Tag Archives: derivative works

holy ghosts

in the end, we are all just holy ghosts

lone, holy, haunted ghosts wanting to be seen, felt

if anyone were to have thoughts or draw conclusions about this ghost, about my collection of words, photos, ephemera, art, altars, or the microcosmic worlds i’ve built — now, or when i’m dead

— in the end, and at the beginning,
it is and was,
all, for me to better understand

my Self, for myself, by my self

as well, to understand my relationship to others, to the world, to the Earth – the pain and beauty of it all, and to my creativity, the act of creating — and to existence itSelf

no one else is essential to interact with,
interpret, interrogate or validate any of it

the imperative in my work and my art is not to be known or understood by another — even though, even when, that exquisitely rare experience occurs – it can conjure deep feelings of true homecoming or true love /both, actually/

being seen, or being seen as creative, evocative, provocative, nouveau, derivative, debased or talentless is wholly different than being known and understood by someone

and although communion, consummation, and collaboration in experiencing, creating, or releasing art can be gratifying, challenging, inspiring and evolutionary,

i must always remember:

all my collaborators are ghosts; i am my own, lone, Earthly muse; i Am my audience of one

everyone else is collateral advantage

“in the end, you will find [only] yourself at the beginning”


ghosts: me, Frida Kahlo, Agave & The Moon

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the bearable light of being

we adapt, mitigate

beholding devastation

in a moment of transcendent light

we’ll call it beauty

i am no exception

golden hour light on a butchered monoculture landscape

Poemo (prototypes) :



The secret ambition of all lyric poetry is to stop time. — Charles Simic


Poemo rhymes with memo.

“for all your fine washables”


the mundane,

it reminds


blush-colored lace bra soaking in bathroom sink
blush-colored lace bra soaking in the bathroom sink with a smidgeon of Dreft during the evening of January 4th 2023


Arte Digitora

Arte Digitora, alternatively, arte digitora, artedigitora, #artedigitora

Arte Digitora is art/e that is organically, intentionally or incidentally created, conceptualized or derived from intentional or incidental digital/cellular communication and/or collaboration and hosted primarily – though not always exclusively – in digital space-time.

The art/e primarily consists of digital/cellular communication text content including email correspondence; word-processing documents; text and direct messaging conversation blocks or bubbles; shared photos, images, screenshots, icons/reacts/emojis; shares and links; voice clips/messages; and social media comments — using a variety of digital/cellular applications and platforms; anonymity or identity may be implied, preserved, protected or negotiated.

This art/e is created, conceptualized, utilized or reproduced by one or more participant humans based on singular, multiple, continuing or abandoned digital/cellular communications; it may be fixed i.e., “locked” and immutable, or the art/e can be fluid, altered, edited, deleted, interpreted, archived or restored in its original form or any subsequent altered/edited form by any of the the original communicators or subsequently, by those with access.

Arte Digitora are not NFTs, but NFTs may contain elements of arte digitora.

Any Arte Digitora may be migrated and reproduced in physical space in the form of inspired or derivative 2D or 3D works such as prints, photos, books, sculpture, crafts or objects, or as audio/visual, performance, tactile or projection art.



from Wikipedia:

Art is a diverse range of human activity, and resulting product, that involves creative or imaginative talent expressive of technical proficiency, beauty, emotional power, or conceptual ideas.

from Wiktionary:

Digital

  1. Having to do with digits (fingers or toes); performed with a finger.
  2. Property of representing values as discrete, often binary, numbers rather than a continuous spectrum.
  3. Of or relating to computers or the Information Age.

poemo

poem memorandum

poem memo

poemmemo

poememo

pomemo

poemo



poemo: noun / pōɛmō /

a written memo disguised as a poem

a written poem disguised as a memo/memorandum or as “business correspondence“


memo to a particular poet

i am going to bed, now
at 7:08
to lessen the ache
of being awake

this is a poem
this is the business
of us artists
this is “business correspondence”

inform a collaborator
a coworker – if you will
your passwords and processes
before taking those pills

my corazón has nearly bled-out
migrating across my torso, my limbs,
and my crown
settling into my cornflower eyes
bloodshot with or without drops and disguise

the weight of this goddamned red muscle
i’m so fucking heavy-hearted
this cursed organ’s still goin’
my sweetest, singular escape, now aborted

the only thing i can do right, right now
is to sleep
the only thing i can do wrong, right now
is to think

(who should i send this memo to?
– no one, if not, to you)


someone

i feel like someone
you last loved on a wednesday,
earlier this week

i feel like someone who was once your intense singular joy/ now again, an invisible naturalist, poet, neologist and crone

i feel like someone you forgot to mention the Hilma Af Klint show to

i feel like someone losing our intimacy
exponentially, by the second, against a shot clock in an un-United Center

i feel like someone whose forehead you won’t kiss; whose hollows you’ll never touch with hands or tip; like someone who’ll never climax again

i feel like someone who upset you with
Dreaming and that’s where it ended; who never listened to your diatribe about Waco, or heard of your plane rituals and four-part fruition

i feel like someone whose mystery you’ll let be; whose content is consumed without gnosis; like cold leftovers

i don’t feel like someone who you will walk across a frozen Lake or dry Lake bed to get to anymore in the apocalypse, station eleven style

i feel like someone who was found because of fresh words about rosy-golden light and then who was lost because of stale words about time

i feel like someone whose Diego died before she did and who missed meeting her Henry Miller, humbly

i feel like someone who swallowed all the art she’ll never create with you and she’s choking on it

i feel like someone who’s just about to close up the library – MH

i feel like someone who you owe nothing to because that’s exactly how you told me to feel

i feel like someone waking from a months-long dream, but it was actually a coma from a head-on collision, exposition

crash into me again, please

this time, let me die knowing i’m your sweet,
i’m your love


ps i feel like someone who just wrote the last poem you’ll ever read about you
but i don’t feel like someone who just wrote her last poem about you