The art is not mine, but the words are. The image dredged them from the depths of long ago, when anger was my primary fuel.
If there's a reason for the pain ... let me know ...
i fiddled with dials and antennas
of black and white tvs
and imagined the static filled screens
to be wonderful soothing imagery
not so! not to be!
anger turned to panic turned to melancholy
and eased into twisted inspiration
i listened for convenient coincidence
and sensed the coming of the endi stripped off my clothes, shed my inhibition
and screamed at the oppressing winter grey sky
"make up your fucking mind!"
with the smoke of an angry gun
i painted surrealistic landscapes
where i'd like to spend my life away
suddenly, i stared down the barrel and inquired
"are you the golden key?"common sense hissed, but depravity
mischeviously giggledthese voices inside of my head ...
i'd like to see their faces once, just once.
i really wouldi've no more tvs
and my anger frightens no one
besides, the color is all fucking wrong
in the images inside my brain
a shitty attitude i suppose
i laughed and danced a little jig
then bowed to my sculptures
my critics the snow and the grey sky
i paused
is there something i've forgotten to say?
is there some reason i need to stay?
i shrugged
and quickly turned the key
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Very cool concept and well executed.
You can read how it was made here:
http://wordsarepictures.wordpress.com/2009/02/18/the-making-of-you-blow-me-away/
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