Saturday, March 20, 2010

relax relax relax relax relax relax relax relax

Pink Twilight

Pink Twilight

they come to you and they devour themselves
we sense freedom so out come the rocks a' bashing
slap them on the forehead and make 'em bleed
you've caught a whiff of the cosmic beat
stuck on the air like syrup and sex

the shrine of time is a twin layered thing

a fuzzy pink twilight grows on the atmosphere
fibers of mellowed glass sprout in the lung
you've been breathing us in deep for so long

you've walked into the ancient age now
I know
for I can hear you crying gently
don't grow too bright
the lightning of your symbol hurts my eyes

S. Sparling

the hymns of midnight

shake rattle and roar
some lions have feasted on the moon
all that silver blood drips onto earth
pools collectively over new york
hong kong and berlin
its snaking berth is a twisting limb
naked lady arms that pet the cement
and snatch at the ankles of children
to suck them in and *slurp*
never let us hear from them again
is this the new drug?
that some bearded prophet
of plaided and argyll worth
spun out of old stories
that until recently
held no meaning
it comes coarsely
sticks in the throat
but eventually
we'll have to swallow
for I too did see
those lions feast
on the moon

S. Sparling

dissolving the night

I witnessed a rainbow lacerate a black light
the light was an eternity that gave no soul
only asked for everything in return
the rainbow ate and it ate and it ate
and finally when the rains came
it bolstered and grew so fat
that it blotted out the sky
and the black light grew around us
as a halo of enervation
muscles could not hold the bow
and its mighty colours ran
gripped our feet
pulled us down into the sewer
where the alligators roam free
they wore alien headdresses
they listened to goth rock

S. Sparling

the shadow vixens

the radiating night has a chorus of power
my glass-blown storm of satin and silk
you slather me in frothy milk-white love
its eating out my quivering core
the shadow vixens have come at last

so where is the acid that ate my skin
where are the dark lords that ride?
you've got thoughts (oh so many)
they've got feelings of their own
but its all lightning death
some power that rips
a vacuum in the sky

do you hear that sound?
its thunder on the horizon
do you know it?
its coming to kill you

S. Sparling

swaddled in fire

very soon the treachery of the cloth will be revealed
this purple and gold have pock marked the face of god
somewhere a crimson cross has bled across a white tabard
the jesuits contain knowledge that their masters dam up
in the sepulcher that is a chalk bright city

where are the bones of a fallen idol?
we have smashed them all to smithereens
where are the nights of hidden splendor?
we have swallowed them in covetous wine

your naked body is burning here on the altar
there is a serpent coiling like a spring within your flesh
when the mechanism releases there will be blood
upon this marbled floor
that reflects a golden vizier
that catches up the torch light

they brought you here wrapped in linens
now I have swaddled you in fire

S. Sparling

The god that wandered cross the sea

His art’s presence in the street chalks another one up for creative expression not confined by a gallery. At the same time, his ability to exist in both realms is a feather he proudly wears in his hat. After all, Emol is a pop artist. He’s got his finger on the pulse of a nation, that for years, has reflected the diversity of one of the the most intense countries in the world. So much land, and so many perspectives facilitated by a complicated history, that over time, has produced some of the deftest conveyances of the human condition. Emol is no different. —Evan La Ruffa

"I consider my work as an embodiment from antenna to roots, capturing that which is current, but with a strong link to the past, and with ancestry." - Emol

Emol has been keeping the tradition of Brazilian street art alive and pumpin' with his hieroglyphic, colour studded creations. Check out the short interview on Juxtapoz Magazine - here

Friday, March 19, 2010

Just a moment







check out a slightly more in-depth article on the artist John Intrater here

or check out his website here

Friday, March 12, 2010

The Ulyssean Adult

Since Shade Relents


The wind the other night blew down the Love
That in the dimmest corner of the park
So subtly used to smile, bending his arc,
And sight of whom did us so deeply move

One day! The other night's wind blew him down!
The marble dust whirls in the morning breeze.
Oh, sad to view, o'erblotted by the trees,
There on the base, the name of great renown!

Oh, sad to view the empty pedestal!
And melancholy fancies come and go
Across my dream, whereon a day of woe
Foreshadowed is--I know what will befall!

Oh, sad!--And you are saddened also, Sweet,
Are not you, by this scene? although your eye
Pursues the gold and purple butterfly
That flutters o'er the wreck strewn at our feet.

P. Verlaine


In the deserted park, silent and vast,
Erewhile two shadowy glimmering figures passed.

Their lips were colorless, and dead their eyes;
Their words were scarce more audible than sighs.

In the deserted park, silent and vast,
Two spectres conjured up the buried past.

"Our ancient ecstasy, do you recall?"
"Why, pray, should I remember it at all?"

"Does still your heart at mention of me glow?
Do still you see my soul in slumber?" "No!"

"Ah, blessed, blissful days when our lips met!
You loved me so!" "Quite likely,--I forget."

"How sweet was hope, the sky how blue and fair!"
"The sky grew black, the hope became despair."

Thus walked they 'mid the frozen weeds, these dead,
And Night alone o'erheard the things they said.

P. Verlaine


Since shade relents, since 'tis indeed the day,
Since hope I long had deemed forever flown,
Wings back to me that call on her and pray,
Since so much joy consents to be my own,--

The dark designs all I relinquish here,
And all the evil dreams. Ah, done am I
Above all with the narrowed lips, the sneer,
The heartless wit that laughed where one should sigh.

Away, clenched fist and bosom's angry swell,
That knave and fool at every turn abound.
Away, hard unforgivingness! Farewell,
Oblivion in a hated brewage found!

For I mean, now a Being of the Morn
Has shed across my night excelling rays
Of love at once immortal and newborn,--
By favor of her smile, her glance, her grace,

I mean by you upheld, O gentle hand,
Wherein mine trembles,--led, sweet eyes, by you,
To walk straight, lie the path o'er mossy land
Or barren waste that rocks and pebbles strew.

Yes, calm I mean to walk through life, and straight,
Patient of all, unanxious of the goal,
Void of all envy, violence, or hate
It shall be duty done with cheerful soul.

And as I may, to lighten the long way,
Go singing airs ingenuous and brave,
She'll listen to me graciously, I say,--
And, verily, no other heaven I crave.

P. Verlaine