My red address

Inside my heart
is another heart
I have been saving this
second heart
for you
If I ever do
find you
To be honest
I am hopeful
but I am not
holding my breath

And my heart is?
Inside a bigger heart
I can feel this third heart
enveloping mine
with more love than I
can handle
Love that would end me
if the two hearts were switched

This is why I can be a bitch
Because I can feel the presence
and power of this larger heart
And I measure everything to it
This is why I cannot
settle for little
Or even less
I may never find you
But I am familiar and safe
in this greater love

I live in it

I usually go underground or underwater to bring back your poems, but for this one I decided to extract from the crown, because you have to challenge yourself, as an artist, you cannot keep making the same artwork over and over, or you can, kazuo ishigiro has admitted to doing this recently, but even though he has a nobel prize you might wish to do it differently than kazuo ishigiro

Oh! The extravagance, and the glamour
So dazzling, and eye-opening
Such an iridescent and prevalent fall of jewels

It is a tree, see
Of sorts
For this? I wore shorts and a short-sleeved shirt

I wanted to climb the highest mountain
And so I climbed the highest mountain
I wanted to swim in the deepest sea

And so I swam in the deepest sea
I wanted to kiss the most beautiful man
And so I kissed the most beautiful man

You keep thinking, if I do this next thing, if
I save this much money, or achieve this next
impossible goal, I will find some sort of peace

You might, but only for a short while
The restlessness is a blessed bird
that perches on the branches of your soul

And if it does soar, it always returns
It is what gives you: life
So gather and collect all the jewels

who have been shaken by the crown
tonight. You cannot keep them,
so make the journey

back up the sky
to return them
to its sender

Surprisingly, its sender says, they are for you
You ask the sender if they are sure
They say yes

You go back home, richer,
for the first time,
in your poor, desolate life

You can afford things, for once
It takes you a while to get used to it
But like every other change, you adjust

You deserve some extravagance
You have had nothing for so long
Are you grateful? I am grateful, this does not feel wrong

NB I am actually a huge fan of the literature of Kazuo Ishigiro. Never Let Me Go and The Buried Giant are two of the most illuminating, oblique, restrained and beautiful books I have ever read



My paintings are the ashes of my art

Yves Klein
famously declared

the blue sky
to have been

the first art work
he had ever

created. He was
not being literal,

which is often the approach
by which,

artists are notoriously
and repeatedly,

misunderstood:
he wanted

to instill
the infinite:

and the
immaterial

into his art.
He was

a ‘religious’ painter
who, wanted

to go
further,

than simply illustrating
deities


from the Bible,
like Michelangelo

or Caravaggio,
or Fransesco del Cossa

he wanted to paint
the void

before it
was

personified.
He created

monochromatic paintings
as figurative

leaps
into the void,

the most famous of which
were painted

in his Yves Klein
international blue,

a hue
he invented

himself.
Later he presented

sealed off glass
rectangle boxes

as his art work
and empty galleries

which he painted
white

himself.
He got closer:

to empty space.
Yves Klein

did not
consider himself,
 
an abstract
painter,

he considered
himself,

a realist, a man,
in space, attempting

to paint space, or
radiance, which he

considered,
the essence of painting.  By

painting emptiness
in a realistic way

he seems to
me to be

attempting
to depict

the emptiness
that

Simone Weil
defined God to be

I have been thinking about
this

especially last night
when I started reading about

NFTs, which
are tokenized

versions
of assets

that can be traded
on a block-chain

the digital ledger technology
behind cryptocurrencies

like
bitcoin and ethereum,

but unlike
bitcoin  and ethereum


the NFTs
cannot

be exchanged. In the
21st century

art will be intangible,
something which

Yves Klein
not only predicted

but was of the first
to have capitalized from.
Therefore God
will be understood

not as a man
in the sky

with his arms
open wide

but energy
and space

that may
be

siphoned
and transformative,

and this will solve
the eternal question

whether or not
God

exists: God does
but God is like,

oxygen: he can help
your lungs breathe

but you have, to
keep them

healthy


My paintings are the ashes of my art
(title) is a quote, by Yves Klein

A very common dichotomy

I was born
on gold
being sold to the plastic

demons on a daily
basis. Spiritual
crisis was bound to follow. Needs

are mostly superficial, and monetary.
Ignorance is a vice of a virtue.
Every main entrance of every company

is decorated with bouquets of iniquity. What is
being done, to the
Goddess, Isis, sister of

Osiris? Aurum chipped,
on a daily basis,
with a pitchfork,

and being sold in shards
across the unanimous
races, their vacant faces:

murderous.
You used to scare me,
and dare me

with nonsense.
What is my faith?
It is the certainty

that someone cares.
It is the conviction
that this someone/thing is

divine. It is what holds up
the two poles
in between which

the tightrope
I unprecariously balance on
I could

never see
at either
end. The world

snarls and barks
at you, attempting to push
you away. There is ‘nowhere to hide’

but there is no need to,
especially when the corresponding
cloisters are fragrant with frankincense

and alive with showering with
holy waterfalls, the necks of the believers
stretched up

quenching their
immortal
thirst. The only thing

better than money?
Eternal
life

earth day 2021

what a writer ought to
write about
are the things
they don’t want to know, I got this
from reading deborah levy’s
pt i of her living autobiography
the other day, which i read
in one frankly glorious
afternoon. the things i don’t
want to know could be listed
by me at the cost of feeling
vulnerable, but fortunately
as a cancerean i am both
emotional and strong, so if i have to
deal with something
even if i don’t want to
deal with it i will
deal with it. in the past
i would complain, but now
that i am older (craw! craw!)
and having survived
certain hardships at large
i can do it – or i can at least try. i still
stare at trees sensing (the unseen) the love undulating
from them more so than
most animals or even people. but i don’t
want to be untrustworthy
of people anymore
just because they can be
petty or
messy or
worship drama, i want to be a living
breathing brave person
who loves life. because i  
do. and if i am
cautious, it is not because i fear life
but because i love it. i also love
the words that i can distill
the whole of my existence
at this point
in time into words. and i love
the fact that someone
somewhere who i do not know
might even read them. such assurances
assuage me. as i complete this
in the café i am writing
in the distance a crow
is crowing in a tree
because another crow is trying
to sit in the same
tree the former crow
is sitting in. but it isn’t
anyone’s tree

sense (the unseen)

you were touched by beauty
like a saluki
it is evident

sky slit and it seemed unruly
but it was truly
not unprovident

I cannot see you
but I can feel you
from a distance

when I am distracted
and this is protracted
your return, in an instant:

my inner saboteur wants me lonely
wants me homely
fuck him

we are connected
we are electric
we are poetic

in our worlds
respective:
within, and without

nb I ushered all my selves (see katherine mansfield) to write this

Double down

step by step into the future

inch by inch
I crept along the lengthwise of the sky

as I am trying to shake off

trying to ignore
the easy fortune of others who took a step
and ended up with a quantum leap

my past and the past

gradually I, slowly I, I by degrees
splinter by splinter
all the splinters however became silver

of my ancestors

it was unbearable
but it was worth it

and the evil eye


I tried to make light of it
by complaining but my comedy became
insufferable

they garnered

steadily, unwaveringly, undeviatingly

during the journey


I am not the victim
in this story

so that I may know

I am just trying to be
heroic, for me

a light

eventually, in due course,
in the end, by and by:

for myself

inch by inch I creep along
the lengthwise of the sky

and for my children

I stopped to smell the flowers, but there were words on them

A poem is when the cold chill
of loneliness changes,
and becomes holy

here you are not alone
in the tumbleweed desertscapes,
but transcendent among the gladioli

Content of course is what most
matters, but what matters even more
these boundaries could shatter

Each to each, consecutive:
the ebullient worlds:
lively, boiling, enthusiastic, agitated:

and you traversing them, like pods
effortlessly because of the power
and the eternal flowering

of words:
Your shrouded body now a lit bed of roses
For the noses

of the Gods

The origin of all the petals caught in the wind

Between nothing is what it seems
and everything keeps changing:
anything is holy
anything is sacred
and beautiful
and dear

Pity evil
it is always trying
and always failing
to turn the light toxic
to extinguish the light fantastic
and to taint the source of our love –

The partridge stealing eggs from the nests
of every bird
is the devil
And partridges will appear
dazzling you with their plumage
with the object to destroy you

However happiness is your prerogative
Happiness is private
Happiness must be protected
And all the incarcerating meanings redeemed –

Into the thinning air
Release all negativity
Uncage all souls
Run up the heavenly hill and rotate
and spin on the highest firmament
until you are an illuminated hurricane of joy

The origin of all the petals
caught in the wind
is You:

now call us flower-boys
and flower-girls

Not predator
or prey:

We are nature