Features for October 3, 2010

Color Theory

For this week’s features, color was my focus. The following artworks captivate the imagination while highlighting a single color.

Red Wine by Ingz

A Single Rose Called to Me by oscarelizondo

For it had been a long time since the rose bush last bloomed,
And not a single pink rose had come to life from any forming bud.
It was a strangle event since I had often taken roses to her grave,
As I had promised to myself and her when I planted it in the mud.

Ill I had been and in bed my heart had taken me to make my peace,
Because the loneliness had crippled me inside since I had lost my wife.
My body had aged a million years and there was no one to hold my hand,
And perhaps it wouldn’t have mattered since my sprit had no real life.

Lost in the desert with no wind to blow upon my face I had ventured far,
Searching for a face to talk to in hopes that it could guide me from this sorrow.
Instead of finding answers to my questions I found a wounded talking vulture,
It pecked on my eye sockets and sent me home blind with the time I borrowed.

As I crawled home no one knew my face as not a single drop of water came,
But I still had my sense of smell when I arrived at my door step with my nose.
I knew the aroma of my garden as my hands reached out to touch the plants,
My nostrils alerted of a single new flower that my heart knew to be a pink rose.
Copyright © Oscarelizondo

Fire by Sue Nueckel

Seek to Be: I Know That You Will Become by Blanchot
To H.H.

You are a seeker who has yet to discover the way in which to fulfill her object
That object being perhaps a little too clear, too pure, in need of dilution
All of this has consequences
Self-destructive in ways not even you fully comprehend
There are those who insist on displaying their self-righteous judgments on this issue in ways that are entirely devoid of critical evaluation
Negative X, negative Y, negative Z
Yet, it is not very difficult to reconceive this vapid disapprobation
Ways to discover the repressed, because suppressed, seed kernel of glory tightly bound within you

For, passion is easily both misinterpreted and misdirected, especially when its outlet has yet to have been fully embraced
One arm holds back because it will not even consider the issue in the light of a possible positivity
The other, which would generally participate in the passion, is doubly incapacitated; the first arm weighs it down with the full force of its misunderstanding, which causes the second to atrophy in the belief it ought to have for its successful participation
The drive for the realization of this passion has thus been amputated before it could ever fully realize its dream as anything but a failure, always-already consummated
A desire that fails to believe in itself is sure to be redirected towards negativity
Who, after all, can imagine anything but radical crisis for the release of beauty, which has been throttled while still in the crib

Nonetheless, despair is not inevitable
Embrace what has been, and create what will be: celebrate the sublimity of the greatest weight
Become that most rare and special of beings: what one is
Fuck the rest; they’ll catch up or they won’t
Whatever the case, take creation into your hands
Undertake belief in yourself: there are those who believe with you and who will encourage you to swim when it feels like it’s raining in every direction
Just remember: it is you who has to execute the actual strokes, you who must elaborate her poetic soul though the drenching negativity
Hell, don’t just seek to understand the rain in a new fashion, to slake your thirst
Find that place where lightening is most likely to strike
Become its energy and its brilliance
This, I know is the very promise of your promise
Now, you know it also
© 10/02/2010

Form Follows Function by Tammera

The Knowledge of Time Travel Part 3 by HamperRefuser

Now I have to go and find this fly. Or one of his friends or family. Teach them not to share their knowledge of time! Maybe this is a dangerous thing for me to do. I do not tell of my abilities so maybe someone wants to swat me. I should be careful; yellow has always been the wrong colour for me. This is because I got stung by a wasp when I was younger. But wasps move in normal time. I started to catch them and put them in the freezer. Their stillness was hilarious! I really need to stop these procrastinating thoughts. It is getting stupid. Now with my weapon of choice I am going to hunt flies. Make them drop. Tell them time ‘flies’ when you are having fun. Their time will halt and they will drop to the floor. Bastards. I will have the last laugh.

I have found the place of congregation. A terrifically terrified group of flies. Shame I don’t have a wingman. Distract some whilst I play the game of death with the others. Actually I would not want that. I work alone. All alone. Ooh is that buzzing I hear? I will take my… ugh… mighty sweep and…HA! Got the cheeky fucker. Let that be a lesson to all of you flies. Not quick enough for me are you? Maybe I have mastered it. I managed to get one. I should bring it home for autopsy. Or I could eat it. Then I could inherit the fly’s powers. Ill put it in my pocket for now and continue. I need something sharper for this next game.

Sorry my friend. You have been spotted. You useless piece of shit. That’s a rather tasty looking alleyway I am sure you will agree. Your pattering shoes are crystal clear and in high definition. The sounds you let off impress me. But you are creating this unwanted feeling of sadness within me. You look like me?! But how… Maybe this is my past self. But I don’t remember walking through here. Not ever. Let’s end this… There is only enough room for one of me. So you are going to have to take your punishment like a man. My blade is withdrawn. IM RIGHT BEHIND YOU! There we go… sshhhh. No woman is attracted to a man that screams. Remember how they used to call you twinny one? Well I am number one now. Parents would not have approved but hey, they used to give you all of their time…

Yes, I knew the secret to time travel.

Remnants of Magic by AngiandSilas

shared earth by Alenka Co
the story’s written in the grain ….
of seed and earth
of leaves and sun ….

I know the forest from where you came
I was uprooted from there too
how strange that I should find you here
how strong the pull of a shared earth ….

the blood of my ancestors soaks the earth
of the forest where the beech trees grow.

Alien by Jessican Walker

Upon Bodily Pleasure by Blake Steele


What is this innocent, mysterious sensation
that permeates every cell of our body
when we dare to stretch as fully open,
as vulnerably open as we can?
What is this God designed drug
that makes our insides a paradise of soft pleasures,
that makes our bodies move to some
music of motion flowing from the core of us,
melting the mind steady in Light,
calling it out of old defenses
into this very instant where Light’s magic happens?
It takes a powerful Love to handle it,
to not get lost in it,
to allow ecstatic pleasure to both fire up every cell
and compassion in our heart,
so that we may overflow in creative exuberance,
to play in all Love’s play yards,
and passionately enter the sorrow,
passing into the dark of it
to weep for the tragedy of a world
so capable of ecstatic jubilation
locked up like this, addicted to manipulations
and miseries. *
After the sorrow, then the dance:
this is what old prophets dreamt
in God-drunk states, reeling within a spirit-fused
fire in their brains.
This world needs to see it, feel it, smell it:
some springtime bursting forth through the bones,
into ever body, every cell, this sensual thing
resonant with the pure innocence of flowers and stars,
fanned out through the lazy yawn of allowance,
as the whole body loosens into its primal health,
into a God-given guiltless joy,
into a wide open, splayed surrender,
arms embracing the naked sky,
kissing existence, drinking in the blue,
gulping down the Limitless goodness
of Love as Life and Life as Love’s
most soul-blazed, body burnt colors
splattered and singing,
flushed free and flowing,
in a wild spirit-wind
of everywhere human happiness —
and we are fully here!: arm around shoulder,
forehead to forehead, eye gazing deep into luminous eye,
circle dancing with children,
laughing with their body-shook laughter,
as they sing with innocent voices of a better world
we are all together birthing:
poem by poem, song upon song,
kindness by imaginative, crazy caring kindness,
turning things upside down and back around,
taking the whole thing back into our own hands
in this laughter-rippled growth
of body-blown joy!

Impact by TaniaLosada

The Girl by misfit1965
The girl hasn’t discovered her wings yet,
not realizing the strength of her soul
nor realizing that was God’s gift to her survival
so, she walks around as a caterpillar,
unaware of who she is
she hasn’t taken off her veil yet,
and woken up next to a man
she is a virgin of spirit,
even if there have been dozens of men
none loved her, and to be loved,
in the act of intimacy is a sacred act
the demons call her “slut”,
and she calls herself, “whore”
not understanding she is the Lord’s bride,
and He sees her as washed
She hears the whispers that drive her urge
to stick nails up her arms
she bears the wounds of her attacks on herself,
falsely believing she is worthless
demons laugh, seeing her take razors
her thighs undiscovered, she wears the razors on them,
deep slashes, still fresh and unproven
she has the obsessive desire to be punished
to be nailed to her private cross,
not realizing the Lord has done it for her
everything spins around in her like a blender
to shred her decency and dignity
she feels God has abandoned her
even though He never will
demons talk of legalism and works
working your way to heaven or hell
they hand her more razors to crucify
her flesh with
and they laugh some more
grace is a word in a dictionary to her
her prayers never seem to reach past
the ceiling
in desperation she clings to her only friends,
the razors
who smile with their deceptive shiny
silver teeth
stroking her beautifully,
yet cutting tissue
with every touch
she bleeds
straight lines of blood,
rows of faithful and beaten soldiers
rushed down her thigh
past her knees
leaping to their premature deaths
she pushes the razor in like a penis
a few times until she grows weary
of the pain it causes her
she never cries publicly anymore
her mother told her not to make a spectacle
of herself
the girl hates her black coarse hair
men don’t respect her hair
this hurts they never touch it
ashamed she wears a baseball cap
to hide her ugly hair
now, she has shaved it off like a man
to pretend she is not even a woman
the girl has other secrects she hates
too much flesh
she considers it a huge blemish
the worst scar she can think of
to avoid that she rushes to the bathroom
sticking a finger like a straw to suck the food
out of her body
not realizing God puts no pre-requisites on
He extends His arms out to her,
she misses Him,
her bloodshot eyes blind her
the girl weeps when no one is around
she inspects her nude body in front
of a broken mirror
her skin is bronze, and shiny like mud
nobody wanted the muddy girl
maybe they thought she was filthy
God offers to cleanse her with hyssop,
and make her whiter than snow
but she hates Him right now
and blames Him for her loneliness
she has a doll she sleeps beside
her name is Emma
Emma is her constant companion
she takes her everywhere,
she’s had her for six years
it was a gift that was hard to unwrap
it took twenty long hours to pull
all the wrappings off
the experience of being the one another
depends on changed her forever
children are a heritage of the Lord
and God is a father to the fatherless
the girl creates characters to keep her
company, to guard the castle of her heart,
her bottle is a diet two liter soda,
all she has to inebriate her
her lover Vladimir,
who she threw away
sits beside her,
one of the demons in disguise
the girl takes the raw meat from under
her breast and puts it under her pillow
she protects her lumpy clump of blood
though people falsely believe she wears it
as a fresh badge,
she fools the world and herself
but never the Lord
the girl is a chameleon and changes
able to love many times and many things
her greatest gift is her ability to love others
her greatest flaw is her inability to love
people can change with grace
In the meantime,
the girl exists a prisoner of her fantasies
she cannot escape or will not
and is trapped in a world of illusions
in another place,
where dragons and knights are neighbors
she foolishly believes she has escaped the
rules of morality and has created her own values
God doesn’t exist there,
But God has a way of finding the girl
He always has

copyright 2010misfit1965


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