Words from Paint: A Rectangle to aid the Abstract.


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Rectangle of MicrofictionsUpper Left Corner

***this post is going to be completely updated!

Cocooned within the picture. Each individual, yet a part of the same. Linked, but disconnected. A Piece of a piece of a piece. The face appeared before them easy to see: eye socket, and the extended nose, which led to the lack of mouth.  Rather curious, as it was still speaking. Countering. Facing. Vased in. Hour-glass. Abstract. Lost in its own curves. A candle with an irregular mold. Viewing overhead the mess to come is a curse & a blessing depending on your interpretation.
Words and meaning. The way it’s said, pronunciation is key. So is spelling, & grammar. But all of that is worthless without some meat/fruit/juice, whatever, take your pick, to keep the reader going. The light shines down through a neon sheen. Goosebumps rise on the thighs, a steady hand, & controlled smile meet yours. The Moon greets the Sun. Creating complicated, dramatic, compelling lives for people you encounter on the bus, only to blink it all away upon exiting @ your stop. A sly fox donned a purple hat, met a pig, and jumped continents, only to zip & kick into a quaint boxcar.
Sometimes mistakes make the picture. Other times they fuck up the whole thing. “Love becomes you, Dear. Your face glows & eyes smile. See you know it. Watch you blush. Isn’t love Surreal?” A character,  yes quite A character. Running along

On time, or not.

Night shows no bounds while you’re in flight tonight, quick, before the sun we fright.

Wave—& foam writhe to no end & so does the ink, but in such more restricting, yet freeing ways. Both eternal & needed.
A cat scratching on a post. A hand nudged across a table. A way to bridge the way one painting was randomly started & became immense. Loopy words & sloping meaning rush to fill the shore of understanding. Hey square, look over there. <–>I don’t care.But you’ve come this far. Screw this, I’m taking the ship back home. Elvis lived & died for Rock-N-Roll. Even tho he died clutching a toilet roll.
I form sentences to say to those people with zipper lips but then I delete my text in fear of getting stuck in their teeth. I thought I saw an Angel in the scuff of mud from your shoe on the bathroom wall. Her wings swept back, her hair white, her body cloaked & draped. Will I ever wipe her away? “La vie Boheme,” we sang through the streets. “La vie Boheme,” I scream, alone.  “La vie Boheme,” I hum while working on other writing. Blue: Rich, royal, sad, consuming, gentle, calm, boy, or girl, baby, blueberry, Ultra-, Aqua-, marine. And all the glorious shades in between.

Words from Paint: Connection


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When one love finds the other—

loveLike an elephant curling up with its mate.

A yin hugging its yang.

Perhaps not so flip-flop on opinions.

Although there will always be ample debate

hats through the years. But maybe a fancy

top hat soon for a celebration or just amoon

moonlit walk that could turn into watching

the sun burst over the ocean.

Music streams from you and makes me

constantly dancing.

cheese and wineWine, cheese, and bread:

Now just add Monte Cristo.

But no matter, a slow dance is

an even better addition.hat heart

Two hearts beating against each other in slow motion.

Words from Paint: Corner Dream


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fire waterWater flows over fire, but it won’t put out the seething.fish

They talk awhile like two fish swimming too close together.

Like the cherries clumping together on the tree.

A dream catcher wrapped in eternity with adream cherries

four leaf clover lost somewhere in the center.

Here, just let me balance it out a bit.

Afterall, it’s a long fall from our golden copper roll.

A fade into the distance or perhaps rising above.

More annoying that a spot that keeps seeping through.

Gotta be careful. Don’t know which route goes where

until somewhat down the way.

But all things seem to come back around.

Just smile and start with, “Hello.”

Words from Paint: The Eye


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caveHe didn’t know what kept attracting him to the cave.

The first time it was a refuge from the rain when he sprained his ankle hiking.

The second time had been a romantic weekend for two.

The third time he was alone, until he lost himself in the stars.

That was the time he carved the lion with the flowing mane into the stone of the lionentrance.

He felt the place needed a change from him in way of adornment.

On his fourth visit, he found a crack in the back wall boulder.

He picked at it until the entire stone crumbled into a pile of sand.

Stepping through the portal, he encounters a golden chamber.

Curiosity & awe led him through.

Strange & familiar symbols were etched into the luminous walls.

The limestone floor was carpeted with moss-soft under his feet.

Jade stalactites hung over his head, but he continued to the exit that grew with every step,

until finally he stood outside the cave in a scene of natural splendor.

eyeA waterfall rushed down next to the opening, but his eyes were focused on the eye in the sky. The eye had replaced the sun in the sky, but put off just as much light.

Unlike the normal sun he was used to, he could stare continuously at it without hurting his eyes.

He thought it strange, but he felt better when he stared at the eye.

He tested his theory by trying to look away, but he couldn’t.

He sat where he came out of the cave.

As it got later in the day, the Eye’s light dimmed,

but it stayed the same visible gold, purple, and green.

fireA fire started in front of him, and fish flopped in his lap.

He did not move from his gaze of the Eye.

A cup sat next to his hand to drink from the river, but he never picked it up.

He had never felt better. He knew if he kept watch of the Eye he could explore any thought, any topic, any memory he might have.

Only thing was, whenever he started to think they all turned into thoughts about the Eye.eye 2

He just sat there, and stared at the Eye.

Perhaps he is still there.

But he for sure didn’t see the strange wave of color flying through the sky that

Turned back around when it smelled him.

A portion broke from the group and curled and wriggled in glee and hunger.

Maybe the Eye came through for him when he gave in.color wind

Words from Paint: Coffee & Spilled Paper


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coffeeWe torture ourselves with the boundaries of time.

Hours & seconds of years run together

to form decades measured in memories

and rentable clichés.

Empty cups and stacks of paper.

Vivid ideology versus subtle meaningpages.

Author as trapeze artist balancing

Originality & Influence

over the snapping, salivating jaws of the Media.

Was it the Red Queen who replaced the white rabbit’s carrot

with the pocketwatch to make him ever anxious of the time?

Or did he find it hopping through the woods and thought

it made him ever so sophisticated?

penSophisticated like a man luxuriously writing scroll after scroll

of essays of his thoughts for the mere pleasure of the calligraphy.

Comparable to a flower, the man’s continuous thoughts are baby’s breath,

there to fill in when content isn’t the main concern.

True writing spawns from cultivating the prim rose prose

that springs forth in the cracks of daily life’s time-table.

Words from Paint: Twister Ring


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picnic valleyA simple picnic—a moment in their lives.

Susie hugging her bear—Tim & Todd tugging her pig tails—

All three incarcerated in big sister Flora’s bored gaze.

She lies on her side in the soft grass and

Watches lithe clouds pass by, ever transforming.

Flora swears one cloud has the neck of a giraffe & head of a baby elephant.cloud

Her imagination conjures up green spots, and

a tuft of black hair with a matching hat to its skin.

In her mind, the elephant opens a set of eyes,

And they are the same shade of blue as Jack’s.

She drifts on his image, but then shakes her head.

He said he’d call, she thinks. Phew! It’s still cooler

out here than in that house. Flora usually calls it their mutated barn.

The mocking silence of the kitchen phone, and

The kids on full-boil energy had driven her out of the coop

and into the valley next to where her family’s home resides.

There are some trees for shade—while being just out of ring distance—

but still within Mama’s scream—so Susie, Tim & Todd could have their  fill.

Blink back to the present, and then she’s up with the swing. “Susanne!”

A flurry of blue cotton down the hill, and she separates

the mixture of children, dirt, & squeals of who started it.

“I don’t care. You are siblings. You have to be nice to each other.”

What a load, she thinks. Alice & Tom have never stopped picking on me.

twisterHauling the basket, & Susie’s hand, she decided on the story for nap time.

On the crest of the hill, the kids clump closer together, & she realizes it’s

unnaturally quiet—Not a single bird chirping, or cruising, on this hot,

almost-summer day.  Flora freezes & the children clutch to her skirt at the

horror unrolling in front of them. A colossal, swirling tower of wind,

energy, debris, & natural rage rips through their father’s barn and mother’s garden,

blasting Earth and everything connected to it into shreds.

She drops to the ground—huddles the—shaking—kids close; their young eyes

can comprehend complete destruction when it is right in front of them.

Glancing back at the scene she had watched for hours through a daydream filter,

the giraffe-elephant-Jack is little more than a loosely knitted gossamer veil.

The sky has turned peculiar colors; perhaps the green spotted cloud hadn’t been all her imagination. Forcing herself to face the situation—only to be shocked again—

it is zigging their way. Then the twister changes its mind and charges the house directly—house twister

T-minus 30-seconds until the whole things gone.

Alas, before the Monster goes through the front door, it slopes to the left and just takes off the remodeled den. The cyclones energy starts disappearing

From the bottom


until everything held high has dropped.

A surge of adrenaline—Flora grabs Susie & Tim—Todd runs along her side,

even running ahead and throwing open the storm cellar doors for her.

In any other moment, she’d praise his chivalry for wanting her to go before him—

but not while her blood is curdling from anxiety. A stomp of her foot,

and he descends—Tim & Susie follow suit.

Slamming the doors and then locking the chain,

She imagines a ring—Jack picking up & her heart singing—

because she can’t wait to tell him her story.

Words from Paint: Balloon Ride


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“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Wind whistles through her hair. Her knuckles turn white on the edge.

Pleasant valley cottages are nowfields

colorful fruitlets in the bowl of green.

“Totally,” he says with a final tug on the gas-powered torch.

The bull’s eye balloon ascends through a cloud,

filtering the expanding world.

She stands in the middle to avoid looking directly down.

Outward and beyond is extravagant enough.

“Beautiful,” she murmurs. Caught in the moment, she leans forward and looks down.

Her stomach free falls as she focuses on something much closer to her.

But then her stomach proceeds to do back-flips.

He is kneeling, holding a ring, proclaiming things, all while maintaining a smile.

She steadies herself before she bellows, “Yes!”

Her fist grips the ring. They wrap around each other and stare out at the sunset,

the symbol for their future, while literally riding a mile high wave of euphoria.

balloon“You had to choose this balloon.”  On the outside of the balloon,

the words “Just Kidding” circled their heads. He shrugs.

“A joke surprise for a serious surprise.”  Pop goes the cork to the first

bottle of champagne, then the second. As they sink into the basket,smoke stacks

they sink into the bottle of brandy they had snuck with them.

“Hey. Hey! Humans! You’re going to hit the smoke stacks!”

Her head pokes up to look around for the source of the noise.

raul dukeA green alien, costumed in its best Raoul Duke attire [complete with stoned out eyes and cheap, twitching cigarette holder], dangles from a vine of extraterrestrial flowers.

It disappears into the sky before she can get a better look.

“What was that?”

“Nothing Cherie, come back down here.”

Dominating the view is the solid, steel side of one of the smoking pipesfactory and balloon

connected to the factory nestled in the valley they currently hover over.

“Rick! Do something! Quick!”

He sits up with a grin.
Slowly his mind processes what she said and what his eyes confirm. Next he rattles the carriage, exposes his Flash boxers, and he pulls the cords that make them rise just in time.

Narrowly, they miss their demise.

They return to their misty gaze over the world while wondering,

“What just happened?”

starshipUp above, in the outer bands of the atmosphere, their alien savior returns

to the viewing deck. “Did I miss anything?”

“No, they’re having sex again. You know you weren’t supposed to save them.”

“Yeah, but they’re better than what’s on television.”

A note about a new series: Words from Paint


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This blog archives some of my poetry along with the random & lyrical prose that I produce for content. I also have a page on here called My Art that has chronicled past art projects I have been, or had been, working on. That page has not been updated in what seems like forever, even though I’ve made much art since then. But now, with the series of blogs in conjunction with HashtagOctothorpe that will start after this post, Words From Paint takes a large 18×24 acrylic painting I finished March 2012 and accompanies sections with narrative fiction, poetry, and microfiction.

Excess Paint Expanded.

The text that goes along with the pictures is not supposed to fix the meaning of the images, but instead to open up the interpretation of what could be. The stories are just one story that could go with each scene. Later perhaps I will come back and create entirely new stories for each section of images, but for now they stand as influenced stories to expand the meaning of the paint.

I will reblog the finished link to HashtagOctothorpe when it is up.


Carry Me Through:


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To another dimension
To another scene
To flip the page
To another room
To another world
To a place not quite like this one
To your room
To the moon
To a fairy circle
To a forest full of ancient trees
To a dirty forgotten city where the artists gather and laugh over their bottles of wine with the sweet scent of tobacco wafting from their pipes
To you
To a place where I can just sit and watch or paint my surroundings
To the rain
To the fire

Wherever we’re going in this crazy Life of ours,
please promise me you’ll carry me through with you
because I always carry you with me.