Old grapes sing hard inside this shallow cup while hens teeth whisper sweetness to the fog.
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The Visual Language Or Your Rainbow Is Standing On Top Of My My My Rainbow
This Leopard relief was created by the people of Çatalhöyük. An ancient
pre-historical culture that existed in present day Turkey at the very
cusp of the agricultural sciences. Their proto-city was a mass of simple
jumbled boxes that utilized the horizontal space of the roof as both
public throughway and plaza. Doorways in the settlement tended to be
few, low and interior. In this way the construction and demolition of Çatalhöyük was likely ongoing from 7,500 BCE through 5,700 BCE. It resulted in a 20 meter mound facing the Konya Plain. The importance of hunting and agriculture on the social mechanisms and personal lives of the residents of Çatalhöyük is very much unknown. What is known is that the patterns on these leopards
is really fascinating. Combined with the marks used to identify the
claws this image with it's low relief becomes practically animated. The
play at liveliness by elevating simple contrasting elements is clearly
an ancient visual strategy. When put into a relational context with the
modern works of Fernand Leger or of street artist Keith Haring one can
easily see similarities in the visual language emerging despite the likely
differences of these artists experiences to those of the earlier people that crafted
these Leopards. This is just some sweet stuff in the morning.
What say the fallen in theVestibule, late to dinner Warm as a garden chairYes to that, to tea and all in the green as pale as peaches will get Turd Grinder IV: Keep me in line for a little while longer, just until you have to go again. The dark wave and the first jolt from my morning coffee are elements that have yet to sheep. Looking through a ton of old glass is hard. Sitting down and sifting through the odd bits of sparkle and dust left inside this hidey-hole at the bottom of this calendar. There's almost always more bitter mixed in there then there is the sweet. Fontso: I'm so happy-happy to see that this work is being edited down. All of it's been sitting on the back of my desk forever. Where plastic gets soft in the sun and the desks window looks out south all day long it's always so hot. Turd Grinder IV: There's safety in warmth, freedom from reprisal among the pillows, in the soft down. The clock inside is as deep as a clouds kiss. Fontso: Onion thugs, yello…
Juniper, cedar and all that's old tends to settle on the bus in the corner by this door. It's not quick, joints are popping like failure. Left alone in the kitchen, looking for matches until it can light the stove. "There once was a night here," I've said as much before.
Corn conjured syrup from the corn that I brought from the back of the store. The simple pleasure of falling into that warm slip isn't like drying off or tempting the man at all. It's a lottery with pages of never knowing it all the first time that I was there.
A three way intersection where the street is wet. There's shrink-wrap that's been spooled across each of the pedestrian walkways. It's secured with bulky knots to the street lamp, the sign post and the scooter at each of the corners. There's a garage door or something else done up in yellow with blue steel doors. In the street there's garbage and soon enough an umbrella will join your car keys.