Saturday, December 11, 2010

'The people of coming days will know about the casting out of my net.' - Yeats

'If you close the door
The night could last forever
Leave the wine-glass out
And drink a toast to never.'

-The Velvet Underground

It comes with the house wine, and it goes down well with the steak.

It spills over, onto the street.

And its in the night air now.

Its sending you shivers, but the evening's holding on.

Eyes light up, half smiles are a French consistency.

It doesn't stick, it empties out. It empties in.

Its a different blue, time to be gone.

'There's nothing as cold, baby, as a spark that won't be flame.'

'Tell me,
Did you sail across the sun?
Did you make it to the milky way to see the lights all faded
And heaven is overrated?'
-The Train

Turn everything away in a coffee swirl.

The stars tonight are a million years old, and another million of years away.

Too late, they're getting away.

You, me and everybody else.

The world's elastic;
too small for patience, too big for love.

And its back and forth, and back and forth trying to bridge the gap.

Some people choose, one end of the world over the other.

The others, they shuttle like stars.

Always leaving impressions behind, not knowing that space will stretch itself out, and there's only really a half way back.

Space over time, one without the other.
One without the other.

'We shroud our lives in mysteries,
In shooting stars and storming seas,
If we have any sense.'
-I am Kloot

Skipping stones tonight, we are.

The sounds of water can give silence a queasy turn.

Takes a while for the water to ease out.

Should know better than to fish at night.

Can't even see where the line hits the water, until there comes a massive tug.

Been there so many times on some many assorted nights, but there's still that surprise.

Don't mind it, makes one remember. Feel a little more alive.

Time to wind back the line, and a feeling creeps in,

What if its a Maud Gonne tonight?

Thursday, December 9, 2010

Of Anish Kapoor and bathroom glass.

Its clay mold, all of it really.

And to some of us, it comes down to restructuring, reinventing.

Some of us, we turn reality inside out.

We're fascinated with the inside of things, it touches what is most base, most inherent in us.

Nakedness is fascinating as art. Not overt, crude nakedness. No.

Not aesthetic realism or plaintive impressionism, no.

Not even human nakedness, just an objectified extension.

You're looking into every hole, and you keep peering deeper, cause, surely, there has to be an end, but ...there isn't.

And that stumps you.

And there, there the artist has you.

Cause you can't figure him out, you can't just say, 'What a profound artistic statement,' and walk away.

You're unnerved, and he caught you off guard.

You weren't expecting this. I mean, come on, its modern art after all.

It has a visual genius to it that your mind can't even begin to decode.

You're not saying you loved it, it didn't even overwhelm you.

But you saw something there.
Something that wasn't here to start with.

And that's enough.

For now.