“He who allows himself to be insulted

    

                                                    deserves to be so; 

 and insolence, if unpunished, increases.”

-Pierre Corneille

Stained

So where is the line? At what point are you no longer a victim, and more of an aggressor in your own abuse? When does the allowed destruction of self become the abuse of others?

It's the runoff. The pain and anger and shame in being the victim, in allowing yourself to be the victim... it overwhelms. Overfills. Spills down the sides and stains the surface for everyone who sees. Stains everything you touch, all you inhabit.

The poison, or the medicine? Which one are you? Where is your line?

“Do not be afraid;

... our fate
Cannot be taken from us; it is a gift.” 

― Dante Alighieri

http://imageshack.us/a/img341/5749/lifecycle.jpg

Life Cycle

Are we fated beings, born to simply repeat, complete? Is there truly free will, or are we puppets, eternally bound to become the atrocities we abhorred as children, swore we would never be?

We change our children, generation after generation, we infect them. They are ill with our disregard. Our preference for television, cell phones, violence, anything but what we truly need. 

Unending Love

I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times...
In life after life, in age after age, forever.
My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs,
That you take as a gift, wear round your neck in your many forms,
In life after life, in age after age, forever.

Whenever I hear old chronicles of love, it's age old pain,
It's ancient tale of being apart or together.
As I stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge,
Clad in the light of a pole-star, piercing the darkness of time.
You become an image of what is remembered forever.

You and I have floated here on the stream that brings from the fount.
At the heart of time, love of one for another.
We have played along side millions of lovers,
Shared in the same shy sweetness of meeting,
the distressful tears of farewell,
Old love but in shapes that renew and renew forever.

Today it is heaped at your feet, it has found its end in you
The love of all man's days both past and forever:
Universal joy, universal sorrow, universal life.
The memories of all loves merging with this one love of ours -
And the songs of every poet past and forever.

― Rabindranath Tagore

http://img687.imageshack.us/img687/9334/foxhuntq.jpg

...and i can say all of nothing after that.

"...that beast

astray 

that finds neither home nor joy nor nourishment

                                                                   in a world that is strange and incomprehensible to him.” 


-Hermann Hesse

http://img38.imageshack.us/img38/4965/steppenwolf.jpg

Synthetic Insolence 

eke out that soft spot, watch from a careful distance, plot the remains of your existence.

Retreat, retreat to keep yourself safe. You feel the fingers at your throat and for the rest of your days you run andyourunandyourunand


you can't recover your life.

I'm not afraid of being dead.

 I'm just afraid of what you might have to go through to get there.

-Pamela Bone

Out to Pasture

http://img208.imageshack.us/img208/886/pasture.jpg

As long as you are useful, I will love you. 

If you provide for me, I will love you.

Here, take shelter in my (fickle) hands, they will protect you.

Yes, Eventually, I will discard you,

 but carefully,

 morally

(utilitarian bear)

and I won't look.

Irreconcilable Differences

“their heart grew cold
                 
                     they let their wings down”

― Sappho

http://img571.imageshack.us/img571/8825/irreconcilabledifferenc.jpg

In our enthrallment with ourselves, and in our satisfaction with our ability to manipulate that which we posit to love: we poison, erode, and destroy.

Sometimes the object of our affection hangs on, desperately hoping.

Sometimes we chain her, desperate ourselves.

and Sometimes

Sometimes... she packs up her hope in a neat little package and buries it next to her heart, before quietly walking away.

We are only falsehood...

...duplicity, 

               contradiction; 

                                we both conceal and disguise ourselves from ourselves.

-Blaise Pascal

Human:

http://imageshack.us/a/img689/7233/humanv.jpg

We are intimately connected with nature and yet, almost always, actively, consciously, disconnected. We need the natural world, for all our forms of sustenance, yet we destroy it. We enact great laws, wide-spread campaigns, clever slogans to show everyone just how much we care, then we go home turn on two televisions, crank the heat to 75, or the air to 60, leave every light in the house on and eat our dinner off a plastic plate delivered to our house in a plastic bag (in our plastic car).

In the painting the main character is tied to one of the horses, his tale wrapped 'round her finger. He struggles to leave, she restrains him, keeps him, though it is killing him. At the same time as she is killing this horse, she gently cupping an injured bird, and staring longingly into the night sky, thinking about the beautiful natural world.

We are not to be trusted, we humans.

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This entry is cheap, and will be short-lived. I am four (4!!) new pieces deep, and it's making me crazy. I NEED TO SHARE.

So tomorrow, or maybe the next day because I never met a deadline I liked, NEW, UNSEEN, artwork - holy fuck, i know. Shut your whore mouths. Goodnight.