About Me

My photo
Vancouver, BC, Canada
I am a multi media artist who has spent a large portion of my life prooving to myself that not only am I an organic artist with lots of talent in drawing, photography, water colours, poetry, performance art and film/video - I can do the design, maintenance and operational sustainability of high level administrative infrastructure. I have done so by working successfully in the Rat Race although that euphemism may be an insult to rats who probably do not lie and cheat and posture as much. Who knows. In any case, I am now half a century old in human years. I am one eglegteram in Mars Alien time measurement - which is apparently a good time to make a change. And that, my dear Blog followers is what I am gratefully and happily doing here! THANK YOU for reading, you know who you are!

The Valley of Cal Poly Pomona Greens

The Valley of Cal Poly Pomona Greens
Listen Carefully Ms La Salle

Thursday 26 April 2012

Love of Words

Torn between the shift and the blazor, I recommend a running deer speckled with a pink Zebra, to the oldest but newer black tuxedo.  

Wednesday 11 April 2012

A Horsey Naughty Time




I remember riding the horses in rural Quebec when it was minus thirty-five with a terrifying wind chill factor.  We didn't use saddles when it was that cold - we had to ride bareback for the warm animal contact or our legs and labia would freeze.   

The horses had winter coats like fluffy kitty cats.  The fur stuck straight out at a ninety degree angle from their skins.  It was hell to groom them - we had to sponge dry clean them and brush and brush and it took hours.  My horse was a huge honey and white spotted pinto and needless to say I spent the most time dry-cleaning, everyone else had brown or black horses.  

I had two best girlfriends that I played on the horses with.  We had experimental lustful preteen sexual relations with each other and it was incredibly exciting.  It also strengthened and spiritualized our emotional relationships with each other.  We all went to the same school, rode horses and ate, talked, learned and slept together.

Out in the bush we experienced total freedom and bliss in terms of environment.  The beauty was so huge it took over our beings and allowed us be creative and happy and to fly to any direction we saw.  The horses were an integral part of that.  The sensation of galloping a horse flat out is one of the most exhilarating and fulsome experiences on earth.  The huge live beast between your legs with pounding hooves causes massive endorphin rushes that build soul and spirit.

Translate that into our own sexual language.  We were so close to our freedom that we took turns playing with each other and learning each others’ bodies with a ferocious tenderness.  We dressed and danced and performed elaborate mating rituals with each other.  We turned one living room into our harem filled with each other.  We lived in our secret world of horses and the gentle sexing of each other and it was so fine.


Oh Horses


In my youth when I was the champion three day eventer for my age, along with my two girlfriends Sarah and Susan.

We ran the horseshows with the local chapter of the Pony Club and we won everything, all the time, it was great fun!  Lovely horses too, my favourite during that time period was Apache. He was a sixteen three hand Pinto – some kind of a Warm Blood I'm thinking in the here and now.   I didn't really know or care about the horses’ breeding back then.  But he was big boned for a pinto, certainly no Arab blood - more like oversized Quarter Horse with a bit of workhorse mixed in there somewhere.  What a lovely guy, super friendly and accommodating.  He'd let us ride two and three on his back during hayrides and sleigh-rides.

He also turned out to be a very good Three Day Event horse and actually the practise of Dressage turned out to be one of his strong points.  He looked great executing the moves in the ring; le piaffe, le passage, etc.   This was back before the larger boned dressage horses were popular again and people were in the practise of using skinny little thoroughbreds, never as magnificent looking in a full “on top of the bit” crested pose as a thick - chested all purpose hunting/war horse.

Surely there is nothing so earthly magnificent as a fully mature male super-horse, large and strong and healthy,  rising up in complete supplication  to perform a difficult but beautiful pose, in complete domination by the(usually) female human atop the handsome beast.

The lovely emotional playground for the horse and the girl, so filled with glee and excitement and gratification  - beauty, grace…all in one so simple an image, so perfect a ancient form of Art.

And riding it!  I do remember the clinch of metal teeth again towards bits, tackle, long leather straps, equipment of discipline, regulated and controlled, carefully clocked against the domination of the beast, punishment instruments finely tuned to stay just in the apex, on the edge, surely dangerous with the big animal and his trusted love, his giant metal hooves coated in steel just one push just one shove and you are



         



Sunday 8 April 2012

New Poems


Scare Crow

I looked, I saw, I cracked.  I bit retreat,
Fell off the wagon of my sane, blind, recalcitrant bullhorn.

She made me.  Made me up of a thousand working parts
The table of metrics sonambulant, a blasphemic prophet
Died trying, tied to that tree (read Yellow Ribbon) in a pose
Akin to a falling pine, in the woods, without words, within the blind spot
Yes that one, the one made of air, of infinity, the saddest weeping you have ever heard

Mild Musings

When quiet, she bled.

   Up a storm

Inner heads, next to the sanctum of my gasping yet saint like flattery
The morbid indecency of a tweaked and swollen esophagus
The trailer trash nonsense, my pillared words they are
Bleeding down that path, on the trail, up her road
Well travelled, ya

To the BoatHouse
My lingerie; is tired, with trying, for twenty three long lonely years.
A page in history, a webbed screen, a series of i’s and o’s - those rhyming couplets

There! A young woman desparately scratching at the place
Within her soul, the one so many tried at, they said, try, keep on trying
You too will fall far, for the golden apple
  Of acceptance
While the middle east bloodbath ringing call to pray bells, in both of my ears

Up the Hill Backwards
Triumph to tribute to back down into the fallen tree trunk
The one that David Bowie carved his words out of pain
Terrorizing his spirit, my voice a gentle wisp of greenish hue
Spread them legs honey, spread them good and wide
And I’ll just insert this here tool into your cervix
The one we cannot fix.

Liza Tried.
I’ze the byes that build the fort
In conjunctin with every passer by
The sign of a stranger.

The ones dressed in honey bee red
Silk panties stroking inner thigh

Splendid aching upon that arch
Of orgasm, of spindled release
The beating thrum of a thousand
No, a million, sonic booms under the water
Thread like fissures, built of ancient bone
Fill up my need like
Salt in the wound of my
Strongest welt

Congenital Iconic Cognizance.
She looked, she walked
She bowed her head. 
A fit and a half
Equals
Wheels of sordid temperature, bending within
Without a wind of tortured sodomy
My electric bowels emptied again, for the fourth time this day.

quinacridone violet and phthalo blue
The rosy greenish purples
Pinkened whitely
blackened orangely
a greyed silver
peony yellow and satire Red
*NOTE – performance, hold up the colours, the different ones for each like Fanny and I discussed


A Woman/Man
…the place where my balls were once
(in another life)
sits unhappily on its pillow of skin

Mythological
There are several mythological creatures
Living in my zoo, and I don’t know what to name them all.

Should I name them after living monuments, like Tiger, Fur-Bearing Snake and
Tiddly Winkly the carbonated soda monkey?

Or, should I reach back, way back, in to that place of death meets pain meets revival
Of the fittest
And grab a hold of the one I am constantly mocking, the one I am constantly making, pseudo genuine feelings, a second nature for my twisted and battered next of kin, yes, she, the one in pink.

Good Creatures
How could this place, hold so many of the naked past whimsies
That flittered around the inside my locked hymen
Bosoms and never matured little skin flaps
Cross reference to the Stallion
Ripping her mane with his Teeth
In every effort to mount and do.