DEstroy the DRama machine with quilts DEsigned with true intentions...
I.K. Estbon
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Saturday, May 22, 2010
...
Can we deal? I understand little of the currently frustrating...
The twists and bends and forks...
Sticking it to a razors edge, pain pain pain...
I.K. Estbon
The twists and bends and forks...
Sticking it to a razors edge, pain pain pain...
I.K. Estbon
Thursday, May 20, 2010
...
WE try, RE try - failed concepts are discarded in the wastepaper basket - STOP
SENS ing, SENS ible, SENS itive
the FORM matters little when the sentence is not the precusor for communication - STOP
WE feel, RE try, WE feel, RE try, WE feel, WE try, WE feel, RE peat - STOP
I.K. Estbon
SENS ing, SENS ible, SENS itive
the FORM matters little when the sentence is not the precusor for communication - STOP
WE feel, RE try, WE feel, RE try, WE feel, WE try, WE feel, RE peat - STOP
I.K. Estbon
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Brief aftermath of thoughts catalysed by skim-readings and rudimentary musing over injustices fueled by hate...
...mostly within a pre-Civil Rights Movement America
Let there be a short journey to cleanse the spirit and memory of the evil in others – of myself I can only promise a brief respite in happenings and hope that I will learn and understand, as I must accept and remain accountable for my actions in the past – all in the vague daydreamer notion of entering a moment hereafter where I can breathe again. Face the human reality with a smile and an inclination towards happiness and imaginative wonder at what lies around us. To be immersed in its beauty. To live, without regret, but with the intent to continue wading into this experience. The water does indeed get deeper…
And here in this place of creation, this societal structure, this hive of humans, there are horrors that happen. The reflections on the past that haunted Ossian Sweet until he stole them away with a flash, falling, falling to the apartment floor. Isaac Woodard with what memories remained when new vision was beaten from his eyes. We want to see a future, to cast a gaze across into the distance and no that one day we will get there, only to push on once more after resting. Some of us breaking away, breaking apart and dissipating in the ether. Gentle wind, gentle breeze.
Have some of us developed a false sight? Our paths twisted and bent in anarchy. Lost – dazed and confused – unsure but with what delusive rhythm we beat out upon stones and dirt and trails of dust. The mind growing more the manic with parched lips pouting into the desert heat. Stubborn teeth and hard-bitten heart, drumming against forbearers, denying the future. Progress is but knowledge and wisdom, let obsession not sink its charms, there is hope afloat.
And yet we rob each other, of a chance. The youthful Scottsboro Boys left with their lives in the grip of hatred. Emmett Till beaten into a permanent lesson. The history repeats, Matthew Shepard, James Byrd Jr. Falling, falling, fists cast into the eyes with indignant strokes against hope. Why can’t we see? The water is deeper, frightening, and beautiful. Embrace it, wade out and trudge onwards. Gentle wind, graceful smile return to me. To live, walking the path, without regret. A purifying rain, to wash over me, let these steps resume and let me mark myself as cleansed.'
I.K. Estbon
Let there be a short journey to cleanse the spirit and memory of the evil in others – of myself I can only promise a brief respite in happenings and hope that I will learn and understand, as I must accept and remain accountable for my actions in the past – all in the vague daydreamer notion of entering a moment hereafter where I can breathe again. Face the human reality with a smile and an inclination towards happiness and imaginative wonder at what lies around us. To be immersed in its beauty. To live, without regret, but with the intent to continue wading into this experience. The water does indeed get deeper…
And here in this place of creation, this societal structure, this hive of humans, there are horrors that happen. The reflections on the past that haunted Ossian Sweet until he stole them away with a flash, falling, falling to the apartment floor. Isaac Woodard with what memories remained when new vision was beaten from his eyes. We want to see a future, to cast a gaze across into the distance and no that one day we will get there, only to push on once more after resting. Some of us breaking away, breaking apart and dissipating in the ether. Gentle wind, gentle breeze.
Have some of us developed a false sight? Our paths twisted and bent in anarchy. Lost – dazed and confused – unsure but with what delusive rhythm we beat out upon stones and dirt and trails of dust. The mind growing more the manic with parched lips pouting into the desert heat. Stubborn teeth and hard-bitten heart, drumming against forbearers, denying the future. Progress is but knowledge and wisdom, let obsession not sink its charms, there is hope afloat.
And yet we rob each other, of a chance. The youthful Scottsboro Boys left with their lives in the grip of hatred. Emmett Till beaten into a permanent lesson. The history repeats, Matthew Shepard, James Byrd Jr. Falling, falling, fists cast into the eyes with indignant strokes against hope. Why can’t we see? The water is deeper, frightening, and beautiful. Embrace it, wade out and trudge onwards. Gentle wind, graceful smile return to me. To live, walking the path, without regret. A purifying rain, to wash over me, let these steps resume and let me mark myself as cleansed.'
I.K. Estbon
Monday, May 10, 2010
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