EXISTENTIAL POWDER

IMG_4217

AND THE WAKING HOURS,

THE POWDER-LESS WONDER OF SLEEPLESS DREAMS…

WHERE THE HEAD IS BUZZING WITH THE NOTHINGNESS

AND THE OVER-BLOWN GESTURES OF  THE MEANINGFUL,

JUXTAPOSED ABSTRACTION AND INSTRUCTION,

AND WE ARE LIVING,  I SUPPOSE,

IN A WORLD WHERE EVERYBODY HAS READ THE MANUAL,

EXCEPT YOU… AND ME.

I HAD A MANUAL,

I HAD AN INSTRUCTRESS,

SHE, THE IMMORTAL SHE,

READ THE MANUAL…

SHE POINTED TO THE SALIENT,

BUT I WAS BLOWN AWAY BY THE BEAUTY…

I COULD NOT FIND MEANING.

AWE-STRUCK AND AWESOME,

LIKE THE CHILD IN THE CATHEDRAL…

WHERE ADULTS PLAY OUT THE RITUAL,

AND THE CHILD SAYS,

“IS THAT IT?”

ALL IS PLASTIC PORNOGRAPHY

AUTO-EROTIC WITHOUT DIDACTIC INSTRUCTION

IMAGES FLICKER THE 30 FRAMES A SECOND

REALITY, WHICH IS NOT REALITY,

IS THE ABSTRACTION.

STUCK IN THE MUNCH SCREAM…

THE SIREN SOUND OF THE 20TH CENTURY,

OR THE BECKETT ‘NOT I ‘,

WHERE JUST THE LIPS

AND THE SOUND OF THE LIPS MOVING,

IS THE VACUOUS POLEMIC

OF MODERNITY.

 

AND I CAN’T SLEEP, A WEEK OF UNSLEEP,

TAKES IT TOLL,

I LIVE IN THE POINTED POINTILLISM

OF IMAGES LAID SIDE BY SIDE,

AS IF MEANING CAN BE MIXED BY EYE OR EAR,

BY BLURRING THE EDGES,

DISTORTING THE SOUNDS…

BUT EACH UNMIXED LAYER

TAKES ME FURTHER AWAY FROM ANY MEANING.

WHAT IS MEANINGFUL?

LOVE DIED IN A MEANINGLESS WAY…

ON THE WAY TO A MEANINGLESS JOB,

AND THERE IS NO MEANING IN THAT…

SLICED BY THE METAL DISC OF A MUCK SPREADER…

AS SHE SLIPPED EFFORTLESS BENEATH A DARK TRAILER.

THERE. THERE IS A MEANINGFUL IMAGE.

THERE IS A REASON WHY?

WHY I CAN’T SLEEP.

 

IT’S HORROR IS TRIVIAL,

IN A WORLD WHICH IS MONUMENTALLY HORRIFIC…

DAILY.

AND I, THE IMMORTAL I,

STRUGGLE TOWARDS THE AWE,

AND AWAY FROM THE AWE.

AND I STRUGGLE TO FIND BEAUTY AND LOVE,

WITHOUT BILE.

 

AND I PAINT LIKE A BULIMIC,

GORGING ON THE MID-TONES OF GREY,

UNTIL I HAVE TO THROW- UP WITH COLOUR.

DON’T DIE OF BOREDOM.

DIE IN HORROR.

 

DALE ‘M’

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