Saturday, May 18, 2013

Wastelands

No lots are truly vacant. Complicated, interlocking ecologies of weeds and human detritus hasten to fill in the blanks, be they erasures or natural absences.  


The eye (my eye?) is promiscuous in its affections. Anything looks good up close. Numbers resonate with unplumbable significance,  and shapes, even rusted, reveal inarguable intelligent design even if the evoked pleasure is a mystery of deep, biologic concotion and extravagance.


I am wandering in a landscape of waste and want. The old asylum's boarded up administration building becomes a blank canvas,


a place of innumerable perils,


a classical pediment crying out for its own glowing nautilus that will whisper come in and see to any willing and susceptible ear.


Cataracts overflowing --


Parasols succumbing to wind --


Nursery colors --


A strange bird on her egg --


and the falls at evening, bronzed by the setting sun --


it's time -- it's always time --  to sit back and watch the game.

Crowds,


trails,

signage --

under the brise-soleil --


goal disoriented --


delicate --

imprisoned --


punished --

incinerated --


umbilicated --


Oh, what is the opposite of anthropomorphize ?



3 comments:

Roy said...

I don't know what to make of the blue nautilus… maybe it will grow on me. right now, it jars.. and then there's all that dough that was spent on it.. i don't know..

Tom said...

A magical journey into the imagination, a journey that is never complete in itself. Waves across a lake; waves generating more waves.

forsythia said...

I don't know the answer to your question and I don't know if we the people will ever awaken from our false dream that places ourselves at the center of the universe.