Blink, blink
Blink, blink
The red & white stripes
of the crossed arms
Tell me, “NO!”
The pain
of the wait
As the slow, slow
Slightly moving shape
Trickles its way
Down the track
“Come on!”
I beg aloud
Punishing
An innocent steering wheel
The lights wink
Imperial red
Back at me
Blink, blink
Blink, blink
Just me
And the train of
almost empty cars
Trapped
On our
Parallel rails
Monday, October 6, 2008
Height Depth
Blue light
Crystal meth
Night life
Hardened edge
High time
Golden egg
Wired spine
Shrunken head
Gone blind
Walking dead
Warning sign
Cliff ahead
Downward climb
Riverbed
Icy crime
Frozen sweat
Liquid mind
Soaking wet
Leaking eyes
Blood red
Tortured cries
Wasted breath
Endless lies
True regret
Stay alive
Left for dead
Coming night
Growing heft
Out of time
Heavy chest
Hours fly
Minutes left
Pain subsides
Numb collects
Twilight
Facing west
Final sigh
Peacefulness
Sunrise
Sunset
Crystal meth
Night life
Hardened edge
High time
Golden egg
Wired spine
Shrunken head
Gone blind
Walking dead
Warning sign
Cliff ahead
Downward climb
Riverbed
Icy crime
Frozen sweat
Liquid mind
Soaking wet
Leaking eyes
Blood red
Tortured cries
Wasted breath
Endless lies
True regret
Stay alive
Left for dead
Coming night
Growing heft
Out of time
Heavy chest
Hours fly
Minutes left
Pain subsides
Numb collects
Twilight
Facing west
Final sigh
Peacefulness
Sunrise
Sunset
Charmer
He could have sworn he heard hissing
So he approached her from behind
Afraid to look at her face
And sure enough
Her hair didn’t cascade down
The full length of her back
But pooled up
Between her shoulder blades
Like a jumble of nesting serpents
In her hood
And when she asked him,
“What kinda music you into?”
He stared at his shoes
Because He knew
She was hunting his soul
“Depends on my mood,”
He mumbled.
“Figuresssss” she answered.
Then smelled the air
Between them
With the quick flick
Of a slightly forked tongue
He slowly
Found her eyes
And felt himself
Turn to stone
So he approached her from behind
Afraid to look at her face
And sure enough
Her hair didn’t cascade down
The full length of her back
But pooled up
Between her shoulder blades
Like a jumble of nesting serpents
In her hood
And when she asked him,
“What kinda music you into?”
He stared at his shoes
Because He knew
She was hunting his soul
“Depends on my mood,”
He mumbled.
“Figuresssss” she answered.
Then smelled the air
Between them
With the quick flick
Of a slightly forked tongue
He slowly
Found her eyes
And felt himself
Turn to stone
Excuses
But the water’s too cold
And the sun’s really hot
And I’m feeling quite old
And the smell turns me off and makes my eyelashes itch
But what if you had to?
But the line is so long
And my time is so short
And the price is quite high
And I’ve got lots to do before the junkmail arrives
But what if you had to?
But the moon’s almost full
And I might oversleep
And I eat lunch at 12:30 sharp
And would hate to stop working on my Soduku before it’s solved
But what if you had to?
But my arms are quite weak
And I don’t like to sweat
And I’m allergic to pain
And I’d rather lie on my couch and get fat eating pork rinds
But what if you had to?
But I just washed the car
And my wrist hurts a bit
And the air has a chill
And there’s some kind of meat stuck between these two teeth
But what if you had to?
What if I had to?
What if I had to?
What if you stopped whining
And just did what you need to?
But
And the sun’s really hot
And I’m feeling quite old
And the smell turns me off and makes my eyelashes itch
But what if you had to?
But the line is so long
And my time is so short
And the price is quite high
And I’ve got lots to do before the junkmail arrives
But what if you had to?
But the moon’s almost full
And I might oversleep
And I eat lunch at 12:30 sharp
And would hate to stop working on my Soduku before it’s solved
But what if you had to?
But my arms are quite weak
And I don’t like to sweat
And I’m allergic to pain
And I’d rather lie on my couch and get fat eating pork rinds
But what if you had to?
But I just washed the car
And my wrist hurts a bit
And the air has a chill
And there’s some kind of meat stuck between these two teeth
But what if you had to?
What if I had to?
What if I had to?
What if you stopped whining
And just did what you need to?
But
Travel Agent
Exotic destination
Three rows back
Window seat available
This job is in the bag
Wet footprints
Invertebrate tingling
Broken ribs
Void of meaning
The sign on her back says
“Be Quiet”
That way we can read it when
She turns around
Bushels & baskets
Lifted & filled
Acres of okra
Slaughtered & killed
For what?
Travel Agent
of guilt trips
Booking again
Selfishness
Hurtful & cancerous thing-
It eats at the soul like a rotting gangrene!
It throbs & it itches
Chomps away as it twitches
What a loneliness
[Slow death]
Terminal.
Sickness.
It eats at the soul like a rotting gangrene!
It throbs & it itches
Chomps away as it twitches
What a loneliness
[Slow death]
Terminal.
Sickness.
Lust
A sparkling shroud
Pulled over flush faces.
Who blindly lie down in
All its dark places.
Heaving & hoing
Touch, pleasure, flight
Slink in its
Darkness.
Fool around in its
Night.
Pulled over flush faces.
Who blindly lie down in
All its dark places.
Heaving & hoing
Touch, pleasure, flight
Slink in its
Darkness.
Fool around in its
Night.
Holidays
Once upon a time
There was this virgin
Who gave birth to
The Son of God.
So go to sleep now
And some fat guy’s
Gonna bring you tons
Of plastic crap
You don’t need
Wrapped in shiny paper.
Then, a few years later
Jesus popped up
From the dead
and said,
“I’m alive!
Go find some eggs!”
And they all lived
Happily forever after.
There was this virgin
Who gave birth to
The Son of God.
So go to sleep now
And some fat guy’s
Gonna bring you tons
Of plastic crap
You don’t need
Wrapped in shiny paper.
Then, a few years later
Jesus popped up
From the dead
and said,
“I’m alive!
Go find some eggs!”
And they all lived
Happily forever after.
True Star
All of them sparkling up there
Twinkling.
Shining.
Quietly beckoning, “Look at me. Look at me.”
But which one is that true star?
They all sing so brightly. There together.
Sweetly.
Gently.
Like tiny diamond sirens, “Come to me. Come to me.”
Which one shall I choose?
Each takes its turn at peeking.
Pulsing.
Poking.
Peering through the velvety veil of darkness.
On which will I lock my gaze?
My heart is set on the one of the many.
True.
North.
I listen for the voice, “I’m the one. I’m the one.”
Yet can I chase the sound amid the glitzy noise?
Somehow the choice is narrowed down a bit.
Closer.
Smaller.
My soul is honing in, “Here I am. Here I am.”
A million stars recede to black.
Then the shining slows to one.
Bright.
Alone.
Speaking in the night, “This is the way. This is the way.”
So I tiptoe towards its light.
Twinkling.
Shining.
Quietly beckoning, “Look at me. Look at me.”
But which one is that true star?
They all sing so brightly. There together.
Sweetly.
Gently.
Like tiny diamond sirens, “Come to me. Come to me.”
Which one shall I choose?
Each takes its turn at peeking.
Pulsing.
Poking.
Peering through the velvety veil of darkness.
On which will I lock my gaze?
My heart is set on the one of the many.
True.
North.
I listen for the voice, “I’m the one. I’m the one.”
Yet can I chase the sound amid the glitzy noise?
Somehow the choice is narrowed down a bit.
Closer.
Smaller.
My soul is honing in, “Here I am. Here I am.”
A million stars recede to black.
Then the shining slows to one.
Bright.
Alone.
Speaking in the night, “This is the way. This is the way.”
So I tiptoe towards its light.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Timeless Question 17
Q: Would it be any harder to walk up invisible stairs in the darkness than in the light?
Free From Form
She wandered through the ugly duckling
Dancing there with gloves unseen
Until the sound of foreign nothing
Landed near with thoughts unclean
And so fair lady with her toes
Dangled in the autumn breeze
Unsure of what to do with time
Aware of all the brittle leaves
Dancing there with gloves unseen
Until the sound of foreign nothing
Landed near with thoughts unclean
And so fair lady with her toes
Dangled in the autumn breeze
Unsure of what to do with time
Aware of all the brittle leaves
FAUXALIA Series
I have been creating a new series of worked entitled FAUXALIA. Here are is a link to an online album for the series:
http://picasaweb.google.com/JohnLucZArtiste/FAUXALIASeries#
Artist Statement
The FAUXALIA series is an exploratory commentary on what makes something 'genuine' & 'real' versus 'inauthentic' or 'fake'. FAUXALIA also tests the boundaries between plant & animal, sentient & non-sentient life. Where does one begin and the other end?
This series was created mainly through direct modeling techniques with paper, aluminum, joint compound, latex paint, wood, yarn, fabric & copper wire. These ‘organic’ forms are then mounted onto faux fur wrapped boxes. The pieces are modular & can grouped to create unique 'pieces' from the unrelated modules. At what point do disparate individuals connect to others and become part of a community or a colony?
As in all my art, the FAUXALIA series is an attempt to obliterate the myth that some things are merely ‘secular’ while others are somehow inherently ‘sacred’. Symbols, materials, spaces, colors, forms, ideas - are only as sacred as the value placed upon them & drawn from them. My pieces are allegories for whittling away at this mythical dichotomy in a quest for that place where humanity & divinity collide. Does value placed on an item really exist apart from the one giving it value?
By connecting the space around, in & through the works with the space the viewer occupies I hope to encourage the viewer to find a sacred value in the interaction. My pieces echo the results of a struggle to entice a creation off the flatness of a two dimensional plane & into the viewers’ space. This projecting is accomplished through the use of visual inlets, highly textured media, tactile elements & negative space. At what point does a 2-dimensional piece become a 3-dimensional piece?
My pieces, like life itself, serve as convergence points. They are birthplaces where thought & idea become solid and alive. They are points of decision where opportunities for exploring the sacred can be either investigated & discovered or written off & ignored. Can new ‘life’ be created by the interaction of a living being with non-sentient materials?As the FAUXALIA series continues to unfold, I plan to recreate [and create new versions of] oceanic forms which particularly seem to blur the plant/animal division.
As my art continues to develop, I hope to break the static nature of surface-anchored art & entice it to enter the viewers’ experience with even more presence. I will also continue to experiment with - and push the limits of - varying, nontraditional media as I express my deep-seated inner faith & spiritual understanding.
http://picasaweb.google.com/JohnLucZArtiste/FAUXALIASeries#
Artist Statement
The FAUXALIA series is an exploratory commentary on what makes something 'genuine' & 'real' versus 'inauthentic' or 'fake'. FAUXALIA also tests the boundaries between plant & animal, sentient & non-sentient life. Where does one begin and the other end?
This series was created mainly through direct modeling techniques with paper, aluminum, joint compound, latex paint, wood, yarn, fabric & copper wire. These ‘organic’ forms are then mounted onto faux fur wrapped boxes. The pieces are modular & can grouped to create unique 'pieces' from the unrelated modules. At what point do disparate individuals connect to others and become part of a community or a colony?
As in all my art, the FAUXALIA series is an attempt to obliterate the myth that some things are merely ‘secular’ while others are somehow inherently ‘sacred’. Symbols, materials, spaces, colors, forms, ideas - are only as sacred as the value placed upon them & drawn from them. My pieces are allegories for whittling away at this mythical dichotomy in a quest for that place where humanity & divinity collide. Does value placed on an item really exist apart from the one giving it value?
By connecting the space around, in & through the works with the space the viewer occupies I hope to encourage the viewer to find a sacred value in the interaction. My pieces echo the results of a struggle to entice a creation off the flatness of a two dimensional plane & into the viewers’ space. This projecting is accomplished through the use of visual inlets, highly textured media, tactile elements & negative space. At what point does a 2-dimensional piece become a 3-dimensional piece?
My pieces, like life itself, serve as convergence points. They are birthplaces where thought & idea become solid and alive. They are points of decision where opportunities for exploring the sacred can be either investigated & discovered or written off & ignored. Can new ‘life’ be created by the interaction of a living being with non-sentient materials?As the FAUXALIA series continues to unfold, I plan to recreate [and create new versions of] oceanic forms which particularly seem to blur the plant/animal division.
As my art continues to develop, I hope to break the static nature of surface-anchored art & entice it to enter the viewers’ experience with even more presence. I will also continue to experiment with - and push the limits of - varying, nontraditional media as I express my deep-seated inner faith & spiritual understanding.
Monday, May 12, 2008
The Tracks
Glimmers at first. Now - a remnant.
Faithful but inward. Hospitable. Build there?
Old stones on this side of the tracks.
The roots of a heart on the other.
Homemade quilts in the backyard of a stranger.
Cookies. Koolaid. Safety. Concern.
Exhaust through the cornfields leads from emptiness
To mint chocolate chip
And craft paint.
The dwindling.
A restart? A regenesis? A death? A rebirth?
The bridge crosses the tracks & beckons me home.
Will I walk it? Will I go? Can I make it that far?
Faithful but inward. Hospitable. Build there?
Old stones on this side of the tracks.
The roots of a heart on the other.
Homemade quilts in the backyard of a stranger.
Cookies. Koolaid. Safety. Concern.
Exhaust through the cornfields leads from emptiness
To mint chocolate chip
And craft paint.
The dwindling.
A restart? A regenesis? A death? A rebirth?
The bridge crosses the tracks & beckons me home.
Will I walk it? Will I go? Can I make it that far?
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Character Puzzle
Piercing through the thick unknowing
Shrouded droplets cling with roots
To darkly tinted glass
Surely unsure of the weight of the keystone
Heavy or light? Needed at all?
Unable to commit to the one or the other
Unwilling to choose from the this or the that
Unstable fence-rider!
Splinters & splits
The privilege - not robbery
Equality. Identity.
The crux, a crutch, revolving portals
Breaking through the utmost finish
Entrance there through force-field doors
Many rivers flow and merge
Only to plunge from the downpour cliff
In a fiery crash of mist & whitewater
Whittling away at the rock of offense
Shrouded droplets cling with roots
To darkly tinted glass
Surely unsure of the weight of the keystone
Heavy or light? Needed at all?
Unable to commit to the one or the other
Unwilling to choose from the this or the that
Unstable fence-rider!
Splinters & splits
The privilege - not robbery
Equality. Identity.
The crux, a crutch, revolving portals
Breaking through the utmost finish
Entrance there through force-field doors
Many rivers flow and merge
Only to plunge from the downpour cliff
In a fiery crash of mist & whitewater
Whittling away at the rock of offense
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
The Tallest of 4
Her toothbrush is the tallest of four
Worn out, frazzled & leaning to one side
Quietly
Inside the cheap plastic cup
Worn out, frazzled & leaning to one side
Quietly
Inside the cheap plastic cup
And her life is so hard
With the bills, mismatched pajamas, tantrums
Scary nights
It's a struggle, it's a fight
But at least she struggles & fights
Her bed is the warmest in the house
Not quite as wide as it needs to be
For 40 toes, 8 knobby knees, 4 resting heads
A couple of snores
Not quite as wide as it needs to be
For 40 toes, 8 knobby knees, 4 resting heads
A couple of snores
That stupid van never runs like it should
A knock, a jolt, a belt
A whatsamathingy
But the road never stretches too far too fast
(How far could she get
If she slammed the pedal down hard
Bald tires screeching
And never looked back?)
But, her toothbrush is the tallest of 4
And her bed is the warmest in the house
And even though it's a struggle, it's a fight
Worth fighting
The quiet breath of sleeping angels
Is her favorite sound in all the world
So they brush their teeth, crowd in together
And dream pretty dreams
Is her favorite sound in all the world
So they brush their teeth, crowd in together
And dream pretty dreams
Original Write Date = 20071230
For a friend...
For a friend...
Ekklesia [a prophecy]
The jet black vultures hover & circle, darkening the sky
Descending on the perfect brick building - clean and polished - steeple aimed high
The spire jutting upward - piercing - the clouds with its whitewashed paint
Yet unseen beneath the fatal wounds, an underground spring flows to new places
Original Write Date = 20071223
Descending on the perfect brick building - clean and polished - steeple aimed high
The spire jutting upward - piercing - the clouds with its whitewashed paint
Yet unseen beneath the fatal wounds, an underground spring flows to new places
Original Write Date = 20071223
Holy Discontent
Monotone ringing out
Heavy sighs of unsure groaning
Escaping from a numb-like breathing
Only wanting evermore
Good stuff? Yes
But what of better?
Greater still
What of the best?
Burning discontent with simple mediocre
Aching drive inside to thrust for the upper rung
Golden ring in shiny splendor
Shining forth with Spirit life!
Ever reaching, grasping, stretching
Out a hand that longs for light
Perfectly content with going one
Step further, one inch more
Original Write Date = 20071104
Heavy sighs of unsure groaning
Escaping from a numb-like breathing
Only wanting evermore
Good stuff? Yes
But what of better?
Greater still
What of the best?
Burning discontent with simple mediocre
Aching drive inside to thrust for the upper rung
Golden ring in shiny splendor
Shining forth with Spirit life!
Ever reaching, grasping, stretching
Out a hand that longs for light
Perfectly content with going one
Step further, one inch more
Original Write Date = 20071104
A Sure-Coming Summer
As I awoke this morning, I found myself thinking about seasons & how they gently meld into one another. God could have kept us in a constant state of summer & we would never have known that other possibilities were even out there. But, He has chosen to give us seasons. And we are only aware that there could even be such things - because He reveals that truth.
I can imagine the seasons working in reverse: spring flowers closing, shrinking & the new sprigs sucking back into the ground. Water seeping up through the soil, forming a layer of white that separates and then floats upward in tiny flakes. The crisp, fallen leaves taking flight back into the warming air, reattaching themselves to their limbs and changing into a uniform green.
But, when God wants to make things new He doesn't take dead leaves & reattach them - He lets them decay. Trees go bare for a time. But, sure enough, He creates fresh, new, vibrant leaves to replace the dry, lifeless ones.
I can't quite draw all these thoughts together but there is a connection here somewhere with putting new wine in old wineskins. My faith is intertwined somewhere in here too. I am not willing to live a life that is a constant attempt at reattaching old, dead leaves to a tree that wants to fall asleep...
Even if it means the ice of winter - the cold of a temporary death - I want that newness of spring. I will shiver for a time - if that's what it takes - to see the bud shoot forth. I just want to find that new wineskin & discover what it should hold. For I know that in so doing, I will reach that promise of a sure-coming summer.
Original Write Date = 20071009
I can imagine the seasons working in reverse: spring flowers closing, shrinking & the new sprigs sucking back into the ground. Water seeping up through the soil, forming a layer of white that separates and then floats upward in tiny flakes. The crisp, fallen leaves taking flight back into the warming air, reattaching themselves to their limbs and changing into a uniform green.
But, when God wants to make things new He doesn't take dead leaves & reattach them - He lets them decay. Trees go bare for a time. But, sure enough, He creates fresh, new, vibrant leaves to replace the dry, lifeless ones.
I can't quite draw all these thoughts together but there is a connection here somewhere with putting new wine in old wineskins. My faith is intertwined somewhere in here too. I am not willing to live a life that is a constant attempt at reattaching old, dead leaves to a tree that wants to fall asleep...
Even if it means the ice of winter - the cold of a temporary death - I want that newness of spring. I will shiver for a time - if that's what it takes - to see the bud shoot forth. I just want to find that new wineskin & discover what it should hold. For I know that in so doing, I will reach that promise of a sure-coming summer.
Original Write Date = 20071009
Healing Flash
The darkened depths that dip within
to both the hard & softened parts
So deep beneath the thickened skin
where sovereign light has never gone.
Oh so deep. Ever deep.
They stretch out wide with rubber arms
to wrap around & help them hide
Those secret & clandestine charms
who duck & dart to not be found
In the caves. Darkest caves.
Hidden chambers, trapdoor hatches
Open. Close. Fold in. Swing wide.
While locking all the hooks & latches
to block out help that waits nearby
With a smile. Peaceful smile.
But light! It bends. It splits. It curves.
to maze its way around the stops
To shine, to glow, to grow, to surge
and cause the crouching rogues to squint
Oh so bright. Painful bright!
Thrust upon them - burning stars
blaze the darkness, flood the night
Mushroom clouds & halo bombs
refract, reflect, revamp their lives
In a flash. Healing flash.
Original Write Date = 20070925
to both the hard & softened parts
So deep beneath the thickened skin
where sovereign light has never gone.
Oh so deep. Ever deep.
They stretch out wide with rubber arms
to wrap around & help them hide
Those secret & clandestine charms
who duck & dart to not be found
In the caves. Darkest caves.
Hidden chambers, trapdoor hatches
Open. Close. Fold in. Swing wide.
While locking all the hooks & latches
to block out help that waits nearby
With a smile. Peaceful smile.
But light! It bends. It splits. It curves.
to maze its way around the stops
To shine, to glow, to grow, to surge
and cause the crouching rogues to squint
Oh so bright. Painful bright!
Thrust upon them - burning stars
blaze the darkness, flood the night
Mushroom clouds & halo bombs
refract, reflect, revamp their lives
In a flash. Healing flash.
Original Write Date = 20070925
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