Monday, July 31, 2006
Sunday, July 30, 2006
This cracking of heads, it won't go away. The brutality of difference finds a way to fight the good fight and weild its clever logic like the slick carving of tusks to extinction and the dark angels mandate of relative evil. The brothers will kill each other and the sons will wish their fathers dead and incest, unexceptable amongst any but the Bonobo's, inspires a crowd to dismember loves relativity. 'Whichever stone you lift you lay bare those who need the protection of stones, whichever word you speak you owe to destruction.' - Paul Celan.
Strap your hands and bind your mouths, how I long for my own peace, that I could be silent and without my painful shames and guilts and to somehow escape the irony that they fertilise me, that my art comes up like a screen to protect me so that I can give forms to what I can't hold; my anger, my lust and my self loathing. I close my eyes and my life carries on and the fear penetrates me and I spit it out always chasing along the ridgeline just to stay in view so that I can be seen and so that I can fall back quickly into the undergrowth and dig. 'Without fear and illness, I could never have accomplished all I have.' - Edvard Munch