Drug addiction and mental illness are widely known to be, however debilitating to one’s health and relationships, benefactors for art creation. The song, ‘Wet Sand’ off the 2006 Red Hot Chili Peppers’ album, Stadium Arcadium, and written by John Frusciante and Anthony Kiedis, describes what it’s like living such a self-destructive paradox. I believe the appeal to try mind-bending substances and the twisting of the word ‘crazy’, making it a desirable trait and a near-virtue, are symptoms of a dying spirit desperate to be validated, nurtured, and ultimately, reflected in the wide world, Read More
Where do I put this sequin when the sequence
Falls like notes from the cellar door?
On my knees searching on the dirty waxed floor
Hands graze gypsy mambo scuff-marks
And dirty martini olive-swords.
Candles glow in distant red bulbs,
My search waxes dim.
How does poetry save the world like God? Read More
The artist must be blind to distinctions between “recognized” or “unrecognized” conventions of form, deaf to the transitory teaching and demands of his particular age. He must watch only the trend of the inner need, and hearken to its words alone. All means are sacred which are called for by the inner need. All means are sinful which obscure that inner need… We have before us the age of conscious creation, and this new spirit in painting is going hand in hand with the spirit of thought towards an epic of great spiritual leaders.
I am testament to God’s challenging sense of humor. He made me an artist but withheld creativity and relinquished my imagination at a premature age. I also fell in love with his wilderness and abhorred “his” ritual. I wasn’t given eyes to see how the world worked, the gears and mechanics of human invention and institution; but I was given vision to see it from a great distance so as to know its whole context, how it fit into all-worlds. Read More
Reading Diana Butler Bass’ Christianity After Religion, I am confused why people are so interested in the question of ‘Spiritual’ vs. ‘Religious’. Anyone with at least half an open eye can see that God comes to meet people in myriad ways, each one beautiful even if obscured by partial blindness. Why mask the uniqueness and the miracle of each by classifying it into one or the other category? To be concerned with this debate is to squander the fruit of the spirit and put the human realm above or before God’s. Read More
In attempt to love them
Yea, I become them
Before no walls were there.
Now built round
Notion of in-and-out has height,
Keeps out the sunlight,
Of home-and-world… Read More
I scratch the mosquito bites on my skin and the mountaintops wear away revealing the beginning and end of the bronze-age. Rusty nails puncture Read More
I poison my food forgetting to pray
Letting the day
Or night fall into illusory questioning, Read More
To Marguerite while alone tonight,
Not even the wind stirs to brush or slap my skin
And I must remove my boots to feel the cold earth,
Prodigal with its minerals in its youth and
Tropical only by nostalgia, Read More
On the train to DC to visit Bek, a man came from a few rows up and across the aisle to tap my shoulder and hold up a screen that read, “Will you help me?” He is deaf and needed to call his case-worker, Mrs. Allen, to let her know that he is on the train. I called her and she told me that it was okay for him to go back to his apartment. I typed her reply and as I got up to return to my seat he leaned in and told me, “I just lost my family in an explosion.” Read More
This creation is what C.S. Lewis meant with the new Christian: The Atman. The quiet yet radiant, the contemplative yet lively. The paradox. The corporeal enigma. The truth. Read More