Occult : A Study Painting ov Austin Osman Spare “Aida” c.1954

Mixed Media,16X20, 2015

Aida

perhaps an invitation to the wild vagueness within that surrounds her
Ethiopian Princess
bondage chains her prisoner
love between captor and captive is but one of the focal points
another to be considered is all out bloody war
blood on earth that will be shed , blood till enemy all fours
the season for study is upon us alive in depth
a orangery light illuminates the contours of her cloak
gold sigils made up imagination blurry indoctrinate
breasts are cubes flesh out the chaotic field
on bended knee , the captain of the guard , draws his sword mounted before a painting that speaks the words
a position is relative to the formlessness of his right
i shall not fail you my princess , fire of love, promises of death OH! flaming light
her headdress dominates and with what seems like a screaming skull aside a village of totem poles
praise to the unformed void
understanding this magick re-known
love in war , grace that accentuates haughtily
you enigmatic woman of regal
i paint my head on her left shoulder vanishing into blue swirls and perhaps there is a horse close to this floating head to take her upon saddle and blaze steed moonlit nite
an intuition full measure of both and does
the guard choose love before states loyalty

Who Is She

the Hymn of the Sleepwalker

"I go onto the way that Providence dictates with the assurance of a Sleepwalker"

the Histories 
appreciate the broad palette 
technicalities , dedication , expressive sensory exploration
seriousness , sternness states laughter , if you sit on the couch slumped for too long you will forget the discipline of a hard antique chair then reject this totality and sit on the floor  
revival of interest - study of detail
the great wall of comedy crumbles before a lit king who fills his belly and orders on the word of another's mass much to the sadomasochists delight , sexual pleasure of a spanking
the twisted mirror for the left shows the roots of hypocrisy , 
let me show you the
edge of spring a tree branch falls across the river from where i sit
the mysteries of love omens of the season the vitality of a gift
it is condescending to talk down to an audience
the difference is i listen and you speak , i do and you speak of doing
where there are unknown worlds that are shown unto you 
and
what is time , but a variety of one thing ---AOS
so take the unwretched hand and walk again

http://byawindow.tumblr.com/

a poem

boxing patterns

myths of Miles Davis stay with me
particularly on the record to boxer Jack Johnson
Miles laced up his shoes tight every morning
training for a fight
is instrumental

in the garage
my father's Everlast black leather gloves
i find them in dust i put them on
again things are forming in a way
i can not quite understand
i bow before the bag
i remember blows my chambers
Sensai struck bamboo to my red legs
tighten your stance , you are water you will not feel this
my right forearm is burning
peek-a-boo
feel my cross
i gather the secret jab of my left , i feint and southpaw the bag
the sound of chains clank
hook the line steady the bag's swinging
go the distance until the breath sharpens
while this vessel is not frame for boxing
slim and beat from winters lethargy
i should just dance carry head on
the omens of this season
point to all reason that i should
come out the gate swinging and
by the grace - parry
bob and weave
my reactions to the spiders web
shows me
i've been at battle with patterns and padded walls

#boxer

Blue Ridge Mountains, VA (Nanny's Home)