FRACTALS

 "Fractals are infinitely self-similar, iterated & detailed mathematical constructs having fractal dimensions”. Begin to understand this you finally begin to become human... a human becoming. Follow me... you see we are just about to arrive. The watershed moment approaches. Before the big bang. After the midgard snake swallows its tail. The human mind gives birth to itself... the thoughts of the human mind... the infinite... infinitesimal thoughts of the human mind. Mathematics is the code of the void theorem unzipping its DNA. I urge you to look into images of fractals... the theory hurts my poor, soft, little brain. The bomb is set. Understand the fractals of being & we sidestep the annihilation we plan for ourselves. Understand... it is now in our generation that the great arrival is occurring. Too big a bite for your midnight snack... enjoy the fractals I so valiantly attempted in my little painting.... I AM IT IS I AM. 

MIRROR, MIRROR

Goal 1: Paint within the confines of the golden ratio

1/1.618033988749895...................

The dimensions of the Parthenon, the face of Notre Dame, the sides of my mastercard. The ratio of true beauty. Ask Pythagoras or his buddy Euclid. Or ask the two Leonardos. 










GOAL2: PAINT FIRE & DIAMONDS. 

Goal 3: Paint the mirror. 


Lewis Carroll knew about mirrors. So did, Kurt Vonnegut. The mirror, like the frame is in the same golden ratio. Do you see through the looking glass to the alternate universe or universes? Is it a leak to from another dimension? Mirrors are mysterious. Alzheimer patients see themselves in a mirror & believe someone has stolen their body. We observe the changes... the flaws.. the sadness in a face we forget is our own.

Mirrors are cold. So is the truth.

GOAL 2

Goal 2: Paint fire & diamonds.

I AM THAT I AM

YESHUA

How did you know to come to me?

How did you come to know me?

I was lost in my losing streak

Breezing through the evening breeze

Throwing snake eyes to the curb

Hugging  shoulders on a curve

I thought I knew a thing or two

I thought I knew a thing or two

All I had were piles of leaves  

& pages filled with words 

No this, no that, no here, no there

It’s all from nothing & everywhere

So said the flame in the midnight dark

So said the rooster in the sunny park

Amazing grace to save the wretch

The sun shade driver of the stretch

Back seat in the electric easy chair

A shooting star with thunder in my heart

How did you know to come to me?

How did you come to know me?

Jesus in the Garden, the Beatles on the roof

Brothers in the brotherhood... Sisters too

Surfing, soaring, piercing; the flowers drink the sun

 & petals falling from the lotus, falling one by one 

Touchstones in a flower bed of jewels

& so it’s key holes in a darkened school

A City in the Mountains... Katmandu

& then the salmon starts its run

How did you know to come to me?

How did you come to know me?

TROMPE L'OIEL... TRICK OF THE EYE

Tell me about reality. Oh, you human of the five senses. Take them away one by one. Where do you find yourself? I have discovered the gift of illusion. Smoke and mirrors. Turn the plane into space, add the element of time.... the Matrix, the continuum.. next add the briefest of moments, turn on the sparkling scintillation of cortex, the temporal lobe. Ah, here we are. Some of my favourites.. Please Google: Mantegna of the powerful toes... his inner domes. Check out the skull in The Ambassadors by Hans Holbein....blows your mind don’t it? And all of Dali... almost too much like a bad dream trip, but necessary. My cubism contains little tricks of time & space. I desire red paint that opens the door to Andalusia. Castanets please! Takataka Takatak TakaTaka TAK! & now friends, behold the RED GUITAR.....

THE GLUE THAT HOLDS IT ALL TOGETHER

The act of poetry is the act of gluing. Take two different items. Apply a thin layer of adhesive. The mind makes the leap. I have taken up the ancient art of Collage. Invented by the cubists... developed by the DaDaists.... perfected by Pop. 

In RED GUITAR I have used two pages of music, a ticket to a dying Gordon Lightfoot concert, a map of a river in Quebec, a Belgian stamp & two photocopies.

In the end all art is about texture. How to create a surface that draws the eye in... that pleases the retina causes the occipital cortex to scintillate.

  Cutting and pasting. Very satisfying. Layers upon layers. That is how the file cabinet of my brain works. Now I am stuck.

1905:CUBISM:The Id:E=MC2

400 BC: Socrates invents a cave of chains.   1905: Pablo, Albert & Sigmund hand us our passports. Cave.... what cave?  

God is lonely. God dreams. A mirror.  My finish carpenter buddy Jesus polishes the surface of the lotus pond 2012 springs ago. The 3 wise men Abe, Ziggy, & Pab  lift up the mirror. 

The mirror shatters. 

I want a steering wheel, a road, a fine fast car. CUBISM says: no car, no road, no steering wheel, no driver.

The pieces of the puzzle... loose in the frame. The parts are more than the whole. 

The divine self seeps out between the cracks in the quick silver. You are who you have always been.

RED GUITAR: one piece of the puzzle. Notice it. Lift it up. Admire it. Put it down. Go on with your day. NAMASTE. 

RED GUITAR

Won’t you help me string the strings

That grace the neck of my red guitar

The silence opened near and far

It gives my voice its deathless wings

Ruby on the crown of a fallen queen

Magnolia seduces the colibri

The blush of a lover, the flush of a foe

At Winter’s end the funeral rose

The open mouth of Vesuvius

WInd-fall apple on the autumn grass

Tongue of the grey hound racing in dust

The peppers of fire, the berries of lust

Won’t you help me string the strings

That grace the neck of my red guitar

The silence opened near and far

It gives my voice its deathless wings

The ember bed at the jamboree

A mosquito's belly full of me

The pope is dead, the cardinals meet

The rust of the freighter caught on the reef

Summer sun on the North Sea fog

Tomato paste on the pasta sauce

In her Daddy’s car a kiss, a kiss

The parted lips... the lips I miss

Won’t you help me string the strings

That grace the neck of my red guitar

The silence opened near and far

It gives my voice its deathless wings