Ghost Song

Jim Morrison's poetry, with music later added by the remaining members of The Doors.

FOUND Krakow, Poland

John Baldessari singing Sol LeWitt's statements on Conceptual Art

Ensalada Rusa by Guillermo Kuitca and Alfredo Prior

eye candy

František Kupka on abstraction

IT SEEMS UNNECESSARY TO PAINT TREES WHEN PEOPLE SEE MORE BEAUTIFUL ONES ON THE WAY TO THE EXHIBIT

Hermeto Pascoal

czech ads

Hokusai

great great great design

Damien Hirst in POP

"I like the idea of using something Pop-like to get people in then hit them with a motherfucker of dark truth"

language of the dead

mine is the only

i could not speak
transmit sonic morsels through
you baskets of my syllables
you are upturning
all lying scattered
frenetic and trembling

so
you stomp
trodding your weight
atop them as i turn to
your gaping void perpetually
annihilating my sense
unraveling
me

your insides will still
be curdling
from metaphorical waste
i spread on taut lips
i
parted
so as to see if
you would since
mimesis of action is
your epitome

i catch
you
plundering
my chest
of letters frantic quietly
piecing shards of comfort ones
we were bred to worship
between them
your inscrutable resin
is posited in crevices
of shamed vowels
though
you think not
in living terms

in hideaways
i unearth
their graves when shakes
overtake me
i lived
i claim
i say
so
in languages
you eradicate

of course
obviously
undoubtedly
inadequate strips
of spirit and
substance intermixed
and frought into sentences
shatter
me

you announce
there's a storm
you intimate
no
words
penetrate
you
were unfurled
into the wrong
body born on alien
shores scraping
your jagged roots smooth
you let them
wither umbilical shreds
of something shacked
up in
"origins"

you
yours
me
i-
granted
but it is
us
that eludes vocabulary
except in eyes
perceiving distance
twixt retinas of
your skin's unsulliable quality
neither shattering nor
melding into
mine if
we
grapple
our
notions

it seems
it appears
only in
broken bastard
language do
i control
non-meanings
climaxing when
your view

vanishes

perhaps this
is it
suppose
we
are not
supposed to

anything



flawed
atoms

fail
to cohere

our
words
we
desiccate


jlt

João Gilberto - "Desafinado"