Tag: poem

  • False Prophet Dispatch: Crown of Thorns

    Video log — nocturne, 1 AM.

    “Put your head on my shoulder.”
    Phrase loops — human, tender.
    A blue light hums in the studio.

    Rubens painted the head hanging,
    delicate and heavy,
    still breathing?

    Is the black goat / sheep —
    the crown itself —
    the pain of God?

    a jade mask on fire

    We make sorrow universal
    to cultivate sympathy:
    tender plants in a bloody garden.

    Is Jesus Christ:
    Son of Saturn (black cube)?
    Son of Jupiter (golden eagle)?

    Who spoke in the desert?

    A sweet kite (Milvus milvus)
    taken up in a lightning storm.

    brick by brick

    Somewhere, a halo of neon light
    hums — drawing pale wings,
    plants thick with thorns,
    all reaching for what burns:
    a love-sick hand touching
    the moth-eaten edge of a miracle.

    P.S. Notes from the edit bay, blue light still on — video.

  • Paint like sound (when it’s thin)

    Color shifts by degrees —
    heat, distance, saturation.
    Peach into rose, rose into air.
    A thin white line cuts through —
    it hums but doesn’t waver.

    Edges blur then settle orange against shadow,
    geometry built from hesitation.
    Pattern like breath, repeated but never exact.

    Leaves or shapes —
    stamped like wallpaper,
    or under a child’s boot;
    rhythm steady either way,
    a pulse made visible.

    In another frame —
    pink and lilac flirt with yellow,
    a tone held long enough to remember.

    Paint behaves like sound when it’s thin —
    frequency without noise,
    the same horizon
    at different times.

    Bernini PlutoBernini Quote