Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Monday, April 5, 2010
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Henry Fuseli... “Worship at the Temple of Nature.” 1793
Engraving after a drawing by John Henry Fuseli
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Friday, April 2, 2010
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Unica Zürn ...excerpt from the Man of Jasmine...
Unica Zürn Berlin - Grunewald 1928
You ghostly gaze! Shy and radiant,
wicked with loneliness and humour; your sombrenes,
seemingly without beginning
and thus without end, shines
and thus without end, shines
through my dream-lit rooms. I ask myself
whether angels might have such eyes?
from The Man of Jasmine
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Residue... Hail Lee Lozano...writings..
CONTAINED BECOMINGS OF AN ARTISTS PROCEDURE, TO VIEW IMMANENCE AND EVENTS THROUGH RITUAL,THIS RESIDUE,WHAT IS LEFT,REMAINDER, IS RAW AND OPEN,LIGHT AND DARK.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Sunday, March 28, 2010
New Drawing...featured in PARAPHILIA MAGAZINE VII...
Dolorosa - Vowed 4 2010
PARAPHILIA VII IS NOW AVAILABLE,
FEATURING DELECTABLY PROVOCATIVE MORSELS FROM THE MINDS OF:
John Coulthart, Dolorosa, Jim Lopez, Andrew Maben, Kenneth Rains Shiffrin,
Salena Godden, Lisa Wormsley, F.X. Tobin, Gary J. Shipley, Matt Leyshon,
Max Reeves, Joseph Jengehino, Jet MacDonald, Christopher Nosnibor,
Malcolm Alc......ala, Kenji Siratori, Audree Flynn, Díre
McCain, David Britton, Michael Butterworth, Kate MacDonald interviewing
Mark Mothersbaugh, Chris Madoch, Cricket Corleone, Richard A. Meade,
John Barrymore, Gene Gregorits, Craig Woods, Guttersaint, Hank Kirton,
Rick Grimes, Claudia Bellocq, Zeynep Ayguler, Sue Fox, James Miller,
David Gionfriddo, Walter Alter, Ron Garmon
www.paraphiliamagazine.com
new publishing venture for transgressive literature, art and music, surrealism, politics, magick and occulture
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Ex libris...Austin Osman Spare...
"Thought is the negation of knowledge.
Be thy busyness with action only.
Purge thyself of belief:
live like a tree walking!
Take no thought of good or evil.
Become self-active causality by Unity of thine, I and Self."
-AOS - Aphorism I; The Focus of Life
"Nothing is attained merely by 'wanting'; epistemology, even eschatology will not help,
not Gods; but-spake Zos- the 'as if' simulations have been prolific as objective realities. Sublimation of all 'reason' to the 'blind' life-force is the whole of wisdom"
AOS - The Grimoire of Zos
~ Live Like a Tree Walking! ~ Essay
Friday, March 26, 2010
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Monday, March 22, 2010
My drawings in. .. Silk Milk Spool 4
Received my copy of Silk Milk today!
and a wonderful issue it is! fascinating mix of esoteric writings and the art works are beautifully reproduced accompanied by audio/video cd and dvd
Drawing by Orryelle text by Julian Vayne
you can order copies HERE
Sunday, March 21, 2010
More Urmuz ...poesy...Fuchsiada excerpt
drawing by Marcel Iancu
Fuchsiada
Heroico-erotic poem, musical too, in prose
A deluge of hollers and threats. A deluge of disonancies, of chords upturned and unconcluded, of dodged cadenzas, faulty consonancies, of trills, but above all, rests, showered from every direction upon the exiled artist. A hail storm of jagged sharps and naturals pelted his back ceaselessly, a drawn out rest shattered his spectacles... Those gods possessed of viciousness in excess barraged him with shinbones, with aeolian harps, with lyres and cimbals, and, utmost of score-settling, with Acteon, with Polyeucte, and with Enescu's Third Symphony, whose inspired music on this occasion, originated indeed from Olympus.
At last, Fuchs's fate was decided. He was to first roam through Chaos with unbearable swiftness, in five minute revolutions, around the planet Venus, then after, so as to wholly expiate the affront brought upon the goddess, he was to be exiled companionless to the uninhabited planet, with the burden of giving birth on his own and on his own alone, to that off-spring, that superior race of artists, which should have sprung forth in Olympus from his amorous union with Venus.
Fuchs barely began carrying out his verdict, when Pallas-Athena, forbearing, stepped in (unexpectedly) on his behalf.
He was granted permission to fall back to earth, but only under one condition: there is so much useless off-spring there, artistic or not, that it was not at all needed to beget any other. It was foisted on Fuchs the task of doing away with snobbism and spinelessness of thought in art on earth's realms.
Placed thus, in this dire bind, after a prolonged and mature cogitation, the artist determined that this last condition was far more difficult to bring about than the off-spring begetting on Venus...
A heroical decision was then reached by our hero in his roaming through Chaos. He consented to accept Athena's assistance under the condition imposed upon him; but, when he sensed the proximity of earth, he did what he did and, budging a bit to the right, he dropped down in that very neighborhood, slightly shady, from which he departed and which spellbound him such.
Knowing himself now well prepared, he would learn here how to put into practice that which he hadn't known until then, so that afterwards, fully initiated, he would request the Venerated One's audience so as to try to rehabilitate himself as best he could in what had been left wanting. In this manner, he told himself, it will become possible to give birth to that new race of supermen, and thus would be released of the duty to undertake on earth the impossible bane imposed upon him.
But the vestals of pleasure, who had welcomed him mirthfuly, upon discerning his intentions, surrounded him from all directions, intercepted abruptly his forward motion and beleaguered, bereaved, flailing their arms in the air in sign of protest, excommunicated him from the neighborhood, exclaiming in unison: "Woe to you, Fuchs, we have lost you and recognize you no longer, because formerly you were the only one who, from Plato's times onwards, understood how to love us purely... What sort of thoughts do you nurse as you step amongst us? Woe to us from now on deprived of the aesthetics of your sonatas, woe to you deprived of the inspiration of our lofty love! Fie on her who, though our mistress, Olympus's and the world's, did not understand how to appreciate you, and spurning your love and art, led you to fall so high up... Flee, Fuchs, you are unworthy of us now!
Flee, Fuchs, you slimy satyr! How could you devalue the noblest organ, the ear?! Flee Fuchs, you're dishonoring this neighborhood,
Flee, Fuchs, and may the gods protect you!"
Thus excommunicated, and frightened of an eventual discharge of their liquid displeasure, Fuchs sat swiftly at his piano and, pedaling steadily and forcefully, arrived lastly at his quiet shelter, with his spirits oppressed, disconcerted, sickened of men as well as of gods, of love as well as of muses...
He fled to get his umbrella back from the shop and, taking his piano along, they vanished forever in the midst of nature, glorious and unbounded...
From there his music radiates with equal force in all directions, thus causing the word of grateful Fate to be carried out in part, ordaining him that through his scales, concerts and etudes of staccato, to spread far the word and by their grace, through the power of education, to cause the appearance in time on this planet an improved and superior race of beings, towards his glory, his piano's, and Eternity's...
At last, Fuchs's fate was decided. He was to first roam through Chaos with unbearable swiftness, in five minute revolutions, around the planet Venus, then after, so as to wholly expiate the affront brought upon the goddess, he was to be exiled companionless to the uninhabited planet, with the burden of giving birth on his own and on his own alone, to that off-spring, that superior race of artists, which should have sprung forth in Olympus from his amorous union with Venus.
Fuchs barely began carrying out his verdict, when Pallas-Athena, forbearing, stepped in (unexpectedly) on his behalf.
He was granted permission to fall back to earth, but only under one condition: there is so much useless off-spring there, artistic or not, that it was not at all needed to beget any other. It was foisted on Fuchs the task of doing away with snobbism and spinelessness of thought in art on earth's realms.
Placed thus, in this dire bind, after a prolonged and mature cogitation, the artist determined that this last condition was far more difficult to bring about than the off-spring begetting on Venus...
A heroical decision was then reached by our hero in his roaming through Chaos. He consented to accept Athena's assistance under the condition imposed upon him; but, when he sensed the proximity of earth, he did what he did and, budging a bit to the right, he dropped down in that very neighborhood, slightly shady, from which he departed and which spellbound him such.
Knowing himself now well prepared, he would learn here how to put into practice that which he hadn't known until then, so that afterwards, fully initiated, he would request the Venerated One's audience so as to try to rehabilitate himself as best he could in what had been left wanting. In this manner, he told himself, it will become possible to give birth to that new race of supermen, and thus would be released of the duty to undertake on earth the impossible bane imposed upon him.
But the vestals of pleasure, who had welcomed him mirthfuly, upon discerning his intentions, surrounded him from all directions, intercepted abruptly his forward motion and beleaguered, bereaved, flailing their arms in the air in sign of protest, excommunicated him from the neighborhood, exclaiming in unison: "Woe to you, Fuchs, we have lost you and recognize you no longer, because formerly you were the only one who, from Plato's times onwards, understood how to love us purely... What sort of thoughts do you nurse as you step amongst us? Woe to us from now on deprived of the aesthetics of your sonatas, woe to you deprived of the inspiration of our lofty love! Fie on her who, though our mistress, Olympus's and the world's, did not understand how to appreciate you, and spurning your love and art, led you to fall so high up... Flee, Fuchs, you are unworthy of us now!
Flee, Fuchs, you slimy satyr! How could you devalue the noblest organ, the ear?! Flee Fuchs, you're dishonoring this neighborhood,
Flee, Fuchs, and may the gods protect you!"
Thus excommunicated, and frightened of an eventual discharge of their liquid displeasure, Fuchs sat swiftly at his piano and, pedaling steadily and forcefully, arrived lastly at his quiet shelter, with his spirits oppressed, disconcerted, sickened of men as well as of gods, of love as well as of muses...
He fled to get his umbrella back from the shop and, taking his piano along, they vanished forever in the midst of nature, glorious and unbounded...
From there his music radiates with equal force in all directions, thus causing the word of grateful Fate to be carried out in part, ordaining him that through his scales, concerts and etudes of staccato, to spread far the word and by their grace, through the power of education, to cause the appearance in time on this planet an improved and superior race of beings, towards his glory, his piano's, and Eternity's...
full Fuchsiada at Exquisite corpse
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)