Newman’s Type: -A, The Blood of Memory

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NEWMAN’S TYPE: -A, THE BLOOD OF MEMORY

 

 to Daddy ‘doc’ Otis D. Newman, my muse, my lost animus, my fatherhoods absence, my lucifer, my true color…

                     "We judge a man’s wisdom by his hope."
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

31 days have past still I write as I seek out a single flattened pause that may or may not freeze time into a metallic plastic picture frame

Cheap and flexible, I bend a cracking lightening bolt spread. A stencil made of stuff shadowing a simple dance so the history of you….

the history of me….

can and will be seen as hands feel destructive ruts with curious eyes reflecting alienated must-haves of a time when real was the only flash-

Flashing orbs of sequence glittering the deepest obsidian screens that lit up the nights alone without help or sound

just the pulsing randomness of archaic light, speeding blindly in straight raying lines or snail snarling slows in zig zagging predictability

Yet very precise
Very seasonally

punctual

the winking exhaustion of obsolete suns are still

probing a exploration

Into the darkest onyx
where time may or may not tick
but a line aligns

forming a wait
waiting one by one
to fully experience a relic of a past

Taught to us all only in our dreams by faces that hold nostalgic eyes. The familiar electricity sparking smokey vestiges to evaporate a moment to gravity’s sleepy side

The subconscious ones that hold swaddled newborns within their crystalline essence
are the place absorbed by flash-frozen things
like the 4×7’s that fill up my 3 ringed binders of time

Before weightless life moved into the collective psyches waist
leaving a long ebbing line of lost ageless faces

staring into the void of life

a stranger is missed

a absence is absent

As the multitudes gather
one by one so life in the living can be passed around
(the light of dusty lost life of yonder years)
and can be weighed and wholly solid….

enough to reflect the time’s shadow
that rather it is seen or not seen will

dance
a living kind

the only space left to hold on to time

whether or not time is less or more or even

paused in a real moment only

which gives and gives and

so it gives

preciously

it really gives

Say When

My Animus' atlas

ART BY: Emiy D. Robbins, “My Animus’ Atlas’ 2014♠

“I have things in my head that are not like what anyone taught me — shapes and ideas so near to me,so natural to my way of being and thinking.” 
― Georgia O’Keeffe
Say When

I live life quietly
not so much awaiting a turn or
wanting a miracle
but more like the eternal
organs beat and push and scream
synchronizing a current that is
oddly as still as vastness engulfs
absorbance of high time 


I am not distinguished
or even close to any narcissist
of modern day nows
I would be the one laughed upon
looked down with a clever slanty eye
the one quietly obese with a heavy voice
not quite ready to pass the nasty
rags, pits, and muddy trenches
of the mastery of vocal cords
but plainly-painfully aware

nothing I have is worth possessing

that nothing I possess is of me
Yet I still have this secret
I have no idea to what means it reaches
nor do I know of it’s orgins
as I drift in a soften-spotted skull
asking if skipping legs 

just hit the awfully young

maybe even before time

but what I have come to graciously invite

is a moment when simplicity accepts

as dementia steals all motive and way
and it’s stuck in motion looking queer
lacking deeply under a thing not yet
and in that exact instantance
all collides and life chants a hymn
and dances in obsidian stained wells
just where those ‘five’ cannot scuff up
there fortunate life at my soul’s heels
so in this very exactness I can begin 

We are anthill men upon an anthill world.”  Ray Bradbury

Tree of DreAMS and Lifes

ART BY Emily D. Robbins, “Tree of Dreams and Lifes”

2014♠

 

Life is for eac…

QUOTES ABOUT LIFE

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    ALife is for each man a solitary cell whose walls are mirrors.
  – – – Eugene O’Neill

Life is made up of marble and mud.
– – – Nathaniel Hawthorne

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“Now I am here – now read me – give me a name.”
― Carl Sandburg

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I was born to catch dragons in their dens

And pick flowers
To tell tales and laugh away the morning
To drift and dream like a lazy stream
And walk barefoot across sunshine days.
– – – – James Kavanaugh “Sunshine Days and Foggy Nights”

thor lindeneg surrealism

“You overrate my capacity of love.
I don’t posess half the warmth
 of nature you believe me to have.
An unprotected childhood in a cold world
has beaten gentleness out of me.”
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“People like to warn you that by
the time you reach the middle
of your life, passion will begin
to feel like a meal eaten long
ago, which you remember
with great tenderness.”
― Meg WolitzerThe Uncoupling
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