Odalisque

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.
www.conversewithbirds.org.

Aug 13

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

Jul 28

the deer crashed through the window, at school.  it was vocabulary lesson.

from wordpress.


Jun 21

monarda didyma

let us celebrate the solstice with spirits: of evergreen, angelica, and ice.

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. …

View On WordPress


May 27
What Owl never recorded, the thing I dreamed.
From my scrapbook.

What Owl never recorded, the thing I dreamed.

From my scrapbook.


I wake up.  Fiery pillow note yet again.  Ashy pyles.   Phoenix remains.

From my scrapbook.

I wake up.  Fiery pillow note yet again.  Ashy pyles.   Phoenix remains.

From my scrapbook.


May 9

image

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.

I SAY

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.

intellectual inadequacy.

i fly.  afraid to lose the earth.  no worries.  boy and girl are bound to earth.  i bear them.

skateboard sky.

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.

OWL sings.

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.

image

On Wordpress…


Apr 23

Apr 21

hello this is owl

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

discrete on/versus/off

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

?

image

Read more…


Apr 1
spring. <top hat>

spring. <top hat>


Mar 20

an edge

vernal equinox, 2014

-tipped o’er.

hello new minute of light.

View On WordPress


Mar 10

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.

post on wordpress



Feb 14
fig. 1158 (flaming valentine)

I have nothing to say but I do have a valentine.

if what we could–were what we would– criterion–be small– it is the ultimate of talk– the impotence to tell–
(emily dickinson)


View Post

fig. 1158 (flaming valentine)

I have nothing to say but I do have a valentine.

if what we could–were what we would–
criterion–be small–
it is the ultimate of talk–
the impotence to tell–

(emily dickinson)

View Post


Feb 7

Dear Henriette,

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?

your friend,

The Odalisque

(my letter from Henriette)



Dear Odalisque,
Thank you for your invitation to visit.  I have never been in an obelisk, and ah! the aeons since I last saw an ocean, don’t remind me of them, unless I may count the flat deserts that were sea floors.  I stood at the bottom of those oceans and drowned myself in a fire-dry sky.  Then, I was much happier.  When night came, the stars were very friendly, a school of bio-luminescent fish curious about me in my glass bowl.
I have been very busy since October, when the Christmas season began in Venezuela.  I have taken a position in the new Ministry of Supreme Happiness.  I’ve enclosed a snapshot of this position: does it o’erwhelm you with exalted felicity?  So it intends.  The shovel intends to remind you that Chavez now hangs out with the people underground.   Not in the grave, but in tunnels.  Perhaps you’d like to dig yourself one, to reconnoiter with le President?  Reports vary as to whether he is still a bird.
When I die (do odaliques ever get to die?)  I will return, not as a bird, but as a wolf.
Don’t tell your friends.  
Did you ever think you’d see an odalisque draped in blue, blue of Mary’s color?
Hello to the birds, says wolf, salivating.
love &amp; toilet paper,
Henriette


My letter from Henriette
(Read the last one here.)

Dear Odalisque,

Thank you for your invitation to visit.  I have never been in an obelisk, and ah! the aeons since I last saw an ocean, don’t remind me of them, unless I may count the flat deserts that were sea floors.  I stood at the bottom of those oceans and drowned myself in a fire-dry sky.  Then, I was much happier.  When night came, the stars were very friendly, a school of bio-luminescent fish curious about me in my glass bowl.

I have been very busy since October, when the Christmas season began in Venezuela.  I have taken a position in the new Ministry of Supreme Happiness.  I’ve enclosed a snapshot of this position: does it o’erwhelm you with exalted felicity?  So it intends.  The shovel intends to remind you that Chavez now hangs out with the people underground.   Not in the grave, but in tunnels.  Perhaps you’d like to dig yourself one, to reconnoiter with le President?  Reports vary as to whether he is still a bird.

When I die (do odaliques ever get to die?)  I will return, not as a bird, but as a wolf.

Don’t tell your friends. 

Did you ever think you’d see an odalisque draped in blue, blue of Mary’s color?

Hello to the birds, says wolf, salivating.

love & toilet paper,

Henriette

My letter from Henriette

(Read the last one here.)


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