Fireworks

Today there were fireworks in my city.
Not in the sky. But 8 explosions.
Yes, It didn't hurt. It could have been worse.
But it represents a drive that worries me.

I understand destruction.
With each drop of ink the space that was my canvas is broken.
with every syllable silence is dead.
But out of this death is born creation. the cycle continues.
(and on and on and on)
and there's so much love to give. there's so much love to give.
Here we are. Poets.painters.philosophers.politicians. desperately trying to grasp what we're born into. All the immensity. trying to imitate. trying to emulate.
'but art can never imitate. It can only inspire.'
We cannot play god. through bombs. through paint.
The approach should then not be to imitate. To have 'creation' at your fingertips.
but to thank.

I could spend years painting a mountain. It will never be the mountain itself.
trapped on paper. not so vivid.
in technicolour.
(It will never be the mountain.)
It only expresses love for that mountain.
It is not to make it mine. But to make it me.
Love is:
Anterior to life.
Posterior to death
Initial to creation
the exponent of breath.

we anticipate Desire
and dismiss it.
We cling to dreams
but give in and taste Desperation.
We decide that desire is desolate.
Dreaming is not.

And go back to waiting.
And fall asleep.

We awaken.
And see that it's not even a dream we wait for.

It's destiny.
(all turns to dust)


(Oh and there's so much love to give. there's so much love to give. there's so much love to give)

First photograph a part of a project where I used my body as a canvas.
second illustration for ING vysya foundation.

your eyes have their silence

I've always been afraid
of bringing things I create with my hands
into a digital world. I was afraid that maybe somewhere between the
blinking screen and the ink on my fingers
something would be lost. like the silver key you kept in your coat pocket.

blue lines that only some light can percieve.
I've decided to trust electrons zipping through invisible space
with my soul stretched out in inks

And scan pages off my notebook. for a million mirrors to see.
and open me.

"we can create kingdoms of our own
grand purple thrones
those chairs of lust
and love we must
on beds of rust"

the second official photograph I ever took.
3 years ago.
we found that dragonfly together.
We held her in our arms.
it was too late to save her.
so we made her a home in the soil.
and let her fall asleep for a hundred years. or more.

the first photograph I ever took.
he was blind and singing
on the steps leading to a temple.
with many blind men whispering prayers
and singing praises.

Eye

I am swallowed by the storm
in your eye.
I looked into them searching for steady seamanship.
you were lost at sea too.
She'd warned me:
"A blind man won't run after you without losing his way"