Dominic making faces, 2003
Random image from the Gallery
I wish I’d had a cave I would have hidden myself in its depths (but where someone could have found me) but since I had no cave I hid inside myself (and so far no one’s even looked)
And it came born of the fire into the night And soared through the blackness from the smoldering silence with a cry that echoed through the canyon and into eternity
Ya don't treat me right. Never did. Always looked down on me: fruit of your womb like pus in your boil a lamb for your slaughter Hey, Ma!...
When the wind bows down at the feet of the flowers and dragons salute the doe’s feeble newborn when the forest fire ebbs at the silence of butterflies Then softly through the fog will I roam the woods Not a sound will I make and I will wrap myself in the darkness I will befriend the raven and the lioness And no more will blood stain the green fields When the dawn and the twilight...
simple, elegant, like calligraphy: the thin red line fill it in paint a crimson dragon have his wings spill over onto white porcelain run the water… Scarlet! dark clouds build behind your eyes and thunder rushes from your ears his claws reach up to pull you down and you greet the dragon with a kiss of red as you bite your lip and whisper… good bye
And why should I write something happy? You say “morbid, depressing!” well, Yes! And so is your mother. And so is mine, and for that matter, so is life. So tell me why the hell I should write something happy, and lie to the children.
my will to be read on the occasion of my suicide: To my mother: I leave nothing- for that is what she gave me To my father: I leave nothing- for that is what he expected me to become To my friends: I leave nothing- for they did nothing to stop me And finally, to my God: I leave nothing- for he has given me nothing to live for.
I followed you here I tried to be everything a shadow should But when I stepped into my third dimension you turned your back and continued on alone I’ve been running for so long now to catch up to you I wish that you would turn your head just once, to see I might be beautiful
I am sorry for you if I’m not just like her if I don’t fill exactly the gap she left behind But I am a lion from another pride and the cage you built around her just wasn’t made to hold me
I think a lot… most often of you. But then, you knew that, didn’t you… When my gaze falls across your face your eyes burn holes in distant walls If you struck me across the cheek a sweeter tear would come to my eye For your bitterness has become a wall of crust And I have grown weary of wielding the chisel
They used to print pictures on cardboard, remember? I have a few here; the edges are cracking and they’re blurry with age. These people are dead now. I never knew who they were, but I think of them often… they look so sad here And I wonder quietly as I hold them at dusk, when they sat for the camera did they think that someday a stranger would have these and give them new names...
go ahead wash away the dirt wash away the paint and see who’s underneath you think you’ll see the true me stripped to the heart but who’s real that has no dirt that has no paint? someone empty, incomplete so accept my dirt I paint myself
idle summer days pass drunken from the heat pleading for the rains… They do not come. dust clings to a sweaty brow streaks gray down the neck hot winds chap skin as mountainous storm clouds build dark against the horizon and still the rains… …do not come.
sometimes I’ve wanted to kill you just to feel the life pass on I’ve wanted to bite . . . . . .to feel the flesh erupt to hold you as you struggle to force you past this . . . what do you see? I see your sleeping eyelids I see the pulse in your neck no, don’t wake up not yet… let me kiss you.
and so, slowly, the leaves of protection are shed until you stand a shivering, naked stem, in the cold alone
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