Astral Body 1925
"Know the subconsciousness to be an epitome of all experience and wisdom, past incarnations as men, animals, birds, vegetable life, etc., etc., everything that exists, has and ever will exist."
essay > Janus Incarnate?
Showing posts with label drawings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label drawings. Show all posts
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Sherana Harriette Frances... drawings..part 1
The LSD drawings of Sherana Harriette Frances
a few scans from a favourite book of mine
Drawing it out ~ Befriending the Unconscious ~
the book originated as a wordless visual dialogue between her conscious and unconscious mind, catalyzed by her experience with LSD at the international Institute for Advanced Study around 1963
Friday, April 23, 2010
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Monday, March 8, 2010
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Joseph Jengehino...poems and drawing..
a physiology of conversion (collab with Amely Jones)
Gerald slices his thoughts with a citrus knife. Removes the matter.
His fiction is the salt she sucks from open wounds.
Her machinery is too much for him. At night he tears it down.
He likes to watch her mouth sleep.
likes the way it is crooked but still toxic. but silent.
He's afraid of her.
He's afraid of her unobstructed mind and the traps and equations she uses.
He wants to get under her skin
his static can break her. disrupt her.
break the plane of her bones,
break the circuitry of her mind,
give her parachutes to numbness.
Her head is turned, the profile of a bird on a pillowcase.
he touches her throat, a little
Hides his hands
He wants to hold her
in the softest prison,
place a thumb on her eye,
and feel the kaleidoscope's stained and transparent explosions.
The dreams are fueling her mind
maybe he can make her smile when she is like this...
but he won't touch those toxic lips
even with the latex fingers
he envisions her a future huffing oxygen from an apparatus.
sees her body tied to machines
sees the bricks of her mind dissolving
in a place where he can forever watch her mouth sleep
The Broken Neck of the Swan
Joseph Jengehino blog at MYSPACE
Friday, February 26, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Friday, February 12, 2010
Jan Konupek 1883-1950... Czech... illustrations...
An Encounter of Souls in Outer Space
An Electron approaching Earth
Electron charge
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Leonor Fini... Sphinx & Charles Baudelaire...Beauty..poem and drawings...
Beauty
I am fair, O mortals! like a dream carved in stone,
And my breast where each one in turn has bruised himself
Is made to inspire in the poet a love
As eternal and silent as matter.
And my breast where each one in turn has bruised himself
Is made to inspire in the poet a love
As eternal and silent as matter.
On a throne in the sky, a mysterious sphinx,
I join a heart of snow to the whiteness of swans;
I hate movement for it displaces lines,
And never do I weep and never do I laugh.
Poets, before my grandiose poses,
Which I seem to assume from the proudest statues,
Will consume their lives in austere study;
For I have, to enchant those submissive lovers,
Pure mirrors that make all things more beautiful:
My eyes, my large, wide eyes of eternal brightness!
Charles Baudelaire - The Flowers of Evil
Translation by William Aggeler
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Friday, January 15, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Insomnia or the Devil at Large... Henry Miller ... drawings
Drawings by Henry Miller, made during a bout of Insomnia 1965/66
“They reflect the varying moods of three in the morning. Some were sprinkled with bird seed, some with songes, and some with mensonges. Some dripped from the brush like pink arsenic; others clogged up on me and came out as welts and bruises. Some were
organic, some inorganic, but they were all intended to lead their own life in the garden of Abracadabra.”
MORE >>>> Henry Miller
Friday, January 8, 2010
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Monday, January 4, 2010
Andrey Bely... poem and drawing...
VERTIGO
Now I have wandered long years and many,
Have drowned in the haze of the late afternoon
Until my poor feet are bleeding and heavy,
They must give out soon.
As I lounge in the fumes of the charcoal vapors
Questions pop out, like an unpaid debt,
And someone offers- in a tasty little packet -
A cigarette.
And then when I sit with elbows on the table,
Swoonin with awe, merged fearfully
With things not of earth, somebody says
"Here's your tea."
Oh, I am a child of the flame, of the glory,
Visions shine before me all through the night,
But can it be- can it be possible
They will not even know me by sight?
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
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