Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Solo Dolo #2 @ Highways Performance Space

One more thing,
I will be performing at Highways Performance Space in Santa Monica, California on the evening of February 8th and 9th.  Here is the info.  Click me please and I will show you more.
Hope to see ya there,


Tuesday Night Post # 2-13

Patient A,
We infect more than we know.  To live in a bubble is not human…or earth like.  Disease is a choice and is a natural fact.  The only way to describe life is to give you the two extremes, in hopes you fill in the rest.
A birth is an infection of an egg. 
A disease is a gift of love. 

*     *     *     *     *

Film on Wood

In a room with bundles of cable, multi strained coiled, there is a seat.  Dust will kick up for the first guest to enter this long vacant place.  On the table are pliers, a soldiering gun, a last minute task.  In the rafters are more wires each a different color.  Draped over a beam falling to the floor.  A décor with no aesthetical purpose but telling.  Wires that fall make a wall, beyond this wall assorted forgotten devices, car LCD screens, light fixtures, microphones of varying degree, radios and speakers, in no real organized fashion.  In a corner an empty water cooler.  Double back look at the object that came before, the seat is still vacant.  A wooden swivel chair facing a small table by the door.  This door is of a wooden type, deadbolt doorknob, cracking paint, nothing much to mention, severed link.  There is no dry wall on the walls.  The inside is the inside of this room.  The framing does well to collect the dust.  Old screens of computer type can ultimately be seen on more then one table that echo in this space.  The table by the door will open more.  Left before this mental entry there was placed a note on paper, now it lay, when it spoke is said this:

The last time I saw you it was not in a way in which I could touch
But I knew it was you
By the way your presence made me feel
And the black that I saw
In the skirts that did flow
In my mind that I know I chose to doom
In the acceptance you did not see
In the movement of your destructive ease
In a choice I sacrifice my life
In the way I exist
Nothing is more than twice the fight
When I leave and my fluids flow to another
It’s a risk I can never seem to deject
In my state I chose to be
In this moment I let it free
All I have is my work
It is I

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Tesday Night Post # 2-12

Sentient Beings,

The hand on your face, with a gentle stroke, is just the same hand that can strike you.  A finger gently ran on your spine is the same as the heartbreak on your mind.  Liberation of suffering is as foolish as the love you have for unrelinquished want.  These words are as useful as the policies you agree to when you check the box.


*     *     *     *     *

It Sat On My Chest and Told Me This

Let it pour.  Collectively we ask what and end never understanding what has become of the beginning. It’s so far removed standing still will only be the cost.  There are a few things that have crossed my path…what will these things form as time gets closer to an actual change.  Will I be constant enough to not perish the Rose.  This rose is never just a rose, a divine spark that will die to later form a beauty never known or seen.  It’s easy to kill the rose.  Asked myself why flaunt this skill of destruction or darkness or distain.  Yes black contrasts well with white.  A romantic heartbreak.  A disorder to replicate.  A lovely melancholy memory of you and them sanding with just the right light to turn your stomach, make your heart quicken and make you feel just a lil human.  These aesthetics lulls me to a high state of disappointment.  I ride the unrelinquished love of never seeing what the past talks about…of seeing this Dark Angel fully clothed and breathing on my shoulder.  How was I to clip the wings?  It gestures to the scissors, which I did not own.   Doing, doing anything to bring it back, joining the thoughts of tender heaves and silence thoughts.  The door was never closed you see when you left, in the sound, it closed it.  The light is on.  Getting stuck and falling in over with the first state…why stop at the threshold of severed understanding of UNDERSTANDING.  Is it understanding, tell me or is it arrogance.  Unfold the arms square the shoulder lean to the side that feels heavy, there that is where you stand.  Feel it. Breathe it.  See the rest falling in lust with the conquest?  Is there a question on your side that never seems to formulate?  That is probably the seed beginning to germinate.  As individual as each snowflake is a white noise veils the textures and uniformity of landscapes unrooted by production and progress.  No never mind this thought that seems to unravel with confusion.  Words sometimes lose their origin; sometimes the storytellers have their delusions.  When I drive, on a clear day I see the snow capped mountain that surround me, I fall in love with this moment, I choke, the action in my muscles the memories in my fingers, taste of skin just a new thought away I think of it.  Of this partnership I had.  It was a sudden need to understand.  If it was more then just a timeline in our ticker tap then maybe, I think there would have been a bigger struggle.  What you don’t understand is that I wanted to change nothing.  All I needed was one hand to invite, the other to hold on to the upward draft that we had.  Yes we are artist.  We practice this art of knowing.  Lets begin by being sober.  Just breathing on this time my blood gets intoxicated.  How can I breath if nothing is planted to cultivate.  I tell my friends get use to short and multiple relationships.  Shop online, buyer’s remorse.  Impulsive buys, upgrade after the last one broke.  I go without.  I don’t need to buy something I know I will use and abuse just because I fear.  I fear I fear you don’t say it but I fear.  You are never alone but constantly forgotten.  To busy to remember and so bored you can never forget, cuz on this line no one is unplugged.  Humans play what do you think this entire product is? Lower level duplication of something so close it sits on your nose.  You don’t see it you say? The other produced to replicate what mother gave us just so she could say “My boy yes my baby I am your mamma. I know you can be as beautiful as I but don’t forget arrogance is not godly.  Arrogance is Man”.

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Tuesday Night Post # 2-11

Who’s skin do you wear? Transformed to another being possessed by an action that is philistine.  Why does the future look like this on the silver screen?

*     *     *     *     *

Twice the Fifth of a Brutal Fist
Can you come here below your line of sight?  With this image you will see there is an action to intervene.  She sees the kitten chase its tail with one eye closed, this one will visualize the pussy eat itself. 
Come focus on the two. We see the pair Pure and Blue.  As one crawls on fours, the other masters the tool that is the Clue.  The reason Circle Closed needs a gate?  In time of change we must regulate.  Question is will the two propagate?  Held both, one in each arm, low in a squat she moves up.  Her head just above the line then crosses the circle with another one.  Started the cycle often new, this bass will rattle and challenge the youth.
Lets forget touch is pain.  I will structure charts that show it comes from distain of this corporeal life remained.  We will come together in opposition to sobriety.  We can start a new and free society.  On site we will meet in the space we live anew.  We will come with a new fashion with skin that I will choose.  There will be questions asked, we will dance.  In the end there will be some advance.   

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

Tuesday Night Post # 2-10


Feeling a bit of an Odd John.  Hope your children feel a bit more secure with black and white draped over every action they take. 

The mind can only see what it can afford to believe. 

For every one that is bored with the modern world I’m sure there are things in store to keep you wondering. 

Don’t confuse my passion for arrogance.  These are just words no greater nor less than any other words you will read in your lifetime.


*     *     *     *     *

 A Job is Just an Action Done Again and Again

So is it true the goal that we reach is to excel this tendency for growth?  I have always felt what I needed was to focus my thoughts and achieve only a concentrated desire to produce.  Sitting here all I can really produce is feelings of loneliness, feelings of pain and a want to sleep.  In warm but nauseating waves I also feel a desire to call.  Call the last person that told me they loved me and wanted me. 

Silly dreams forget that like the impulsive phone call at 2 o’clock in the morning, like the sudden fleeing to another’s arms, like her, those concepts have perished.  Freedoms of another lifetime when the four walls I inhabited belonged to me.  Back when freedom tormented me like an infinite empty space surrounding me, suffocated me.  Disease filled times of panic and chaos. 

My dwelling offers all the amenities I would need:  Three meals, a bed, streaming media of any sort and a feeling of purpose.

No need to count my time.  I just wait for it to be my time to produce.  I’m just a wheel in the machine when the light turns on I turn.

Even though this is true I sit here and wait.  Thinking of things I once owned: The feelings of mistakes, the actions that I see now, mistaking the words you once said… 
Strange to think that all I ever wanted was a role, a place to exist with a purpose.  Now that I sit in this cube waiting for my purpose all I can think of is what I wish I did before I sat here and waited. 

My tray of food still is on my table, a ledge hinged on the wall.  My chair I left by the door.  I myself half reclining in my cot no thoughts but ones that belong to you.
My time to rest has been put aside for this moment of normal human regret and ruminations.

The yellow warning light over my door has not gone on, that leaves me more then an hour to go over all the words you once said.  I replay them all.  Maybe this is just a thought exercise.  Finding some meaning I formulate a new answer crunching the numbers seeing if there could have been some sort of proper outcome that fulfilled us both. 

I go over all the moments that made me feel we belonged.  I even replay the many dances we danced.  In retrospect it feels I was the one that was odd man out.  I see the space you occupied while you spun.  As always I was just peering into a world I understood but this graft never stuck.  Even the music you understood in different ways then I did.  I tell myself that if only you believed that all I wanted ever imagined was you, fully clothed and realized. My greatest dreams could have never pictured you, never knew you actually existed.  Punching in all those numbers I finally saw you, and what a sight.  Floating by… my dark angel.

As I think this thought one occurs in parallel, how can any of us know what to do if we were never sober.  Sober from darkness, fear, chaos, dread, constantly drinking from each other’s insecurities.  What can we find in destruction other then a moment to reflect after it is over.  In my cube I reflect…thinking if I could just speak to you one more time maybe you would say something new to add to this equation. 

What can those words be, what will they mean…then the yellow light comes on.  I can put these thoughts aside.  I have an hour to prepare for my role. 

Sunday, January 6, 2013

"a Perished Rose, a Salty Brick" D.B.R.P. @ Sancho Gallery

Halloween Performance At Sancho Gallery
Echo Park, California
Oct. 29, 2011

Broom Made by DBL
Sound Engineered by Roman Æon

Thank you Roman Æon for your help and Bow + Arrow for inviting us to NukeWave BlastZone.   

The biggest offense one can make is to take away another’s right to create or destroy what one has created.  


Tuesday, January 1, 2013

Tuesday Night Post # 2-9


Yes it is a New Year.  Count only what needs to be recorded, what needs to be exchanged.  Change comes not with numbers, but with action.  The page is turned by the hand not by the numbers on the page.

*     *     *     *     *

A Perished Rose
A Salty Brick

On my chest
smelled so sweet
Looking down
at a frown
When it was ripped
from my chest
Left to me
Minus 3
Severed limbs
I remained
to agree
I accept
this side of me
No more chance
to take up arms
I chose the weapon
Never felt
the need to see
the role that
was placed on me
Rendered small
with a task
to sweep around
the chimney
Several times
I even spoke
of the feeling
so tenderly
Shame I found
starved the hounds
Made me feel
so heavenly
Body red
Never dead
Raising clouds
from the dirt
Coughing loud
Cutting ties
Finding source
in dirty knees
Found a way
to be free
in my chore
left to me
With every movement
of my hand
always came
like a lance
Carving up
Ivory Bark
 Made of stone
never dark
On my chest
there’s a stem
Pull it hard
Lets begin