Tuesday Night Post #3.5

First drawing in a series entitled "uni0n":

3mbr4c3

Tuesday N[ight Post #3.4

Well Rested,

I am not.  A short half awaken thought.

-DBL

To some the obvious selection for failure is the fool.  Shrouded with fabric that only children can see, this idiot surmised quick with no mistake.  A fault on a jagged cliff side gets lost in rhythm of the irregular.

A hat to signal approach, in the fools walk you can see, stumbles fluidly. Just a laugh is a iron steaming hot bent on spreading this embedded joke.  Clinging to concepts desires left alone, abstracted, detached the fool seems malnourished of everyday foes.  Just a joker to twist-a-side the truth, in the corner the fool ties the shoe.

In the moments you try to find clarity in the actions that border on obscurities, there the fool traces what can be seen.  Picture pleased, there the fool hides in actions. 

Tuesday Night Post #3.3

Programs,

System Reformation.  Belief Reformatting.  Corporal Reformation.

-DBL

can systems really be about destruction?
de-constructing what is not understood
breaking apart what needs to stay
exploring touching reaching for a core that does not substitute
voices recall the past reformed
tongues collided fire revolves
center to the draft of senses
of need
of taste
of knowing and recalling

systems feel
do they feel?
does human well being involve feeling?

feeling is core?
this narrative of sight belongs to us
me the vision seeker-the Light bouncer
deforming planes confusing eyes
deceiver of the Light



efficient divider grower of worth
on this dividing line that she sensed
cubs were lost blood lines severed
her four legs knew this rhythm well
its the constant motion that delivers this sense of vast space
space so vast there is only self 
the outer reached it limit
the inner reached a depths profound
Deliverer of Light she will never forget your smell
She tasted you once, strike you down
severed member searcher of Light
She sees no road
She sees no inner end
She pounds on pavement, crumbled glass
soft sands of beaches along the coast
tracking lacking worth

Parallax Beach-Parallax Scroll @ Highways Performance Space- Santa Monica, Ca

  

Severed moments of macrocosmic balance routinely underline human evolution. These moments intrigue, as modernity has alienated us from the immediacy of life. Perceptions of time become mercurial and subjective depending on perspective. Parallax Scroll will take the audience on a revisit through the emergence of life. A trip that re-exams light, language, and the development of society, ending in a space unresolved and recycled. All points can viewed when wading on a Parallax Beach.

PARALLAX BEACH's "Parallax Scroll" is a multi-media performance piece that bridges the abstract landscapes of sound, light, time, and movement. A collective of artists, each utilizing different mediums, come together to make this unique work. Wes Johansen creates a visual representation of abstract thought through digital video projection, edited live and synchronized to synthesizers. Mike Meanstreetz uses avant-garde percussion and composition techniques tangling the participants of this ritualistic performance in a web of synesthesia . These elements are accentuated as josie j conveys transformation to witnesses through ritualism/ meditative movement, influenced partly by Butoh training and a background in performance art. Also performing in this piece are Zachary Vidal (saxophone/sampled noise) providing textured mood, and Brennan Lowe (movement) setting the wheel of this cycle into motion.

Tuesday Night Post #3.2

Lovers,

Its tuesday

-DBL

At this moment I am frustrated.   Dealing with caves of pastured  hills I resist but I enter, knowing what will occur will be a sense of being outside in the darkness.   Just as the walls are moist, so are the chilled blue blades of grass.  This is where I end up tired and achy.  On trips to wild reactions and decisions I take my naps in institutions.  Naturally the seeds that germinate from this conclusion share the same commitment as my execution.  Dialing the proper number to call the doctor, to fill the prescription that murders the patient, in this proof your fail is the solution.  Redialing context of dissolution I stand proud on broken and swollen legs.  Tree trucks left to spoil, finding necks long and hard, wheels in mud stuck, the child cherishes his freedom.  

With growth and pain rounded fingers feel around as wealth regains.

With repetition I find nostalgia when nothing changes assuring I remember the following.
With repetition I lay my head at the feet I adore without no standards.
With repetition I assure the memory deforms in dome or shelter bending as needed for the assault.

Gems, found in beds left for dead.