So creative was Pablo Picasso
diverse art he gave them all a go
A journey from the humble portrait
'til three dimensional made him 'a great'
E equals MC squared
And C squared equals
Cx squared plus
Cy squared plus
Cz squared.
Two different observers
Observe different times
Same event.
Therefore three points create a plane
A time plane.
And the virtual particles
That evaporate black holes
Are functionally time travelled particles
That fell in after
So there is no time
Line.
There's multiple lines.
And sometimes they depart our plane.
So when particles pass through our time plane
They pull on everything around us
Slowing expansion
And disappearing to the next time plane.
And if you understand
Still this idea of three dimensional time
Use the talent I don't have
To explain this to the world.
I am own portal metaphoric lens
walking parable of parables trend
laden chaos and peaceful blue bubbling
laced ecstasy-agony redoubling
tessellated with light-shadow angles
body-mind-soul mirroring time-space prisms
life's stages, stanzaic modalities
matrixed in three dimensional marrows
merkabic, scope's aspiring bolero
translucent metaphoric sombrero
my scribbling is consistent
scrolls, spirals, three-dimensional boxes
mushroom houses, flowers, stars
witches, pirates, unicorns
gardens, trees, clouds, grass
daisies, hippies, dragons, cattails
cats, dogs, mice and frogs
my scribbles are consistent
if you ask children who meet me
who drew those things
most of them will point at me
my drawings are steadily redundant
Sitting in my lovely study room and confined to an arm chair in a lonely afternoon,
Clearing the dense leaves and through the passages the retreating rays come from the tired and sleepy Sun.
It touches discriminately my different body parts through smooth and kind submission,
My books with three dimensional printing reflect the parallel beams and cause variable scattered emissions.
The crystallographic effects are touching the eyes and create a vibrant picture in my brain with numerous hidden captions.
I am still in the rigid desk watching these beautiful resonating images without blinking,
But unfortunately I have to leave and become mobile to join a gathering for felicitation.
Hyper.
The start of tail ends.
Like floral patterns at the end of the light.
Hyper.
Takes me to the dark, blank staring competition with an immortal being.
And effortless drags me through.
Like a skidmark being burned away.
But lives another life like a bursting lightbulb.
Hyper.
I was hyper one Tuesday.
As much as that imaginary skeleton, brittle, undone.
Spilled coffee as if it was on purpose as cutting wrapping paper.
Hyper.
The start of tail ends.
I ate the last of the floral patterns.
Everything is as three dimensional as that staring contest with a skeleton.
I turned hyper one day.
Turned into a spit out T-shirt with chew marks.
Tuesday.
I can turn thoughts into Saturn’s rings.
As the falling wasteland sings.
Meditation empties out, covered in slime.
Combines senses like a squeeze of lime.
I have thoughts, rugged and swishing.
I don’t know for what I could be fishing.
Endless turning like my bedroom shifts.
Open my eyes, cracking rifts.
Medication wears on me like the head of a snowman falling off.
Wipe the existence with a cloth.
I can make Earth have rings like Saturn.
Then crush them in my head into this urn.
I have memories like coal in stockings.
Snow hisses and sometimes sings.
As the falling wasteland tears apart.
I feel steam escape my heart.
I can turn my thoughts around.
Three dimensional like the curse of the ground.
The Earth crackling like medication, medication…
Reminds me of my last meditation.
Things like Saturn, Venus, and Mars.
Do nothing and neither do passing cars.
To this day
Their words still haunt me
I’ll never forget
The duplicity of their friendship
As little by little they tore me apart
The people I trusted were the people I shouldn’t
I was just a little kid
Surrounded by the cruelty of the world
I didn’t understand the worth of my soul
Now time has run out
I’m broken and scarred
I’ll never forget
I’m a three-dimensional being
created by the shadows of their pain
Their words were false
But to me they rang true
I’ll never forget
The tears that I cried
I’ll never forget
How my spirit died
my dog is hypervigilant about other dogs
they do not have to growl or bark
do not have to be three dimensional
if a dog’s tail goes across the TV screen, Beau sees it
He will bark with his highest bark six to twelve times about it
As if that dog tail is going to kill us
if a dog barks on the big screen, it is on.
Beau has to triple bark to each one of those barks
proving he is the biggest and baddest in a room
I don’t even want to tell you what he does when he sees a mirror.
We have had to cover all of those.
Cold morning light of misty haze.
Ground section, three dimensional rectangular gaze.
Sharp thorns on rose dead red misty tears.
Cracked leather from fisted gloves of black weaponised might.
Shine glistened leathered shoes dulled in this dead light.
Long coat warmth hanging off soulless cold.
Dark glasses cloaked glass eyes shone in glee.
Box lowered slowly.
Oh, but so, so exquisitely.
Standing witness for the joyful final act of the murdered end of thee.
A paper man
Under paper clouds
The sky is falling
and he doesn’t know why
His edges are folded
He feels he’s undone
There isn’t any warmth
from a paper sun
Cellophane grass
Cardboard under feet
He has a paper girlfriend
With a paper heartbeat
His feelings feel flat
Just a few wrinkles
Paper snow is falling
A tinfoil star twinkles
A world of my creation
I just want to feel
Hoping my sky won’t fall
Nothing feels real
I’m three dimensional
Under a real sky
There’s hope beyond clouds
When my mind tries to lie
So I grasp for happy
A bit of pleasure too
Even when it’s not easy
It’s just what I do.
Inspired by a friend.
As men we are taught to keep our feelings to ourselves and suffer in silence. In 2012 I went through depression and it took me a long time to look for help. When our feelings are flat and the world feels two dimensional, seek help and reach out to a friend. There are people who love us. There is no reason to suffer in silence. Colour returned to my world and I am thankful. The sky didn’t fall even though in the moment it felt so real.
Minimalist Donald Judd
from whom simplicity did flood
Letting the surrounds have their say
three dimensional art his forte
From installationist Allan Kaprow
ethereal happenings did flow
One-off activities non·par·eil
living art so surreal
3D COLLAGE
three dimensional
treasure
brings
aesthetic pleasure
a glow in the heart
such tranquility
flowers upon
this
page
as
sunshine
through a dark cloud
etched
patterns
of thought
in
ribbons
of inspiration
Silence permeates a desolate landscape.
Fossil fuels and nukes laid waste
to everything we knew, everyone we loved,
now unnaturally erased.
Yet, a cozy, rustic, little cottage stands.
A child's scrawl says, "Mom you're awesome!"
next to pictures on the refrigerator door.
A vase holds a red rose blossom.
Pixels emanate from a silicon brain,
swirling into a hologram,
a three-dimensional synthetic scene,
Proclaiming, falsely, "this I am".
This scene is played for centuries and eons hence.
Because of men's delusion,
there's no one to see this timeless projection,
an AI-produced illusion.
Just past
where the world of the atom ends
there are spaces that we try to fill
or pretend they don't exist.
Hollows that harbor silence
or an unshaped need,
the imprint of something
the mind can't conceive.
Music makes its way there
and knocks on the door,
takes its seat to hear
the sublime and capture
in glorious notes
what can't be said
in words. The chords
of creation sound
in the chambers of the ear.
Poetry goes there
with its clumsy feet, trying
to fit the formless into a cage,
give beauty a face,
fumbling to shape shadows
into three dimensional space.
And yet it is the word
that brings things into being,
gives each its sacred name.
Language the blunt instrument
of the poet's art,
the poem a sanctum
to house the holy embers
of creations spark.
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