no, i am fairly sure the new year is purely coincidence, especially considering mine was a little less than life-changing/affirming … this has much deeper and *meaningful* ties than a simple date on a calender that is supposed to mean something to a mass amount of people …
Let the unhanded moment
shake you apart the distance
of mountains, let no closed-eye
tragedy milk the feeling; Seek
and seek the great Change because
we are all impositions of a frame
of the Art; That realisation of
birth and destruction – shine,
shine, shine – Metorphosis
into that purity, defenseless
let the Light and clarity
bring you stranger dreams
and a wash that binds you
to your being as Art; You can
care and live the life of Man,
or be the Art, eyes wringing
images from this space
like fingers twisting wet
rags dry – I do not believe Art is
the result or the process; Maybe
it is a belonging redemption of
the Soul into the physical.
Cringe, wring, sculpt
do all those lovely things
and never stop – Like a Magritte painting
what you produce on canvass, material,
metal, shines back a thousand suns
into your own skin and eyes. Maybe it
is the relationship between the Art and Soul;
Tunnels,
and Tunnels down the cornea corridor; They
both open doors
perfect lens
it must be new years oXXXo
itsome aniballistic instinct to give a shit the beginning of the year
Re: perfect lens
no, i am fairly sure the new year is purely coincidence, especially considering mine was a little less than life-changing/affirming … this has much deeper and *meaningful* ties than a simple date on a calender that is supposed to mean something to a mass amount of people …
Re: perfect lens
instinct doesnt follow dates on calendars… nor mass people
Re: perfect lens
yes, i feel /this\ presently …
Let the unhanded moment
shake you apart the distance
of mountains, let no closed-eye
tragedy milk the feeling; Seek
and seek the great Change because
we are all impositions of a frame
of the Art; That realisation of
birth and destruction – shine,
shine, shine – Metorphosis
into that purity, defenseless
let the Light and clarity
bring you stranger dreams
and a wash that binds you
to your being as Art; You can
care and live the life of Man,
or be the Art, eyes wringing
images from this space
like fingers twisting wet
rags dry – I do not believe Art is
the result or the process; Maybe
it is a belonging redemption of
the Soul into the physical.
Cringe, wring, sculpt
do all those lovely things
and never stop – Like a Magritte painting
what you produce on canvass, material,
metal, shines back a thousand suns
into your own skin and eyes. Maybe it
is the relationship between the Art and Soul;
Tunnels,
and Tunnels down the cornea corridor; They
both open doors
yes, i know now … thank you as always, kevin …
i lalalalalalalalalove you anika
you spelled me name wrong, emmilie, poophead