confessions of a spook by the door
work is the memory of survival
now remember to remember..
so here i am in the middle way having spent fire and brimstone toiling to bring these here images culled from my own unconscious consciousness
a journey into my own heart of darkness.. joy inside my own tears. i have written and remixed my histories making them beautiful. never finding my way, but lay waiting, the falling down down, like drums and tinkling symbols.
you who sit there now clicking and clicking through the mind so bloated at its onw judgement consequence of energy given in silence, language less than act.. .. miraculously
they said i stood there and watched them slaughter the goat and the bleeting, my god the bleeting, is like the pain and anguish of my own vision.
so now you know god has become cannibal in her giving and taking.. i promise you marvels of the noontime hour bra,
my heart is hurting now as i write these lines
..is my art is gonna save me.
the act so far beyond all forms,all voices,chanting
for safety
read on and see that in my own deep quiet.. my visions are heavy with it, deep with it
sensitive to the heavy burden of going up that hill again..
towards golgotha
the cross burning our privates.. to be all ways hollywood .
revealing again our quiet lynch stories.
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