POETIC LICENSES

THIS AFTERNOON, THREE YEARS AGO, I SPENT ABOUT A HALF HOUR DISINFECTING, THEN CLEANING "IT" OF BLACK MOLD, VARIOUS FUNGI AND MILDEW.....AND DRYING THE WARPED LINEN CANVAS WITH A HAIR DRYER....JUST TO SEE WHAT THE HELL "IT" WAS 'ALL ABOUT'......THEN, SUDDENLY, '"IT" ALL CAME BACK': "WHAT IT WAS ALL ABOUT'......FEELING A BIT OF NOSTALGIA, I PHOTOGRAPHED "IT", SURROUNDED IT WITH A VIRTUAL FRAMING JOB....AND....HERE...IT "IS", UNBUCKLED AND 'RESTORED...DIGITALLY'.....AT THE TIME OF ITS CREATION.....1966, WHILE I WAS IN ONE OF PURYEAR MIMS' ART CLASSES AT VANDERBILT.....I WAS THINKING: "SOON, I WILL BE A GREAT ARTIST or WRITER or PSYCHIATRIST, or FASHIONISTA.......AND MY WORKS WILL HANG IN GALLERIES, ALL OVER THE WORLD!"..... WELL.......THAT DIDN'T HAPPEN, DID IT? I GAVE UP "PAINTING" SHORTLY THEREAFTER......CRESTFALLEN, THAT I WAS NOT 'THE NEXT BIG DEAL' AND ...

“All faith is False, all Faith is true: Truth is the shattered mirror strown In myriad bits; while each believes his little bit the whole to own.” ― Richard Francis Burton, Kasidah of Haji Abdu El-Yezdi    Truth is not a single, whole entity; rather, a fragmentation....pieces, reassembled to create an illusion, imagined to be a reflection of Reality.   

  feeling both very abstract and recondite today....as I search for aphorisms that in the long run will, inevitably, produce a domino effect, since every decision that instigates change creates a butterfly effect that creates alternate futures and may even, through the transmutation of memories, transform both the perceptions of What Might Have Been to the Inexplicable Now, as the towers of constructs collapse with overthought having disassembled the tidy past, toppling pretentious illusions with the rousing of Inertia and indecision.....

MUSE....melancholic rock from Matt Bellamy, Chris Wolstenholme and Dominic Howard....a third of a century from Rocket Baby Dolls to Thought Contagion , from Something Human. ......from observances of the conspicuous to reflections on the Unknown.......a larghetto step, both forward and backward, from this morning's melancholic Fado rubato....but still 'holding on to bits of wistful malingering for soulful satisfactions, not forthcoming.....while documenting the dehumanization of Humanity by Technology via the Empathy Gap created by the metaphors of Indifference and self-absorption.....

Twinkle, twinkle, little bat! How I wonder what you're at! Up above the world you fly, Like a tea tray in the sky. Twinkle, twinkle, little bat! How I wonder what you're at!

I was chatting with a friend from my childhood, this morning.......she asked about my "missing period"......"When was that?", I asked......"Well, from 8th grade, till...well, you know.....until now!", she retorted..... I remember, with the advent of pubic hair and my more increasingly questioning philosophical outlook, came a relative disinterest in 'popular tastes'......I was drawn to the 'beat scene'......which there was slim evidence of in N. Alabama....As soon as I was old enough to get out...in a black 1955 DeSoto coupe with grey wool flannel seats......my Life expanded to a preoccupational wall, with Warner Bros. and American International Films, from a frustratingly shunted development, within the context of Pleasantvilleness and middle class takes on 'what Life is all about', featuring Annette and Frankie Avalon.....from The Lyric Theater's continuum of MGM musicals and Disneydom.......to the vehicle-accessible Wo...

Thanatopsis Poem – by William Cullen Bryant (Text-Version) To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts Of the last bitter hour come like a blight Over thy spirit, and sad images Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;— Go forth, under the open sky, and list To Nature’s teachings, while from all around— Earth and her waters, and the depths of air— Comes a still voice— Yet a few days, and thee The all-beholding sun shall see no more In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim...