In Memory Of Trees

chirp chirp radio

the morning brightly
parroting in pinkish songs
buy happiness now
.

super self

Dirty Windshield

Always begin with a linear perspective and a destination?



The tree line had become a runway. My mind launched into nothing less than a sleep. I saw them. What did I see? The curve.



What of the in-between. That which was before and that which was after in this direction? The ordering of the pictures you see is not an attempt to defy linear narrative. Yet what is the relationship of foreshortening to linear perspective? What of the need to stretch the frame, to cheat the geometry of the linear?

Yes, telephone poles. UFOs or dirt on the windshield? The question of being flattened. For that question, a series of blurs, of bad lighting.

The aliens departed in blue blurs. I turned to watch them., or I would have turned to watch them, but I was driving and taking pictures.

The runway of tomorrow and yesterday proved a battleground. All of this activity needed a somewhere. But where? The dirty windshield? Or dirt, too much like desire?

1, 2, 3, 4

Take Good Care Of Self
Long Journey Ahead
Keep Strength Good Ideas
Love In The Heart
Hatred Bury In Deep Earth
Spread Self Like Giant
To Four Winds

Robert Indiana / 1,2,3,4
Seen in Heidenheim 15,11,2005
.

art for the sole

patterns etched into the sand
by the movement of the sea



are sun-warmed relief sculptures
under foot



as the water
reaches toward you with its touch
.

Outside and In

The small orchestra seems to echo through my head. The drip of a tap somewhere from inside the house. The quiet classical music in the lounge room. I hear the footsteps pervading the silent mid-afternoon street. A dog barks, and outside, a mother yells for her son from the increasing darkness of the lawn next door. The phone rings quietly down stairs, but it gets missed as the microwave dings for attention. I pick up the phone a few minutes later, and find my aunt’s voice coming through, having a conversation with the anonymous configured voice of the machine.

The kettle boils into the kitchen, unstoppably, and I walk back in to settle it. Outside the window I see the dog, tail high, trotting the backyard, dripping with water and smiling. She pushes her nose into a hole of mud, and emerges from it grubby faced.

The mobile phone beeps at me, vibrating across the table top. My sister. Sending love and well wishes. Off to a party. Won’t be home to see me. I walk back to the kitchen, pour the tea, notice the light drizzle now coming down across the deep blue sky. I hear the faint laughter from the next door’s backyard, where I catch a peek of his head over the fence, standing under the awning with friends.

The music has stopped. Nothing moves inside. No voice, no presence. The oven timer blinks at me. I blink back, and the dog whimpers at the locked glass door.

2 Seelen, please

naked branches of November trees
reaching for sunflower bread
for sesam rolls

for the souls to buy
in the morning
still warm and crispy

(Seelen. souls. that's the name
ot those lenghty bread rolls
a bit salty, they taste)
.

Between the lines...

he said:
“so.. I don't know. It's like... you know?”

and she said:
“I know. I mean, you know, I thought about just that. This, you know, thought, you know, in between those lines.”

and he said:
“Yes, that’s it. It's what you're saying when you're not saying anything. It's the meaning between the words. The unspoken meaning. The subtext. I'm just saying is all, you know?”

and she said:
“I know. Thinking of it, someone said to me once, 'don't try to read between my lines, all there is are just empty spaces.' But then, I think, the things you are saying when you're not saying anything are really what you're saying, you know?”

and he said:
“Well, yeah, it goes without saying, you know?”

My Diamond Grandmother

…Diamonds are forever, my grandmother once told me. I laughed. So Cliché.

…Diamonds are the stone of engagement rings. Her original engagement ring, the one I now wear on my finger. Representing love. Representing their eternal love. An eternal bond, a gift given and received with more love then one can imagine.

…Diamonds go with anything. I slip into jeans and a sloppy T-shirt, a pair of diamond earrings and a diamond necklace. I do not flinch, there is no contradiction in style.

‘Of course, personally, I think it would tacky if I wore diamonds before I was forty’ announced Holly Golightly the first time I watched Breakfast at Tiffany’s, with my grandmother, sitting in a room splashed by tiny flitting rainbows from a crystal drop by the window.

I sit at the table, looking at the ring. Diamonds, like true love, span time.

I look at my grandmother, and she smiles. I do love my grandmother, she gives me the foundation that makes me, me. No diamond could outlast the love and respect I have for her.