Art for Right Now

Right Now

I am feeling fragile and frail. A thousand years old. A thousand ways to go. Temporary, transient, hesitant. A long way into life. Guided by the gods? Is that the way the wind blows? Who knows? I don’t know. No one knows. Nothing lasts. At the end of the day, where will we be?

Closer to transition and invisibility. How long? Who can say? But, today is golden, ripe for the taking. A bright sun polished landscape. The flavor of peaches. The impossibly blue sky impossibly far away. Clouds hover. Far away thoughts are thinking of singing. The forest is alive. Pollen, the forest of tomorrow, is everywhere. The coral seas are full of polyps. The goats are rubbing their horns against the trees and trying to fly. The garden is waking up. The azaleas are in full bloom. The moon is going to meet the sun tonight. Ice is still possible. Everyone is exaggerating. Everyone is seeking to expand. Everyone manifesting expectation of creation.

Art happens all the time but it is alive only in the moment of its creation. Afterwards it is static, unmoving, unchanging, stuck in its first moment until it is eventually unwound by time. Is it created for right now, only for today? For tomorrow? Forever? For posterity? For history? The expression of an age is never really understood in another time. Is art relevant only in this time line and this life time?

No, a leaf does not last long. Even if it becomes a memory of itself the memory only lasts one lifetime. The best it can become is a story, but even a legend is living beyond reality and is only a name. We come and go and I am feeling fragile and frail.

Who Goes There?

Who Goes There?
Where? Where?
Behind the mask.
How could anyone dare?
Does the mask conceal?
Does the mask reveal?
Does it deny or affirm what’s real?
Accentuate, inflate?
Exaggerate or denigrate?
50-50. All made up.
Does anyone even care?
This is America! America!!
Land of the free and the fair.
Here you can be whoever you want,
Wear whatever you want to wear.
Covered by costumes and make-up,
Dread locks or wild flowers in your hair.
One trillion lies on Facebook.
Fake News is broadcast everywhere.
Everyone is an actor.
So, you might as well do it with flair.

Does anyone really know,
Who anyone else really is?

Baby Shark Monster Flipbook

Yes, “Baby Shark” is a great tune. Lots of fun. Not a happy song for the sharks. They don’t even get tuna salad sandwiches. Hunting, exhausted. The whole family. Going hungry every time its sung. Starving to death. Doo, do, do, do, do. Poor Baby Shark. Doo, do, do, do, do. You aren’t all that cute. Doo, do, do, do, do. We don’t wish you well. Doo, do, do, do, do. Monsters all go to Hell. Doo, do, do, do, do. It’s the End!

Meanwhile, the above tape is still looping, the sharks are still swimming. Monsters gotta eat, just like we do. Doo, do, do, do, do.

Speaking of fun, these images were. Its what I like to do, do, do, do, do.

What do the birds say?

Do you think they are happier than we because they are closer to heaven? In the sunshine do they sing in celebration? Do they greet the rain in thankfulness? How much like you and I are they? Do they feel that they are free?
Do they know the limits instinctively, not arguing with the laws? How can you rebel against nature? This works. This doesn’t. The birds have nothing to say to us. All you have to do is watch.

Groundhog

This morning the pugnacious, rapacious winds were running through the ragtag weeds, out of control, challenging the sun which had hardly even risen, leaves flying about like birds, every tree with its own song, anticipating a future but not knowing when they would be rocking seeds, stroking them, soothing them with soft sounds until they become strong enough to stand on their own. Is this the promise of spring soon to come? Azaleas already opening their eyes to look for early insects. Not yet midwinter. Groundhog still hibernating underground, cuddled up in the warmth of the magma, conversing with the earth’s spin, asking crystal balls about the cloud cover.
The buds are turning pink, the color of love. The bugs are turning blue. This was an accident, words playing tricks, thinking they know more than I, an incidence of binary interference, trickery of automatic correction overriding my streaming consciousness. What was it trying to say? But, lavender is a spring color too, so let’s just go with it. Maybe add some pastel colored lizards throwing snowballs, battling beetles, gunpowder snails, exploding rocks. Ants jousting like madmen. Sword fights with ice cycles. Mushrooms shooting off cannons. Rockets knocking your top off. Snapping turtles. Watch out! What the fuck? Here comes a kamikaze duck! Groundhog, don’t push your luck! Stay at home, today, instead. Cover your head, burrow back in your bed. Spring will come early if you don’t come out. That’s what I’ve always said.

Did you jump?

Did you hop up, jump down, like a thoughtless child, full of energy, unthinking, just because you were invited, just because you wanted to, just because no one stopped you, just because … ????
Never thinking about where you were going? Eager, impulsive, curious. Devil may care, or maybe not. Never thinking about what it might be like?
Who knows? Who goes?
Never thinking about how you could get out, if you could get out?
Unprepared. Scared?
Never mind. Doesn’t matter. Too late now.
Run like a rabbit. Ride my coattails, anyhow.
Here’s my hand. No time to wait.
Something is going on,
Somewhere,
And, we’re already late.

Everyone needs a bird to remind them they are loved

Open your eyes to a Utopian morning, no alarm, instead a songbird, dancing on the window sill. Feathers softly shake you halfway awake, to singing angels, to early sunlight, lost in whispers left over from dreams, trumpets as loud as clouds, violins like rainbows, a harp reflecting every heartbeat, voices without words, every breath a joy, all the beauty of the world. No one left out, no one forgotten. Even if you do not know it yet, someone is waiting for you.

Everyone needs a little birdie to watch over them

Matters not if the bird is white or black, nor if the feathers are large or small. Doing the work of angels, they need only a sharp eye and long sight, a quick response! A musical voice. An intention to help. A companion along side of you, traveling the same path. A common goal. For the good of all.
What danger is overhead? What enemy is incoming? Who is approaching the horizon, too far away for you to see? Perhaps invisible. Evil intention.
How wide are the clouds? Filled with dark or light? What does the wind say? This way or that? Does the forest applaud or turn away? Walk softly. Watch which way the birds are facing. Which way do they fly? There is always danger, on every path, high or low, sunshine or shadow, slip or slide, fail or fly. Free will. Do what you will. Whatever you will. Every moment is a choice.