LEMON YELLOW SUN

A KITCHEN SINK REMINDER

∆

A LULLABY

BRINGING PIXELS

...TO LIFE...

c o m m u n i c a t e

flip Bontempi switch on
choose a pen and imagine
between black tape
the box is yours
illustrate with words or
t h o u g h t s

once you're dun
pop the on off filling vacant
space
make piece complete

...AND THAT...

Thank you the Ministry of Progress for inviting me to contribute to their exhibition, I was given the opportunity to meet such wonderful minds and convene in what was once an unknown territorial form of London but is now a place suitable for my hands to kindle with a squirrel.
I'd happily kindle for a squirrel.

The piece itself (A broken, discordant Bontempi fan-organ signified what was to be documented, it's relentless drone the subject matter) was an ongoing celebration of documentation existing outside of the individual or the completed project – an attempt to distance reified connotations from the form of 'documentary' photography (in addition to the various forms of artistic endeavours).
With 'documentary' photography, the audience are lured into a pattern of beliefs (constructed by family values, common sense and social formalities) of which they are already well aware of. A relationship of dislocated power now takes place...The author exists as a transparent entity, unseen in the act of appropriation. A thievery of their audience's sense. With this process of 'documentation', the moralities provide evidence for a static truth, inevitably constructing a signified essence of Fact – Fact being an idea of which one is able to create a materialized fiction.

And we wouldn't want to be living in a world of other peoples self-initiated fictions, right?

If time is to exist in relation to cultural matter as a linear entity and spatially as a progressive, gentle, fritter between dimensions, the author stating imagery as having been 'documented' exaggerates the imaginary into fact, the chosen figures blossom in a system of subjectivity intextuated by the author (and their carefully selected socio-historical contexts – which in turn regurgitates the process of those select few re-enacting this 'documentary' process of the past, moulding what once was into a structure of sense for those already in the know).

With this in mind the piece is incomplete – an ongoing documentary in itself, processing the act of do-ing and creation as and when it happens, allow the reader, the audience and the individual to document their surroundings as and when it was happening, filaments singing with paper, eFactist's the lot of them..

∆

11/03/10

Camus drinks Hot Chocolate

A DREAM – 05/03/10

I held a slither of my brothers face,
stroking left cheek.
his eye still staring
the lids holding us in.
dismembered.
he had sent himself.

humans at war with the rainbows,
i never understand.
dispatched to translucency in
a place they call home
as we watch the rise
of an absent shade,
the sky indescribable,
a flash-pan of startling intrusions.
smoke rippling
where bodies explode
due to gun fire impact from below.

arching towards the right,
over a dragons shoulder
i see the ripple...
"that was him"
have you ever lived without a doubt?
neither had i, but this new light was real.

squidge between fingertips
what, how and when do i reveal
his death to my sister?
patience, problems, the waiting game.
perhaps mother first?
a tricky procedure to endure
with the tear process restricting my grip on the words,
tendents freeze.
contacts disable.
horror.
my mobile phone is out of credit.

IN-DEN-SHUN • 1

CROWN JEWELS pt.II

found.

WAKEY WAKEY

17/02/10

On the walk home I imagine life with a drivers license in my pocket next to the key of a signified 'home'. It is at a point where the hill steers left I picture packing your words into the door panels and sellotaping what you said under the seats. But my capabilities are provisional, so all I can do is play over the conversation into a dictaphone and stop, rewind.
And play.
Stop and rewind.
Play.
Did I get up and leave?
Why?
It's what she said when we recognized who stood in the portrait photograph hanging at the bar.

II.

MINISTRY OF PROGRESS:

VARIABLES

which one suits you best?

SWIMMING IN

the economic function.
the social function.
the aesthetic function.

the red.
the white.
the blue.

empirical.
mathematical.
scientific.

logocentric
archeologists.
mythopoetic baptists.

dead battery
the beating is lost.
a stopwatch
stops.

storyteller.
with the words rung from tear ducts
being hung out to dry on your cheekbones.

my watch is dead.

WAVES

Every cultural text is a product of the society given birth to its formation?
If the text itself is a celebration of subcultural ideals situated outside external to the routes controlled by hegemonic powers that be, is an individuals contained celebration of the text a celebratory reaction to the production behind the text as opposed to the text itself? Regarding where I am sitting right now – Patriarchal Capitalism?
In this sense do we free ourselves through submission?
Example – Being an attendee of a musical concert, you may notice your own movements being controlled in corporeal fluctuations, powered by the equation of space needed by fellow members of the audience. This act can be claimed by the public domain, externally represented in abrasive movements and providing space for your freedom to develop (yet governed by the performer who exists as a catalyst of context for those movements and loss of individuality).
Movements of this nature could be interpreted as the taking part in ceremonial procedures within the micro-domain, celebrating a fractured, augmented, apolitical order of the dominant ideologies.
However, if each person attributes a cognitive value system towards retrieving and producing meanings, does an understanding of the musical performance instigated by the aforementioned text not simply an act of celebration within the public domain, but in fact a ceremonial process to reconcile a tangible form of the imagination?

LIKE FAIRYLIGHTS

The pleasure was in the cutting and pasting of patriarchal treasures.

EVIDENCE

25.12.09

ERASE HER FARMS

By assimilating the form of a dress to embellish upon the notion of 'Man' and his articulation of war, the destructive effect of battle disseminates throughout the text. Establishing the image as an artefact of cultural significance does not remove the notion of it being a product equated for by 'Man''s maleable control over the subversion of death. A symbolic placement of war (from the waist down) permeating within the dress (effeminate) formulates for the imaginary order an empowered display of 'Man''s control over the iconography of war.
With this in mind, it is possible to interpret 'Man' as the designer of life and death, considering himself to be walking in the footsteps of God, toying with a palette of bodies. In this process the living are killed and reborn, forever in circulatory patterns set on a transparent repeat by 'Man', all for the controlled benefits of those few claiming to be Rulers of the 'People'. The choice is abstained and dialects excavated in 'Man''s self-proclaimed truth of the 'People''s freedom, striking order into their minds with a golden helm of power bestowed upon the tips of their paintbrushes.

∆

ALL THE PEOPLE WHO TAUGHT ME CARD TRICKS ARE DYING

REFRAIN.

˚

The Universe

I literally have nothing to talk about

Bah-da-dahh-da-dah-dah-dupp..

The verse begins and lyrical streaming

out of sight

visceral, like lunar

modules knocking all 52 states

onto a kitchen floor.

Blast off.

Butterfingers.

causing our breakfast to slip into the sky,

contained by a vehicle

of relative stares.

Those inexplicably brief moments.

Magic succeeds in conjuring up such miracles,

where are the orchestrated predictions solidified by consequence?

Just taking breaks.

Snap.

An admiration of swift, bold delicacies precedes the ballet.

Amongst disorder we all dance.
Dance as the performers sing in a merry song of many things.

Unfold.

Now...

Expend our patience by absconding an interference,

be content in the motions.

Be just,

this once,

be just.

we'll allow your ship to sink,

if you allow this ship to sink.

Anchor in and drag us deep through yonder,

Sputnik tucking Us in with a tickle under chins.

Dormant.

BUGGERY

SWORD

A FRYING-PAN FOR TULIPS

I didn't know what to do with these images.
I have no clue as to what they say.
There is little reasoning behind the shapes, text, colours or era.
The choice, aligned to kingdoms, has on this morning, decayed.

FOREVER IN PURSUIT
OF CONTEXT-UAL ROOTS,
A RIGHT OF OUR OWN
AND A SENSE OF THE TRUTH

TAKE LEAD FROM LINGUISTICS
– SUCH CURTAILED FORM OF SEEING
THROUGH THE NATURE AND THE PROBLEMS
I'M BLIND IN ABSURDITY
LIKE INVISIBLE TETHER ATTACHED, VIBRATING LETTERS
CAPTURED BY THE QUICK TONGUE
MY MOTHER'S ONLY WISDOM.

WHAT A FANTASTIC DEATH SHE HAD.
STRUCK BY ELECTRICAL WHIP DETAINING ERRORS OF SYNTAX.

I'M A DOORKNOB
I'M A CAMEL
I'M A TEXTUAL RECOLLECTION.
JUST A WORD
ENAMORED 'YOU'
AS A SUM FOR CALCULATING
HELP EQUATE
AND TO RULE
THE CIRCUIT-BOARDS
TO LIGHT US ALL.

I AM A JELLY DOUGHNUT

a transfigured shape-shifter for home
compensated
voices of a fairytale syndrome.

I'll be back for you soon
in marigold shimmers.




.

FOR HENRY

.

CONFETTI

drawn and quartered whilst standing on opposite side of the street where a new years celebration was taking place.
friends and unfamiliars frolicked amongst snowfights, german champagne and snap, crackle, pops of feuerwerks were heard overhead although seen from an equal level with our eyes. applefuckers firing cylinders from all angles, yet we chose not to hide, but retaliate.
with fire kindled from the trinkets of peter pan's children, jars were set loose and the sparks celebrated in a jubilant competition of victory.

we arose the morning after, feasting on a breakfast of champions.

10.01.10

it's only once the page is turned
a memory of her will spring forth
in birth

17.11.09

whenever I buy a new pen (it's not actually a pen, but more of a short, thin piece of tubing capable of containing ink with a brush attached to the 'opened when pressure is applied' orifice on the end, although the latter isn't really as easy to sell to people as the term 'Pen'), I can't help but wonder how or why such simplistic, new found movements of fluidity, within the grasp of fingertips, can enable the imagination to conjure up an array of gross creatures.

take up new hobbies, ethereal activities, found only in daydreams.

COMPANY

A collage made from family photographs found rustling through wicker baskets whilst perusing a flea market in Brighton.

Friendships - Lovers - Solitude
It is only when the latter begins to ask introverted questions that we query not any one in particular, but only ourselves. With this in mind, evidence for a purpose in 'doing' anything at all proves to become quarrelsome.

Perhaps at this conjuncture we begin searching for the lost ones we chose to forget in the process of constructing a monumental 'self'. With our hands dipped in the words of Others, pick up the paints and dress our face in masks, rub traditions into skin, moisturize our filaments in a radioactive sunburn and compound our sparks into a bulb of one, never to be lost in the pond of a swan mourning over their lost love, shot in the early hours of the morning by a drunkard out to prove the power of man, for the love of his Other.

EQUATIONS

A sum dividable by its own parts,
the answer?
gripped tight in the shut palm of truth.
I'm a horse galopping, body made of glu.
My answer is the same before,
we all lay in before.
The answer is there,
at the moment when the hand found something
worth holding on to.

30.12.09

The most useless fork becomes an expert coathanger

24.12.09

chair patterns. like in a dream when you see a place,
an unknown, vast landscape, built from passive observations
in the street.
Yet sense informs us it IS a place we should recognise in an instant.
In similar vein, what you see below are patterns found on the chairs of the District Line, or so says the caption.
What you see below is imaginary.
And you'll never see it anyway.

FROMAGE

dig into the dust, ponder question

Marx around your eyes, alleviate

the answer in a match-

strike us all

with lightning bolts glide

glide

glide under the wings of supreme

Chip Kidd's

mind supreme

Chip Kidd and his supreme designs

•

NATTER.

NATTER NATTER NATTER NATTER.
EVERYDAY LEAVES FASTER.
SO WRITE A POSTCARD NOW
AND SEND IT TO YOURSELF.
UNKNOWINGLY
WALK IN THE CROSS-HAIRS
OF YOUR FUTURE
AND DO NOT KNOW
JUST.
BE.
A
NATTER NATTER NATTER NATTER.


Å ˚ a

A REACTION TO WEATHER

SNOWFLAKES

LIVING IN A TIN-CAN

AND THERE ARE CINEMAS

AND ALCOHOL SHOPS
AND ALSO A CIRCUS FOR WHEN PEOPLE GROW BORED OF LIFE AT THE FURNACE
AND CRAVE A LITTLE DISTRACTION

make honey
sell beehive
buy honey
laugh
work
sting
die
∆

CHARMSTICKS

retain files containing

our corresponding filaments
send three letters
a single post-card returns
this file is not going very far
so grab a paper-clip
and close this case
for future reference
we’ll navigate in photographs
a quick snap
a stellar performance
via the mistakes of king Louis
we act out rebellion
but were taught by the masters of us all
of us all

FACES

fumed pipe of a power plant sky line

-earth
-gaia
-vishnu
-allah
exhale your secret industry

so suck in deep
and count to three
bite down
...
...
ready?

ok, finally
a face worth remembering
grinning amongst the decapitated fields and seen
through winking eyes of a ladybird

the wings torn
a crawling
prefect
sings
for you
for me
the melody

so sing the flute song
sing the flute, song

"a gods work in history
covered in
covered in
look! my hands are filthy
pass a bar
pass a bar
watch the dandelions fly
hovering
hover in
coal!
soap!
harvest!
mine!
coal!
soap!
harvest!
mind!"

Casio SK-5

submit submit submit

DECEMBER 15th

BEAR GAMI and CLINIC swooping into North London like eagles spread bare with legs hooked up over beaks and slipping over a recently washed, tiled, kitchen floor.

˚

THIS IS OURS

For when walking in new, unchartered territories, or surrounded by peoples that create a sense of unease in your mind. Drop the walls. You have created an unhealthy Other, a vehicle of which you have allowed to carry your projections of fear onto. Any excuse to return to the womb. Now drop the walls, the concept, don't allow your self to forget the adventure.
We can only ever be found if we are lost.
So remove the tag from your bag/pocket/carrying apparatus.
Hold tag at eye level.
Repeat 'This is Ours' five times aloud.
Regardless of who surrounds you.
Remind your self that the Other you have created is only an array of symbols embodied in a detached sense of existence. Although you may be scared, the floor we walk on together is always ours, the air we breathe is ours and the sight, the language, is ours.
Feel at ease.
Bend those knees.
Ha ha.

THIS IS OURS.