exuberant, lame, yellow with cream and sugar

exuberant exigent sunlight floods eye and a bounty, green in start, ruby reds in completion, wends it’s way to my attention. All day I have thought about the next 5 minutes i say, and the man on the radio quotes Matthew to the masses.

lame luddite words burp on their screen and they react like dust trapped in the furnace air filter. Fast in approach but stopped and stuck in resolve. All day I have thought about the next 5 minutes i say and the lady laughs and pirouettes out of shot.

yellow yielding warmth offers a chance for joy and you take the moment and instagram it out of existence. All day I have thought about the next 5 minutes says the lady with the too large glasses as I go through the door with bell clanging finality.

the next 5 minutes get filled for the next 3 hours – conversation, coffee, and potential

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Sunday

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The sun, yellow bright in it’s inevitability, one handedly shakes us up and at em with a blank page invitation to other opportunities, and in the first precious hours of wakedness, you read mornings news, contemplate the laughter conversations of yesterday, and finish another 1000 words of intention.

Here comes the mob media posts of lovely people that sonder into your awareness and the insistent shout and satisfying of fur friends answered and satiated.

Now the wonder of breakfast begins frying pan busy and oven insistent and I cut and chop my way through “i should have said” considerations and D minor C major progressions of sparkler flared recollection.

Not for nothing and nothing is what you’ll get but …..oh wait….bacon!

Lunch times laugh still pings about my soul from yesterday and the technicians exasperation at the old timers insistence still makes me warm smile curl around its recollection. A note of sour trashcan ended discord interrupts my progress with comments of someone else angst.

Toaster pops, coffee wafts, poached eggs shimmer, potatoes smile, and the table conversations begins in a newspaper spread passing of family on a Sunday morn.

Not for nothing and nothing is what you’ll get but …..oh wait….bacon!

….coffee?

Buzzsaw Cowardice

Your buzzsaw quick cowardice dresses itself in the theft
of Judy, Doris, Rosemary, Anne, and Heather’s work.

Who? you ask ….Yeah .

And now you stand on the shores of the pacific, reeking of privilege and anglo pride,
bringing salvation to the poor people of a nation whose history and struggle you only notice in the airport gift shop.

What? you ask …..Yeah.

I would gladly stand in a court made of Y and 46XX to be judged.
And when sentence is passed would say thank while you slink out the backdoor
with your eyes down.

Uh? you say….. Yeah

So go a head spit spite and shout your words yelled from safe distances.
I am unafraid of any judgement you may generate and offer the evidence of your incompetence dressed in other peoples struggles.

But! you say……Yeah

it is not built within me

You cannot imagine the deflation of try no more than you could utter the words to someone else’s heart. In calling across the recreated glories of my sometime past I feel…

ah, there it is. feel.

So I act, and as is the timing of my thought to action, act quickly. It is not built within me to hesitate, and as I hesitate, i almost invariably go wrong. Nor is it within me to greet and smile and nod and be quiet when I cannot mean it.

You cannot imagine the deflation of try no more than you could intercept the slapped out words of others said to others. In calling across the recreated glories of my sometime past i fail…

ah, there it is. fail.

Lost in the where of when and why I am encumbered by your idea of my next steps and so I act, and act quickly. It is not built within me to be careful, and as i am careful, I almost invariably go wrong. Nor is it within me to spend careful hours and long spans in deliberation when I cannot mean it.

The full-tilt boogie of my mind rim-shots against the foolish idealism of what should be and results in a jangling jive of now, now, now.

ah there it is.

You cannot imagine the deflation of try

Shibboleth

Then said they unto him, Say now Shibboleth: and he said Sibboleth: for he could not frame to pronounce it right.” Book of Judges, Chapter 12

 

I have been considering first principles for sometime now. More specifically my own first principles and what they mean to me and what I do with them. In my beginning there was art and it informed what I did and how I went about my life. It began with music and moved on to theatre. Art and its creation was a first principle.  And then came to a stop.

Over the last 10 or so years i have tried a number of times to restart the process of creating but it was always abortive in the doing. Always came to a point of confusion and non-completion. The largest part of the blame for this resides within myself by holding on to past wrongs and failures. Some part of this is because of where I live. It has not been as fertile a place to create as other places I have lived. But again and again, for sometime now, I keep thinking about these first principles of where I started. The first principle of creating art.

Let me say that Art is a completely illogical thing. Where the impulse for its creation comes from for me is almost undefinable. In trying to II sputter and flail about. But still it is there; a very deep and strong impulse despite my abuse of it. So I chose to go back to first principles. The drive to create art.

This will mean i will need to set aside some other plans and processes I have currently started or am doing. To those of you who will see me leave that work I am sorry for not finishing it with you. I hope you will understand. I must do this other thing.

I will begin by understanding and writing and talking about the parts of this first principle of creating art. About sharing my thoughts on what it means here in my community and most importantly creating it. For those that create art there is a kind of shibboleth that we recognize amongst one another; a way of identifying those who understand these impulses and need to create. I will be seeking you out and will know you, and you me, by how we frame our thoughts. How we say Shibboleth to one another.

This will not be easy but i sense already it will be a worth while. I am filled with a mad excitement and a real terror at the thought of starting .or is it restarting and of abandoning the safer path I am currently on. So let this be a declaration of a beginning.

Wish me Gods speed and turbulent waters. Everything else is merde .

Quigley