becoming white dwarf
through the mirror
past the reflected self
broken fragments of a life
in a painting silver nitrate
flickering images spun
from the screen now
the plastic flowers into
brown and black gardens
through the glass
casting off the burden
winnowing the information
on the highway of a single
life time chunks of being
rescued from the landfill
deep beneath the A horizon
seeing beyond the single
player deep into the vast
population of stars & planets
organisms and ideas
and on that canvas on the floor
using glue sticks and scissors
the shards of mirror the burnt
celluloid the fragments of a
lifetime's correspondence
dance and decide
what's real and what's not
who they were who I am
what is the song we have sung
the bear's mind becomes white dwarf
ursa minor
not quite pointing to the next
revelation
Recently someone said to me words to the effect that they are tired of my pieces concerning my lovelife. Fair enough. It does question the point of this work in a specific fashion. While not entirely about the romantic forays of this life, most of these pieces arise from what the relationship in question (whichever one) seems to tell me about myself. Perhaps that is the point of it all. I do believe my work offers value, but perhaps only to myself. In any case this piece arises from the images I associate with my journey through my paper. Confronting the self in the mirror, glimpsing other people's lives, running the movies of memory again until they burn on the projector, and finally, searching the web and the work for clues to the ultimate story that we all live: our life. Is it worth it? I have to do it, so for myself it is worth it. There are myriads of stars and other worlds' and only the Lady truly knows how many other consciousnesses share this universe with our species. Probably many. So, I am another grain of sand on the great wonderful beach of being. This does not upset me. We do what we can in this lifetime. Hopefully it is about learning the truth of something or someone. I still seek truth, for what it is worth.
past the reflected self
broken fragments of a life
in a painting silver nitrate
flickering images spun
from the screen now
the plastic flowers into
brown and black gardens
through the glass
casting off the burden
winnowing the information
on the highway of a single
life time chunks of being
rescued from the landfill
deep beneath the A horizon
seeing beyond the single
player deep into the vast
population of stars & planets
organisms and ideas
and on that canvas on the floor
using glue sticks and scissors
the shards of mirror the burnt
celluloid the fragments of a
lifetime's correspondence
dance and decide
what's real and what's not
who they were who I am
what is the song we have sung
the bear's mind becomes white dwarf
ursa minor
not quite pointing to the next
revelation
Recently someone said to me words to the effect that they are tired of my pieces concerning my lovelife. Fair enough. It does question the point of this work in a specific fashion. While not entirely about the romantic forays of this life, most of these pieces arise from what the relationship in question (whichever one) seems to tell me about myself. Perhaps that is the point of it all. I do believe my work offers value, but perhaps only to myself. In any case this piece arises from the images I associate with my journey through my paper. Confronting the self in the mirror, glimpsing other people's lives, running the movies of memory again until they burn on the projector, and finally, searching the web and the work for clues to the ultimate story that we all live: our life. Is it worth it? I have to do it, so for myself it is worth it. There are myriads of stars and other worlds' and only the Lady truly knows how many other consciousnesses share this universe with our species. Probably many. So, I am another grain of sand on the great wonderful beach of being. This does not upset me. We do what we can in this lifetime. Hopefully it is about learning the truth of something or someone. I still seek truth, for what it is worth.
posted by As Bjorn at 10:55 AM
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