Create Dangerously

Space is this tiny interlude, between the choices, and the love-threads. But somehow, somewhere along these misty aeons, you create dangerously meaning that can substantiate your shadow and transform it into a dream, that you can change, and that you might never have to run away from, simply chase till other turns. And thru the incidents that show so many trails, and a judgment at crucial cruxes of swinging time, you’ll summit upon a place, upon a grief in the nights to foresee the great phases. Discovering sparks, and eyes that glimmer in the blue apocalypse.  

An apocalypse, where the sky is asphyxiated by an array of destructive planes, and the vengeance darts in thru openings in the sky, and the guns are shot inward, and the crowds dither and wither and run, while their arms get mangled in each other’s. But to each his own, and so many fall within a district of influences, and those feelings rise only inside of you- perched on a lifeguard stand… The clouds float loudly thru islands of mud, and bodies share and sell themselves in an audition, an attempt to free the captivity, over the sounds of the flat-broke-down minutes, crossed with a funereal submission.

These events that occur in your head in unstable surrounding, become descriptive of all the things you are. There’s no cure for a diseased soul, and no fix for becoming, no highway thru this hell, no separate table to transform mundane water into cherry-cola, there’s a whole lot of nothing amid a vinyl library of troubles.

A library lined with bulleted shelves wearing shades of gloom, and accommodating personality traits, pages of pessimism from an anthology of despondence fly loosely and stick to the head. Some shelves dangle with books of good memories and feelings that stick out in the new load troubles that unleash into limited yet liminal space. And the video camera faces you for your message, your momentous love song, your wooden laments, and your anguish all dolled up in a blank recorder that spans decades of lifetime.

Published by

Watt

It's all a matter of rust and shine, to serve a distinction between to have and to have not.

84 thoughts on “Create Dangerously”

  12. Watt, this is a great piece. It’s beyond powerful. A chaotic world in which one hardly can find his/her place. Perhaps no one can find anything at the end of the day.
    “And the video camera faces you for your message, your momentous love song, your wooden laments, and your anguish all dolled up in a blank recorder that spans decades of lifetime.”

    The sign of a broken heart here? Whose heart? The question is rhetorical, for after reading twice this piece it seems like there is no heart left intact in the between of the choices, and the love-threads.
    What a magnificent work.

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    1. The sincerity that I feel from your praises is an award. A big one.
      A broken heart is born every minute, I had a share sold to me and I bet you’ve had a share yourself. The sheer truth very often is that we prostitute parts of ourselves to keep façades that retain walls and a sense of warm protection. And we shouldn’t, but that’s who we are and what we become. That is the idea I set out with, all it’s consequences and all its unreality.

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      1. My pleasure, Watt.
        “The sheer truth very often is that we prostitute parts of ourselves to keep façades that retain walls and a sense of warm protection. And we shouldn’t, but that’s who we are and what we become.”
        True. Structure over agency. We straggle to comply with what the society dictates. Generally speaking, we stopped creating meaningful “landscapes.” We allow the “landscape” to created us. One pays a hell of a praise if one wants to be authentic. Authenticity is a heavy cross to carry.
        Still I get to read writers of your caliber. I do find plenty of consolation in doing so.
        Have a great weekend.

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    1. Not the intention I set out with. But it would be an honor, if this resonated in a real and such a serious issue. Is that what you meant? It has semblance to something worldly, and important?

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      2. Thank you so much, Resa. I am so happy you said that. You’re totally amazing. I have been binge gazing your art. Truly love the one you did for Charlie Zero. How awesome.

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      3. Yes… I’m trying to start a Street Poetry Art movement. Charlie just sent me a micro-poem to put on the door. Thursday, I’m buying the paint. Looks like I’ll be painting the door next Sunday-Tuesday.
        Have you seen my Art Gowns? https://artgowns.com/ They take 3 – 6 months to make, so I’ve been doing in between posts with sketches.

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      4. Wow! Talk about talent I have seen a few of your art gowns, and am completely speechless par your passion for making a cruel world a little prettier.

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      5. Insightful! I made the first Art Gown after my mom died. I did & do want beauty. That’s also why they are made of trash, up-cycled, recycled and repurposed. I will buy old bargain bin fabrics that sit out on the street, and I will buy paint to paint them, if needed.

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      8. I agree. Life is dreamy and iconic, until there’s soil falling over our heads, or maybe rocks and we’re singing anthems, waiting. Waiting to get to the end of the song, and the ends of circumstances.

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    1. I’m really sorry but for some absurd reason this comment got in my spam folder. I’m really glad that you enjoy my work! I enjoy yours too. 🙂

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  16. I enjoy your blog. Sorry I only pick up on it when I put a post up. I am a follower of yours but you never appear on the Reader. I seem to have a few issues like this. WP need to get their act together – I’m paying them enough! Anyway, I just didn’t want you to think I don’t read your work ~ George

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    1. I wish with all my heart that were true. It’s an amazing photographer from Slovenia, Tom Plevnik. He has a blog on WordPress and has allowed me to use his awesome pictures.

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    1. Art is a manual thing, nothing compares to truth, no scares that blue isn’t the essence of an era that Picasso painted, it was a freshman generation of degenerate beauty in his mind. And it’s all that now. You, a poet, writing all the news in Picasso’s surrealistic colors and Ginsberg’s Beat syntax have got me waiting for another read from you.

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  22. Paul Gauguin gave me
    a ticket to sail the Tiwi Islands.
    Here in the tropics, floating
    upon the sea of Carpentaria,
    there’s an ocean breeze
    whispering deep secrets.
    The pearl divers of poetry
    are spoiling me with a bounty
    of bright shiny topics.
    But there are shadows
    of danger lurking
    just below the surface.
    Perhaps that’s the place
    I best throw my net in? 😎

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