You're "taking responsibility" for rejecting your mother when you
were a nursing infant?
How absolutely brave that is.
But why stop at birth?
Why not put your will power into the mix when your grandmother picked
up that gun?
You did it, Tamara!
You were why it all happened. All of it.
And why stop there?
Why not go back to the roots of everything evil in the universe, the
earliest muck in the swamp of time, the beginning, where it all
started heading south?
You called yourself into being, right?
Before you were - there you were, demanding to be.
Before there was a thing that you were there was that demanding
presence in the universe, wanting to be - so you could be damaged
before you could ever see hope or promise, before you could talk
enough to say "No!", so you could take whatever sadistic bitterness
anybody wanted to drop on you, to become this thing that seeks its
own destruction and hates itself for that seeking and all that hatred
increases the search and the seeking as you get more complex and
mature and time takes away the immediacy of the scars.
Why not admit it was you who seduced the devil himself, before he
fell, when he was still the brightest angel in all heaven, beloved of
God - but then you, nasty little seductress - pulled his attention
away from the Most High and down to earth - worse than Eve, more
sinful than any humanity, you, the true cause of man's damnation,
your fiery heart is nothing but the heat of hell itself, if it wasn't
for you there would be no suffering anywhere - admit it, you're a
vicious evil creature!
Repent, repent and feel the lash of punishment - hurt yourself, go
on, you deserve it!
No pleasure because you deserve none - no grace, no beauty in your
life - terrible things terrible terrible things all throughout time -
and the infinite falling down down down of everything good, and down
there down there at the bottom, at the bottom of the bottom - lower
than the lowest of the low, holding it all up with your sinful pride
- standing on nothing but your own inhuman moral failure -
T_ S_ - Evil Child.
Yes yes oh yeah.
Uh huh.
Take responsibility for being violated when you were too young and
helpless to even understand what was happening in a way that you
could later be able to repeat to anyone in words - how bout? Wanna
try that?
Can you? It might be a little tougher than constantly taking the
blame, all in all.
Can you take responsibility for fighting to keep your spirit intact
all those years of helpless confusion, when the answer was no more
than a tease of the truth dangled like a treat for the good girl you
never could quite manage to be - dangled from the hands of what's
real here, real evil, black-hearted cruelty that gets off on the
smearing violation of innocence - it exists, you know it does - you
feel it you welcome it sometimes, you've walked toward it over and
over again all your life.
Can you take responsibility for letting people who aren't fit to
bring you lunch for a decent wage tell you more and more stories
about how fucked how worthless you are without them and what they
stand for, how you have to crawl to be saved? Crawling - doesn't it
come back to that always? Humility with bloody knees and violent
bruises all over its back.
Crawl worthless trash.
No pride. Pride is the sin. And no anger. You have nothing legitimate
to be angry about.
You know what people do when they're so angry they can't face it?
They hurt themselves, they self-mutilate. You know what the really
brilliant ones do, the ones with high IQ's and complicated minds?
They hurt themselves in incredibly complex ways.
But pride is the sin. Self-love is the indulgence.
Sure it is, even when pride and self-love were all you had, standing
in the drizzling rain of that heartless gray city full of thorns,
bleeding from every part of you that could still feel, when you had
to create something separate out of your fractured fragmented
personas - the broken parts of who you are - and teach them, teach
it, that thing inside you that you still can't name, to love, and
make it love you back, like a puppet almost, working the articulated
joints making it talk, making it dance.
To love yourself - it's an art when you're all torn up like that -
stories of love you told her through the wall, the little girl who
waited in that one room of the orphanage you could never find the
door to - love no one else knows about - past the body up above the
mind, deeper than what people mean when they toss words like soul
into the wind of conversation.
Can you forgive yourself for not knowing what no one could possibly
have known, for not being more than a human child at the mercy of
living wounds, animated crimes, a mother like a bullet hole in the
heart of the world - with nice tits and a fine ass, and a hunger no
man no child could ever ease - she had the milk you needed, but it
was all mixed in with poison.
Can you forgive yourself for being born?
Can you?
Remember now, it might be a little harder than permanently wearing,
forever bearing all that guilt that you don't really, and never did,
deserve.

 

Kinderbild 1921
Johannes Itten
Bildindex

# 13:09  

A letter to a friend February 06 2004
-


Have your religious manias resolved into accurate light?
Have you figured out the difference between being forced to do
something evil and wanting to do it? The difference between acting
out the shadow play of what you can't remember and yet can't forget,
and seeking it, seeking to be the cause of it even though it means
going backward through time?
Do you ever feel your ancestors looking out at the world through the
windows of your eyes? Feel them seeing; the shock of what this world
has become...
-
Some questions, I have no real answers to them myself.

My spiritual practice these days involves the violent destruction of blank
playing cards and unnumbered roulette wheels, and lying to
bad-tempered children.
My desires for perverted transcendence will never be satisfied, I
know this now, so I don't let myself feel them.

What I do allow myself to feel is a hunger for the nameless dread as
words burn away from the sub-cortex, the little clouds of
electro-magnetic energy that are the self turning to vapor and
blowing back down the stairs toward earth; the way it's going to be
slithering toward the Most High, when our bodies lose atomic weight
and substance, when there's nowhere left to run away to and nothing
left to run with, and true gravity pulls us all back into the Living Fire.

# 19:37  

# 12:23  

# 12:42  

# 14:43  

Kameido Bridge (#3)
Yoshida
—Ukiyoe Gallery

# 22:38  

Child With A Dove
Picasso
National Gallery UK

# 21:18  

Oumou Sangare

BE: So this is not new.

OS: No, no, no. It's always been like that. This has always been the way that women could speak in public, the only way she can.

BE: And men respect that.

OS: Very much. They listen very attentively. Very, very much. Women educate that way. In singing, women educated other mothers, even children, the entourage, everyone with her singing. She can even council, even old people. I've said that a woman has no words, but a singer does. "Give us a few words. We have that also in our hearts. We want you to show us."

At the ceremonies, you know, in Africa: Everyone is present. So a single woman speaks in the place of all women. You see. So if in the singing there is even one woman in the "milieu," another one has another idea, and she comes. That adds something to her. She asks, "Can I sing?" She says, "Yes, go ahead." So when you stop, someone else takes it up. In Wassoulou, it's like that. You can see two or three women in the middle singing.
—FemmeNoir Online/Afropop Worldwide


link impetus bhikku

# 15:37  

# 11:36  

# 19:37  

"Twentieth century art was a shallow comedy aimed at specialists and sophisticates. In the new millenium, the theoretical collapse has revealed the need for works of art that are once again relevant and committed to human issues. At a time when the art establishment lacks the basic authority to repossess any artistic phenomenon whatsoever, we common people still feast on "obsolete" or "lesser" but uncontestably vital forms of art: commercial music and cinema, academic or Great Masters painting, classical literature and music, popular myth, etc..."
What would you recommend for your audience to better understand your paintings?
"To specialists, I would ask them to do what other people do: let ourselves go, to dream, to make the instinctual connections. For the rest, don't forget my paintings are works of love, not programmatic constructs. If I make you fall in love a bit, be lenient; if I fail, have no mercy."
Daniel Lezama

# 21:18  

Sergei Rimshevski
especially De vogelvanger,
—
Galerie Lilja Zakirova
which also has beautiful work by Raoef Mamedov

Ω{Rimshevski has the most accurate and protective depiction of childhood sexuality I've ever seen. The nearness of it without the exploitation and forced confrontation of Babylon. And it's suffused with protective love. Saintly protective love.}

# 20:24  

Kitaj
at someone's geocities site

# 21:31  

colormatch Ω{ie only}
quickcolor
Color Symmetry

link path thru Danny Yee
________

synchromy

at MoMA
at Hollis Taggart Galleries
at CGFA
at California State University EmbARK WorldArt Web Kiosk{great site, ergonomic and scholastically responsible}(Flash req.)
at NMAA/Ryder
again at EmbARK
again at Hollis Taggart

# 21:08  

Beatrice Addressing Dante from the Car detail
William Blake

Tate Collections Online

________

Quando il settentrion del primo cielo,
che né occaso mai seppe né orto
né d'altra nebbia che di colpa velo,

When the first heaven's Seven-Stars had halted
(those stars that never rise or set, that are
not veiled except when sin beclouds our vision;
—
Tanto giù cadde, che tutti argomenti
a la salute sua eran già corti,
fuor che mostrarli le perdute genti.

He fell so far there were no other means
to lead him to salvation, except this:
to let him see the people who were lost.
—
Purgatorio Canto XXX
Allen Mandelbaum translation
Dante at Columbia

# 10:26  

Related/Related/Unrelated
Whistler, Nathan Oliveira, Andrew Wyeth

# 15:13  

"Three Little Mice Sat Down to Spin"

The World of Peter Rabbit
Beatrix Potter
—
Illustrators Project
The Elizabeth Nesbitt Room
Information Sciences Library
University of Pittsburgh
—
home of the Mister Rogers' Neighborhood Archives

# 14:03  

The Kingdom Slept
Edmund Dulac at PODkids

# 14:30