Apparently you can now get competing quotes for an eternal relationship. I wonder if they offer free shipping?

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Dream with me in warmer grey and white beneath this dreary misery.
Discover nuance in November: drab among months, unless your eyes really listen.

Choose perception when driving by ditches flocked with fuzzy cat-tails and grey grass.
Compare in code the colours #ccc and #ddd.

Value variance within a narrow range of hinted tints.
Play with luminance on a scale of visual semi-tones.

Rely on other options than the treble/bass dichotomy of poorly executed pop.
Restrict your eyes to the eleventh melody’s percussive palette.

Take it as a treat when seasonal snafoo veils its inner whisper.
Flaunt – as do the mist and frost – a subtler side of you.

Whisper of the whirls that were and whorls that will be.
Anticipate with drowning leaves, a thick, white, flowing sea.

Think.
Reflect.

November.

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Forever etched into my consciousness is a rhyme I heard as a child on a record called “Pudding and Pie”. The nursery rhyme, not unlike “Jack and Jill” or “Rockabye Baby” has its brutal, even violent moments. I don’t know how many other kids have been scarred by “Ladybird, Ladybird”, but the lyrics go something like this:
–
Ladybird, ladybird fly away home,
Your house is on fire
your children will burn,
All except one,
Her name is Ann,
She hid under the frying pan.
–
I hope you’ll agree that my autumnal take on the ladybug is somewhat more playful.

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Perhaps more interesting than the question "Which way is up?" is the Paradox of the Trinity. It’s probably one of my favourite doctrines, ever! For a fresh take on how God’s character is intrinsically relational, (and an insightful take on wisdom as relationship-building) I recommend Wise Relationships, a sermon by Tim Keller. Thanks to my friend David Winkel for suggesting it!

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This is plagiarism. I stole the idea from Natalie Jeremijenko. Of course, I’m not quite approaching it from the same angle as her artists’ collective, the Bureau of Inverse Technology… for me, her work raises a slightly different set of questions Why do all maps have North at the top? What is really ‘up’ anyway? Is Betelgeuse up or down? Despite of my weekly Skype calls to Australia, I don’t generally feel aware, or connected to the inverted-ness of space. When I sit under the oak at Sir Allan MacNab Highschool, however, I find myself mesmerized by its pattern, its relentless spread, its grace, and its sheer sense of presence. Sometimes it’s good to be under-whelmed like that: it forces you to reconsider your world, and the people in it: people whose perspectives mingle with yours to make the end result resemble something right-side-up… ish.

If a blind person leads a blind person, both will fall into a pit.
–Jesus

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"And you never would have thought in the end, How amazing it feels just to live again"

–The Used

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I’ve produced a consumer:
a polylithic monster
of batteries
and baby birds.

I gorge myself on the
swirl of a fish tail,
and a lingering praise riff:
the stuff of life.

The sum of experience
sings together, and
(at least for the moment)
harmonizes.

But within this melody
a grin visceral and sinister
conducts the ultimate
melange into cacophony.

Songs cease,
light fades,
paint dries,
I cry.

And the son of Jesse said
on the day he died
“Solomon, I go…
the way of all the earth.”

And with him went
the blood and battle,
the epic,
the empire.

Gyres widen,
Tendons dislocate,
And Johnny Cash fades away like
Antiochus Epiphanes.

Will I,
even in taking for granted
the iridescence of red
find purpose in this gluttony?

But grace
is like sleep:
it’s a gift
given to whom God wills.

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Until we have a place in which to breath, live, and thrive, we are no more than dead (drifting) wood. And so to breathe life into the seahorse, whose existence facilitated reflection on empire, I had to build my own empire of sorts. One which involved the ambient light of rays filtered through the roof of a silo. In this composition, it is wind energy that triumphs over oil.

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This little empire of driftwood and debris
is unconcerned with paradox or Christianity.
It sweeps and ebbs and flows
demanding just a sunburn; giving endlessly.

The beach buries the bark
from nearby woods;
bacteria bite
and burgundy blooms.

I do apologize to these
unsuspecting microscopic beasts
for any smorgasbords I may have
interrupted.

It seems that at the price of
dividing, conquering, invading, colonizing,
I have imposed upon these pagans
the benevolent dictatorship of Hippocampus.

As far as these immortalized
pixels are concerned it
would seem that I have won.
But entropy will have the last word.

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