What I write about is not gratuitous — its hard won and fought for.
Not thru charity but molderings after darkness, remnants of plagues, of freedom calling from the French Revolution, religious charms left over from the Middle Ages, also savage renderings from childhood in my cock a doodle V word, where terms that are a “body: of truth,” align faith with deadliness of truth, as a sacrificial beauty, I now at times call: the love bunny.
Do I have Gaul enough to extort from Joyce’s pig latin — yes please. For me, it is a glorious compost of visual rhyme.
Language as art in part exists in float and flout ways because of him, now includes permutations and visual rhymes taken out to lang sing song attenuations that provoke like the Shakespeare, too.
Fascinations here, co lapse sid dare ian probe of religion as a collection of spirits acquiring the number 1, also the number 0, high notes trembling, nothingness descending, as rapture and its fragility.
Overcome by resistance, thrown up against wall of meaning struck — between language and rhyme.
What sprung loose from Versilla the caboose — a blistering rowing blazer pope-less search of truth.
Sweet ocean found quietude in a graveyard. Till it burst into High Gates.
Rhyme bunnied and turtled as if suddenly caught up in a run— whose passages, seemed like buried expansions being released from the ground, into my mouth into my mouth — coming down through the language, up and out — from the unknown itself —
As both a prism and predator, my heart caught by its creations — that curve like space. Tenses conjured wild differences.
New Frontiers
Writing as a region of space, of negative space in a way, writing drew itself up around religion, horror, beauty, art of spirits, whose trauma and tremors had strange resilient beauty that floated around it, kicking the can, and chasing after darkness, heart at edge of materiality, head down wondering — kicking the ground I walked on, what is love what is being and meaning.
Finding how to create around that — as a something I could do with it, what you do with it, is a species of fate.
Fate meaning its here and I refuse to be unstuck from its pursuits and not be provoked by willingness to cavort with my love for life?? as it is, both a vortex of horror and splendor.
My love bunny talks to what Colette Peignot calls the livery, I think of it more as a D Livery, about what summons as endless and the rapture of an endlessness, a gargantuan ghost town, how in its backhand N counters are stunning acts of beauty and resilience, how Love Bunny keeps coming back for more.
Pearly the rhymer unfurls it like a rug, arising out of affection and wanderama blunder thunder that pirates a flower. I had to learn how to love it as I did it for love.
If I say that, that I did it for love, in my head to Emily or the Vincent or Blake-meister who habit “precious”, if say: But I did it for love.
They nod, they know it aligns, as both a beauty and ruthlessness of truth. Whose existence I share in. Love it for what it is. The is of it and the not-knot.
Dusty Hope Designs
I love drawing nudes. I love drawing bodies. I love teaching at Parsons. I have worked in Fashion, drawing and designing and illustrating, for years upon years.
I know how to do expert technical drawings and garment renderings. I have done interior design perspectives. Rendered lovely luscious copies of masters. I have created hundreds of prints for fabric.
Came to a conclusion — that I could if I wanted sell a piece of my soul to drawing for commerce and learn trending, and all about aspects of garment construction. And now an opportunity to teach Color Theory.
Working in design started when I got a crazy retail gig by my brothers house, at a store that sold Carousal horses. And garden sculptures. And it just went on from there, until I found myself managing a design store in Soho…
Needing cash, and wanting to move on from retail end of designer related gigs that I was surprisingly good at, after California, I learned myself drawing at Arts Students League then Botanical Gardens, then all over my town, including Parsons and FIT, where I ran into Sunil the wonderful. And so (with his projects) launched my Studio work. And my cousin Jen, got me into teaching.
Drawing gave me outlines into perspective, lines, and planes. I studied perspective, and knew I could use it in my thickness sickness for trying to free the mad hatter like bones to scatter, and all its figurative expansions…
Let ride the rhyming sickness.
Let dig for cues moos and rim bow booze —
Let sylph and silt the philo silo —
Let birdy steal anything finds through falls in wells or tidal swells.
Yeah horses. Revenger of runners and riders. I really like that. It is a bath. I think of it as lady in the lake "flake" -- it runs into snowflakes, name calling is sin non i muste, I am a runner and a rider, re venge is scorn of dimentia I drink for philosophy where allumes cunt rolls into negs and the poz. I like how you go for it.
Admire this a lot
A store that sold carousel horses... an illegal underground bordello in Logan's Run II: Revenge of the Runners and the Riders
What I really like about your writing is that it's so easy to allow your sketched meanings to ebb and flow. Not straining, but bathing.
Yeah horses. Revenger of runners and riders. I really like that. It is a bath. I think of it as lady in the lake "flake" -- it runs into snowflakes, name calling is sin non i muste, I am a runner and a rider, re venge is scorn of dimentia I drink for philosophy where allumes cunt rolls into negs and the poz. I like how you go for it.
Here's to philosophy! And to snowflakes, and to these delectable cunt rolls. What an excellent spread!