Artstream

barely coherent stream of musings and arts focused more around visual and writing. My tumblr - cicada moonsong - houses many similar words and arts; albeit in a more organised and structured layout. 

There lies overlap between the two, but uniqueness to each.

 December. 2021

A range of sketches and experiments in my sketchbook over the past two months

01 // orange sun // orange powdered paint lino print
02 // Everything is powerful and queer love is ancient // black ink lino print
03 //
04 // through a lens //
05 // cloudwatch //-//-//
06 // sketch //
07 // behind lung
08 // lungs // acrylic monoprint
09 // sketch //
10 // flowerjar //
11 // flowerjar // weeks later
12 // sketch, with charcoals // pencil and charcoals
13 // divided sketch, with charcoals
14 // charcoal residue // charcoal residue from above
15 // composite river, sketch





 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NOVEMBER 23rd,

 the print is stained and on fabric it settles heavy. fabric seams are holy.

, I cant leave her, I would never. I look up and see textile ceiling reaching down to hold me. 

 

 




there is this time, after dinnerscene


 













Days passes, I have held her close always; storm passes with heavy rain, I reside elsewhere.

There lies a large bedroom with wooden walls and wooden floor; someplace I had not been before.

Algid howls air past windows; yesterday’s steam ran away.

My room holds me high; as said, wooden floorboards hold my weight.

Garden admires her I see; 

I can see her, even from afar.









 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 spider passed



spider has pass-ed




spider passing

 

 

 

 

 

 in

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

spidergarden

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

October


 

 

  July 1st

I listen for frame rattling...
a moving
hot glass on wood.
a moving
from one room
to another
a time
two years ago
in the heat. 
moving in time,
and dwelling.
But I write short poems now.

 

time passes

 

 February 20th with pages

Pages on seam
where I do not write
Pages on sea
where they dampen
where they would dampen
Pages seen with words
I would write
Pages unseen
(soft bound books)
Pages unseen
Page rot, pages rot, page rot
Pages fire
Pages drown and fly away

 February 18th with satellites

Satellite rain,
Satellite raincloud.
Blue serenade falls,
serenade falling
Augusting and Commer,
Louise Alexander,
ramped wing explosion of roots
'Interlude, and decisions'
Augustine rots and
and sky on fire.
Drawn eyes to
brown green blue, 
behind clouds, too.
Satellite train rides
rides on at dark.
Tawny light park. 

 February 18th,

What face is this I see?
What places has it been?
Day radiates.

February 15th

Fold, freeing fold
over me fold
into your peace and fold
into pieces fold
fleeing fold free
Flying,
in the warm fly
over my fly
through the may
fly into me
Fold,
and free fold
fold
and free

Hold, or hold apart
hold
hands are free 
Hold hands
into me hold
and free Hold
Hands are free

February 7th, buildings are castles

Feb 4th

 Birdfisher variations,
or cloud watching.
Holding up a blue sky on your head
with cars below,
and riverbed.
Someone's sound
or, a singing from your past.
Underground and underpass
Underground and underpass

January 27th 

Garden ceiling
Under dark nights
and Jaguar sun

        January 29th, Birdfisher & Variations

 



January 8th, Indigo singalong

Indigo singalong
Apparency in form
I see right through you,
transparent
through the storm.
Indigo birdsong
white fabric, and gravity wind
or, to beathe me new life.

In the right time
they will fall into place.
Or, a spider on her face
or, the lighting of this place
still stuck in mind.
After bridge, under heat,
another cicada singalong.

Cicada Singalong, Dec 19th

The cicada singalong,
three against one and I am outnumbered.
Breathing shapes like air,
the hum,
the constant noise.
The fridge speaking to me
covered in thoughts,
Scattered Memorabilia.
Too many to count
and I am outnumbered.
I am outnumbered.

Indigo apparency
or, Violet transparency.
I can never quite see when it happens.
Glimpses and vague impersonations of
smoke left to rise and remember,
to Hope through November.
From time that has left,
to time that will come
Just over five
Just under half of one.
the Time is outnumbered
and small,
I am outnumbered
and Tall.
Or, a tree will stay planted,
rooted past the year,
Love is a eucalyptus fire
to run fertile and near:
Too solid to fade,
Too sturdy to disappear.

November 24th, My heart beats catacombs

October 25th, Cityplanet

October 17th

the waterwalls were sunkissed,
a sailboat you held on your head
took me down river
showed me what you dug up in past
 
 OCTOBER 4TH
i feel sick, nauseous, and weak
i cannot speak, i
i lay dormant beneath the earth
beneath the heat
 
i feel fine sublime and undefined
i am an ocean
a well of emotion
of some kind 
 

october 3rd

cyanotypes on cotton rag paper

cyanotypes on calico

cyanotypes on archival paper


Spay Paint on Paper, August 8 2020

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 Below live scatterings and items from the collection of words titled after the first entry "I've chosen to remain innocent in this situation". Started on the 13th of August 2020, possibly to be finished in a complete form sometime in the future.

i. Ive chosen to remain innocent in this situation

    1. Couches on which we sit on, but in the morning dont't remember sitting upon. And I would let them grow out of me, their roots through my chest. Their noise and sudden, abrupt change of mood. Instead of saying you sing, and instead of singing you scream. With your mouth and without that, your body. Having been recycled over and over again until bare remnants of the birth remain, but it still forms a beauty as cacophony in a way I’ve seen so many times before but never bore. You left and I died as well. But this is an apocalypse of a dream so who knows when you’ll be back. In the meantime, before your magnificent return, we made noise with toys; again, screaming in a way that would terrify, but when we occasionally hit a harmony it became

You returned. Changed but returned, speaking of math, it would scare so many. You had lost your body, except for the occasional time where you would devolve into that form once again, oh how you hated it. You always mentioned how you would kill your brother the moment you saw him again, although you were high and I could never really take you seriously when you were in such a state. Talking of the romans, you mentioned how history will repeat itself and your destiny was set in stone years before. Again, I took what you said with a grain of salt but what you were saying rang oddly true. You spoke of that bathroom, the dirt floor and the shattered mirror. You joked about killing yourself on one of the glass shards but didn’t do it in the end (which might I add was a good choice). Then, going to your dad’s house we drank some oddly sweet coffee. You screamed your beautiful scream: “I have a feeling that I want to die, that I don’t want to exist anymore. The weight that is on my chest, and tightness in my stomach, haven’t left me for over a year now and they don’t feel like they’re going away anytime soon. I cannot remember for the life of me the last time that I felt fully conscious for more than a day. I’ve forgotten so many moments that I don’t remember. These sounds keep changing and I can’t keep track of them, I don’t know what to do. I’ve asked for help from myself so many times but he just doesn’t respond how can I get his attention I feel that If I don’t do something soon that He’ll do something stupid again remember that time? You know, my dear friend that I really don’t like acting so manic, that I don’t enjoy this feeling of electric heat that I don’t know how to stop it, so please bear with me for just a few more moments I need to get this off my chest, and by this I honestly don’t know but I feel that If I keep talking and taking up your time then I will come to some sort of realisation, does that sound right to you? I’ve been searching for some time now for this so-called realisation, but nothing has seemed to come yet, emphasis on yet! You know it’s just around the corner I can feel it. But deep down I know that there is no realisation that there is just blind and pointless chaos.”

And with that you left the room. I followed you to the lounge where I found you pouring yourself a glass of milk, you drank it and then continued: “But I have a feeling that all is not lost, both now and in the future. I know that If I can at least live on today then I will be able to at least live for tomorrow and that is a good sign. If I don’t stop now then I can’t stop ever. It’s a default, living. My life is my default. To change it would be to cause a disruption and I can’t deal with a disruption of that scale. However, a benefit of that disruption would be change and change feels good at times. I believe that If I change in that way then I might be able to finally become aware. I’ve been searching for this Awareness for so long and I’ve never known where to find it but deep down I have a feeling and everything just changed I can’t predict this why do things keep changing? I’m sorry I’m rambling again. It’s the dog again, he is screaming. He is screaming. We wrote him a note but he didn’t listen. I think the neighbours are going to call the cops at a certain point but what’s there to do? It’s not like we can just sent him away. I am terrified. Terror has been mentioned before but compared to now, I really am terrified. Terrified of what you might ask? Well I’m not entirely too sure myself but I think it is of something beautiful. Like that album you once liked, it started out so soft, so subtly, just a digital whine. But then it quickly and loudly got very manic. Again, with the manic. But you know what I’m saying. It was terrifying but you were so mesmerised! You were in awe of the beauty of destruction of hearing someone’s mind slipping as you are now. It has become an obsession of yours, to observe the scared, the hurt, the abused, through their art to feel a connection to problems thousands of lightyears away from you. You feel that if you understand how they think or feel you will then yourself, feel what they feel, and when they feel repaired, better, at the end of the story, at the end of the film, at the end of the album, you will feel better yourself. To hear the bittersweet castoff regarding, the saying of “I am not healed but I am healing. This is in the past now and I am on another journey now!”; it makes you feel. And that is all you’ve ever wanted. To feel. Oh, how you will in some regards never understand. You are wired different from me, and I am wired different from the next person. Nobody will think as they are all the same. You will never understand how others understand. You will never feel how others feel. Sure, there is an issue here, you do not feel aware of your understanding, but that doesn’t mean you can’t start to understand the way you understand and feel. You put too much time and effort into trying to think like these idols of yours, they pour their hearts and souls out onto you and you drink it up, every droplet a new truth, a new realisation of ‘yours’. When will you realise that your realisation is never going to come from someone else, but it needs to come from within, and it’s not just going to come, you will need to wait, to work, to realise for it to finally come. And you won’t need to look at subtext, read between the lines. When you realise what your after you will know. And I can tell you this as someone who has never had a realisation of their own, all I have ever experienced is other’s realisations, which gives me the information to share to you, but you already know this because we both desire this realisation which we don’t even know exists. We walked out back, sitting on an old couch in your back yard. You picked up your guitar and we sat facing each other. I was sitting on something, I can’t quite remember, but you were quite skinny at this point. You looked close to death which was ironic considering your pseudo-religious beliefs at the time. I remember that, over the next two or three months, you would suddenly loose more weight (hospitalised for it at one point), but then when July came around you started eating incredibly healthily and put on all the weight you lost over that year. Your tattoos started to stretch, the linework foal on your bare ribs got fat with you, you would joke. You played your nylon string guitar with your shirt off for a while, singing something I can’t quite remember, I wish I took note of more of this as looking back on it, it was quite an inspiring afternoon. I remember you got out your shitty video recorder and started taping at one point but I think you sold that off at a later date to help guy a new bass guitar. 

    2. 2001 Hyundai Elantra. We barely awoke the next morning, although we had barely slept. It was sometime around noon, I heard your dad say, but we had stopped caring about time days ago; it was irrelevant in many situations, and as we never had anywhere to be at a specific time of day (other than the occasional: “meet in the morning”, but even then, we barely obliged, often leaving those meetings late enough that the person in question would have left by the time we got there). We drank coffee, my appetite was still not great, so I just packed myself some fruit for later.  

    5. Remnants. We had gone to the bench, it might have been private property but nobody ever called us up on it. It’s not like we were particularly obnoxious, we would normally just hang out and smoke cigarettes. We forgot to buy another pouch, you swore. 

ii. Oscar see through red eye

Finally arriving, he will be let down.

But how was he to know?

Before he was to leave, she was to say something to him: “There it was, all round them. It partook of eternity.”, there was a coherence in things, a stability; something immune from change, something, something which shines out. Reading the sign: “THE RIPPLE OF REFLECTED LIGHT”, she said:

it surrounds us all,
it invigorates us all,
it loves us all,
it becomes us all,

it remains, and of such moments, the thing is made that remains forever. This would remain. And as such, we would remain. While it may not seem it, what we are currently is, and always will be; as while, yes, a body will die and energy disperse, what is now will always be, it will never not be, it will just be in a different way than it is now.

And with that he will leave, only to be let down once he arrives. Well, not quite as he arrives, as he will spend at least a day waiting and being before he would find himself to be disappointed.

vii. Lighthouse, watchtower pt. 3… maybe 4 (Listening to your death on vinyl and asking: “why is this the event which splits time into ‘before’ and ‘after’? shouldn’t it have been something a bit more significant?”), or some abbreviated version of this title such as ‘Lighthouse, watchtower pt. 4’ 

fillershit...