Posts becoming more like thought-patterns these days:

William Dyce, Omnia Vanitas (1848)

It’s all about “being comfortable” is it not? Thunderstorm watches are always like some ‘leafy bay’, ‘rushes’, baby birds and Mayflies, ‘pure diversion’ and early William Carlos Williams poems intertwined in them, southward. I could “cry wolf” right here. Tonsils, unreluctant to ‘let go’ of the sound? I love to observe flowers. Lately, I have been mesmerized by the purple wisteria blossoms dangling from a trellis. Observations are often collaborative, like screenings, exhibitions, spaces to run to and back from and anatomical pathology has also been on my mind as well. Oedema, hyperinflation, haemorrhage, mental deficiencies, (poison arrows of ... ) — anyhow — red bubbles, red balloons, acrylic things, calenders, poetry, photography, animals, animals, animals, “flowers are the poetry of reproduction” — yellow will always pop well against green — I have eight new ideas, none of them will start a revolution, but perhaps so during the darkest hours of night? New seasons, fish spawning in spring, worms emerging (oh the wrinkliness) — what happens to the speaker of the poem? What happens to all of the glowing things? — life and death combined into “one” — After all, I didn’t want her to think of some bacteria-laden entity — I remember Nina in 1998 saying to me: “My Mama isn’t motivated by malice or profit.”

Lola Alvarez Bravo, Frida Kahlo and her Itzcuintli dogs (1944)

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