen
And safe. Death.
There
I've said it.
I was afraid
But then I was born.
Shorn from a body
Of novacaine fireworks
And anger tangled
In the beards
Of angels. Walk with me.
Tears are glossy
Minds are dull.
There
I've said it
A bull drowning
In honey, swimming
Until the cows come home.
***
Old heck.
Little baby Satan.
Satin
Fire
Marches
Into
Razored
Hawk.
Tall, red
Flowers
Jellied
Rocks
Socks
Full of
Feet
The beast
Dyes it's
Toes
Shows its
Woes
To earthen
Mirror, or
Crow, what
It did not
Know
It wanted...
***
Sweatshop. Beehive.
Copper eye
In fishnet; I'll bet
The last of my dust
That there's no one
To trust who doesn't
Spell fatigue with dip
Of morning milk.
Oh, sure
The finger dries, but
What size then, the decade?
Grindstone. Udder.
Dry, white minutes.
Soft flesh sullen
And safe. Death.
There
I've said it.
I was afraid
But then I was born.
Shorn from a body
Of novacaine fireworks
And anger tangled
In the beards
Of angels. Walk with me.
Tears are glossy
Minds are dull.
There
I've said it
A bull drowning
In honey, swimming
Until the cows come home.
***
Old heck.
Little baby Satan.
Satin
Fire
Marches
Into
Razored
Hawk.
Tall, red
Flowers
Jellied
Rocks
Socks
Full of
Feet
The beast
Dyes it's
Toes
Shows its
Woes
To earthen
Mirror, or
Crow, what
It did not
Know
It wanted...
***
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
Those are stills from Harmony Korine's excellent film "Julien Donkey-boy". The woman is Chloe Sevigny. I would put what the images I post are on the actual post, but it spoils the look; I prefer to have just pictures. I'm a little pissed off these ones didn't fit - I thought I was going to get lucky and they would fit perfectly, but sadly...
How are your paintings coming along these days?
I've mostly just been working on sharpening my eye for colour harmonies; I believe that's the key to succeeding in doing what I have very vaguely in mind.
I was 18/19 when I was into Schnabel, so I don't really remember any titles, except one that was just called "God"; that's a good one. I read a book by him back then that really clicked with me, called "C.V.J. (nicknames of Maitre d's and other excerpts from life)" and that's mainly what I remember him for. He talks a lot in it about what it means to be a painter, and what it means to be a painter in society, and I agreed with him on many things. His opinions said what I'd been wanting to say for years, as I fought with my art tutors over what I should be doing with my work. I insisted, like Schnabel, on having absolute freedom to make my own decisions and mistakes in the making of my artwork; but they just thought I was a pretentious eighteen-year-old. God I hated them. Some of them are well known artists now, but their work is crap; I was creating more interesting and original work when they were "tutoring" me ten years ago. Yes, I'm bitter.
Good night, my friend.