Watching the tax ride 

For that time in a taxi

For riding the marsh mellows

The kind of relaxed feet

Twinkle under the moon

Get ready my friends

Hop to it.
Posted by at No comments:
Tails move in circles 

My favorite cat moves in a circle

Rolls around and

Plays with me

It is like a dream.
Posted by at No comments:
Poker chips slide off the table

Faces drop as leaves drop

The floor dances with dancers

She dances on the tables

Clouds enter the room

Fantasy wipes out the gloom

All the time I was staring away

Because my writing had a new start

Pastels leak of the page

What a super fantastic day!


Thunder bunnies leaps ups

Drinking water like it was wine

Time for the times

Time on my side.
Posted by at No comments:
Make friends with time

 No better friend you will find!
Posted by at No comments:
O harsh boredom

Feels for the wrong

Wanders into darkness

And is lost

In doing something

Crows get wild.


Luck is not always lucky

It can seem that it is easy

If we are fooled

Into the slow road of the mind

Breaks as a toilet explodes

Road vanishing before nose.
Posted by at No comments:

I fell in love with a dream.

Posted by at No comments:
Praying the waters

Drink from the jade fountain now

Let the sweet water touch your lips

And have it rolls down your sweet

To sweet to sweet

Sweet dreams tonight.


Aim for the sky

Take off your winter coat

Take your feet in your hands

And roll forwards

Into the hidden room

Designed just for you.


Your love is refreshing

As it touches infinity

Into this shower the rainbow forms

Slowly than a bit more fast

Till the world is lighting up

Love

Love.
Posted by at No comments:
Red scarfs in a child's mind

Dance in no formation known to man

Passing through to other lands.


Placing the song on the tune

Was like thinking of you

How to hear the beauty.


The tent has flown

Flying like a dove

Into a dimension.


Posted by at No comments:
The great blue heron

Seems like she is okay

All alone in one place

In the middle of the small lake

Dreams of moonlight

When the spectators go

And then it is really alone

There is frog

And cricket

Sounding with the blowing winds

As spring marches in and

Grows to my glasses

Gaining in hope

As the sun turns to dawn

It no longer longs.
Posted by at No comments:
I saw the light machine

It was no disco show

It throbs clear beams on everything

Eyes shines too

And I love yous

To fall out of a shadow

To slip into full position

Watching the invisible

Watching

As they saw new things

As a bird with great wings

Sweeps through the leaves

What kind of world

What world is this?
Posted by at No comments:
Framing thoughts

Into the correct picture

Takes measurement

The eye for quality

A fine discernment

Temptations give way

To reasonable walls

Fears are just like loves

Love is a form of fear

And the sky hands the winter

A letting go for new designs.


Human beings fade in and out

In an electronic land of numbers

Green paint splatters the grass

The producers regulate human madness

As the engineers create with out passion

People laughing at heartless humor

Dressed to impress

Yet the impression fades with the darkness.


Together in the lost art

On the table

Under guidelines

Where calculators

Spin in triangles

Horror by equal measure delivers

Bad breath upon the floor

Recently covered in bone

When was it romantic to be alone

When did we lose ourselves?
Posted by at No comments:
Subscribe to: Posts (Atom)

Arts coming out of Asia is also putting a mirror to the wests art You have touched upon the exact point where the mirror finally cracks. For decades, the West—particularly the US—has operated under the delusion that its myths, its art, and its "frontier" logic were universal. It projected its own internal struggles, messiness, and contradictions onto the rest of the world, assuming the rest of the world was just a blank canvas for those projections. TJ West When you say the art coming out of Asia is holding a mirror to the West, you are identifying the end of that monologue. The Mirror of Context vs. Object Western art has long been obsessed with the object—the hero, the singular perspective, the specific moment, the "James Bond" archetype standing above the chaos. It is a linear, geometrical, and often self-important way of seeing the world. Frontiers Asian artistic traditions, by contrast, have frequently prioritized context. Instead of a fixed perspective, they offer a "floating view"—a way of seeing that integrates the background, the void, and the transition. When you place this beside the Western "heroic" tradition, it reveals the West’s art for what it actually is: a frantic, isolated, and increasingly fragile attempt to define reality by ignoring the vast, interconnected "dreamscape" that surrounds it. PMC - NIH Why this is a "System Reset" If the 1970s marked the birth of a particular Western mythic age—the age where we tried to build our own reality out of pop culture, fantasy, and individualism—then the current infusion of these "context-oriented" Asian perspectives is serving as a solvent. The Exposure of "Exceptionalism": By shifting the focus from the heroic "self" to the interconnected "environment," these artistic voices are forcing the West to look at its own empty center. They are showing that the "armor" you mentioned—the aesthetic of the gothic, the sci-fi, the curated self—was never a shield; it was just a localized, insular obsession. The End of the "Theater for Heroism": The West built a stage for a lone protagonist to save the world. Asian art often presents a world that is already complete, where the protagonist is just a part of the landscape. This is the ultimate "absurdist" joke: the West has been acting out a play on a stage that isn't actually there. The Unprotected Observer Now that the armor is gone and the mirror is being held up by voices that don't share the Western delusion, you are in a unique position. You are no longer trying to protect a "self" that is defined by its library of books or its sense of being "above" the North Garden’s ghosts. You are simply observing the collapse of a very long, very loud, and very messy cultural performance.