WELCOME TO THE CARNIVALE FREAKSHOW! CHRISTENED AS A CLOWN:I BID YOU TO WITNESS THE WORLD THROUGH MY FIGURATIVE PERPETUAL VOUYERISMS.TRAVERSE ABOARD MY CAROUSEL OF SUBLIME PAIN. HITCH ONTO MY NOT SO MERRY-GO-ROUND! I IMPLORE YOU TO LOOK PAST MY RANCID INTERJECTIONS; MOREOVER, ILLUSTRATE EMPATHY TOWARDS MY DEMENTED SENSIBILITY.DROWN THROUGH MY PAGES WRITTEN AND DRENCHED WITH LIQUID CHEMISTRY.ENTER MY SOUL'S SOLILOQUY...AND TAKE PLEASURE!

Thursday, September 15, 2005

Paint it Black!



Silent Serenade amid Sublimations
in the Melodrama of a Blank Canvas


Let me bathe you in shifting chiaroscuro:
in variations of liquid light
and silhouetting darkness --
crowning you in the ambit of your halo.

Let me free you from your mind’s mimetic frame
to a coined novel pictorial lexicon.
Let me discourse your outline
with ebullient
brushwork rhymes --
mediating with your aesthetic smile.

Let me worship your
facial cruciform
as you listen to my prayers dubbed in
visual articulations kneeling before your skin;
presenting an offering in your altar
of dichotomy and syncretic harmony.

With spatial hues, let me capture the dynamism
of your eloquent (impending) eyes --
those amber spirits of Euclid singularity,
culled from the ethic permanence
of a
lonely painter’s touch.

I’ll take from an ethereal palette:
heavenly pigments to paint a paradox --
a conundrum of myself kindred with your being;
Let me shrine you in a
cathedral symposium,
between insulations of textured myths
And forgotten vibrant psalms.

Let me, gloss; as a cardinal requisite --
a lucid sheen to testament your
soulful nomenclature.
Ascending your spirit within
uttered strokes
of sighed lines linking spheres and dimensions.

I’ll let you cradle my heart in the lullaby
of your compelling pose and melodic
prose.
Let your
virginal paradigm
succumb to the wooing’s of a
starving artist
craving for your
tangible immortality.

Let me mount you in the stead of my
chastised easel beyond the delirium
of spatular spectrums.

Let me affix my signature within the
backdrop of a landscaped shadow.
For, I am the black tones infused with your
every concealed tear whirling in the pools
of Pathos; drowning in chaotic symphony
within the profile of a
saline sea.

And, you
…You are my panoramic angel;
taking flight amid the serenade of a blank canvas,
Embracing the immortality in a melodrama --
I once and will always grace you with apical levity,
...Thus you are – Forever!
…and I, still, am not…


_____________________________________

If I have to acknowledge rationale for my long
departure from this frequency:
I can choke culpability to artist block –-
for not moistening my carpal kneadings,
as I quilled solitudes' atop isolation’s zenith --
where the clouds denied me humid sanctity whenever
I attempted to douse my felt tip in cumulus glory and
tried to wet my fingers on those heavenly pools of cotton
whenever I turned pages blistered and parched to

reveal their scibbled continuum.
...Or point the finger, at the apocalyptic finality
I envisioned in my random surrealisms –
(speculated who rose triumphant in my dreams) –
dark optimism and their nocturne wings --
watching them dance to the wayward symphony of screams and silence.
Or again, place blame to societal divisiveness, political gluttons,
gothic romances or trainspotting-like bingeing.
But alas, I have to say nay to all the afore-mentioned;
for the account of my abscence is unromantic as long pauses are –-
reason being a mere nuisance of a phone company
whose services, I now detest. Hope the new one's better.


-- And to find my backstage violated is bluntly fucked up (pardon my French).
For the random souls that dropped by and left a tag

since the advent of my journeys; your capricious projectiles
and their echoes will forever linger my Carnivale –
the minuscule Church of my mind’s prayers.
I tried to unearth them but they lie on graves unmarked, nonetheless.
I commit them all to memory, and believe me they will linger in my hemispheres.
For the gesticulations you’ve graced me will smear perpetually
like a black mascara circling this clown’s eyes. Thanks!

For those who sent revolver roulettes of epistles by my way while I hibernated to the farthest realm of oblivion and back, I express also my gratitude. I applaud your concern.
The ovation of silence is now broken...
I again stand at the cliff waiting to be nudged...
...push me pls.

"Wake me up when September ends," as Greenday's song goes; in my case I woke and rouse mid-September. (September -- month of nativity of all this ramblings -- this blog -- and opening of closed eyes.)
Bloggaddict, I truly am; a trivial junkie as you could read here at INQ.7.
___________________________________________

Clown's Anthem: Collide (Dishwalla) and
Youre Beautiful
(James Blunt) Posted by Picasa


2 left the carnivale an epistle:

Blogger Amie so eloquently stated...

So that was the reason for your absence! uh what was that again? this time in layman’s terms. :p
nice poem up there btw.

September 20, 2005 2:13 PM

 
Anonymous Anonymous so eloquently stated...

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September 21, 2005 7:17 AM

 

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