I have taken up residence in an obsidian tower. It has no chinks for the intrepid to grip. It is an obelisk. I am the odalisque who lives in the obelisk. I converse with birds.
Do odalisques still exist? Yes, recursively, in a converse relationship with our teapots. How do you make a crumple tree?: picture the world overwhelm. I will be no more a love image. I’m a night light princess in an ocean crypt. I found myself a fashionable owl, a surrealistic crow (and some other winged friends), perfected the sharpness of my handwriting deconstructing gloomy poetry, and drowned, am drowning, in what wild and lovely sea?
I exist I exist I exist. find me on wordpress
Summer is here!
All winter I imagined days so long long long I would have nothing left to do by the end of them but wait, far into the evening, for the light to finally fade.
All winter I imagined today.
Let’s stir up some spirits; spirits of evergreens, angelica, ice. Blesséd spirits cool the hot temples. Phoenix fire will lure the fire-flies to the obelisk; I look forward to the show. …
ODALISQUE DOES NOT SAY HELLO NO SHE DOES NOT.
I AM SORRY.
I AM TRYING TO RECORD HER DREAMS IT IS VERY HARD.
MAYBE I WILL SHARE ONE SOON.
I AM SORRY SHE HAS NOTHING TO SAY.
I HAVE THINGS TO SAY.
HELLO I AM OWL.
in a dark and dated hotel room with the boy you tried to kiss his name the name of greek statues the ones that hold up temple porches
get ready. before a plate glass mirror get ready
to fly north for an event.
planes to catch in metallic hangars it is so hard to get to these planes.
city streets treacherous they all drop down into round-a-bout bottoms like the bottoms of bowls. bowl bottom is stable equilibrium says math class. no catching a plane in the bottom of a bowl without a dose of irrational energy.
i fly. afraid to lose the earth. no worries. boy and girl are bound to earth. i bear them.
sidewalk man in suspenders makes chalk mandalas on the concrete very colorful they are.
maybe he is the one.
that girl has fantastic boots. red cross-stitched.
maybe she is the one.
will the bicycle make it up the hill, out of the city, to that dark road running home? see road slope and curve beneath o’erhanging trees shadow trees where insects sing.
we / land / ground / earth on a paved plaza.
event hotel! off-center lobby. elevators to rooms where folded schedules are forgotten. long brown halls. stumble upon an intimate, semi-circular hall where businesspeople in frumpy suits karaoke made-up lyrics to classic rock songs. in one room girl having an argument with staff about what she knows to be true. time to go home. surely the event is practically over time to catch another plane. for vacation. girl can’t find keys to room where her things are and can’t remember where her room is but
look a forest. a cube of forest bounded by glass. stunning concept. balanced with fore-thought / but wild. red leaves / peacock blues of ever-greens. deep deep ground forest sunk so to see into canopy
technicolor forest caged between glass viewing corridors of event hotel.
here was well thought-out. here is worthy of contemplation. here be still.
ODALISQUE HAS BEEN SILENT VERY SILENT.
I HOPE YOU STILL THINK OF HER NOW AND AGAIN. NO. THINK OF HER MORE THAN THAT, PLEASE. THINK OF HER NOW. AND NOW. AND NOW. AGAIN.
I WILL WRITE SOMETHING TO TELL YOU HOW IT IS SINCE SHE WON’T MAKE A SCRAPBOOK PAGE. I WILL TRY TO SAY IT SO YOU WILL UNDERSTAND O YOU OUT-THERE.
coffee house you sit /imagine/ with blank paper and pen
listen music streams from responsive algorithms
listen there are conversations at tables with all chairs empty but one
talk talk about marketing /cause app art jeans/ marketing is a way to talk about money that sounds like sharing or making friends
listen gnat clouds of attention ghosting the nether-now of elsewhere and who
mesmerizing all the fingers on hand-held palm stones, light glass leaves. swift fingers single shuttle a miniature loom weave /bandage veil fate/
or idly scroll as if skimming skin of a dull but distracting lover, heart battery in cellophane sleeve sealed with mildly-toxic adhesive
re pe ti tive /pause/
fresh faces bathed in lightpalm glow as if looking down into unempty hands equals looking up at face of
dawn as if sky is
look up blank page
here is the future
it is very productive
what do you say
odalisque do you have anything to say
to the future
spring is coming!
Are you bringing me flowers? I like flowers. Particularly the ones that open themselves so fully they fall apart. Hearts do this, and the ego, yearning for transcendence. So, too, the prismatic doors of glass, with no hinges and no handle. You (yes you) must crash through. Oh the light, smashing everywhere and glass shattering like a fist smashed into still water drops like glass throwing light.
My favorite flower, the petals dropleted with moisture, shatters on the sill.
Wait, just a little bit. I will make you a bouquet.
Congratulations on your new position! Will you get a day off?
The birds say they know a very fancy song called Peter and the Birds. The birds, assisted by Peter, trap a wolf. The wolf winds up in a zoo.
But don’t worry. I’m no Peter. And in their song, the wolf manages to eat one bird…duck, I think?
Black swan (who most resembles a duck) says he doesn’t remember anything about that.
I asked the birds if odalisques die. Phoenix got very excited and tried to turn my scrapbook into a pyre. The rest of us aren’t sure. Owl points out that we’re art. Black swan believes we are therefore immortal. Hawk suspects we can die, but we’ll be created at another time in a new, more relevant form. Hawk sees no reason why that form couldn’t be a wolf, so that should please you. Crow (did I tell you crow turned into a parrot?) says “all all perishes.” All, I suppose, includes odalisques, and even the impulse towards art.
I can’t find the starlings, not that it matters as they don’t seem to think actual thoughts. They are feeding on and fertilizing some forsaken marsh.
Mary! How’d you wind up with her coat? Sacre Couer! An odalisque, in Mary’s coat?! What’s she wearing? Have you seen her?
Will we see you soon?