An experiment and The Eloquent Policeman en Vogue
setaside2
Posts: 1,084
"The Eloquent Policeman en vogue"
"invisibility cloaked
mindswept soaked
the unknown of whither goest the rogue
and whether the mouthspeak has something to say
for all these things unpredictable
though as transparent as silken sheen
the passing secrets barely detectable
the fingers, the body, the mind, the self played and played in the intimate mean
such harps that chime and thrum and vibe their way across our frosted air
my fingerprint leavings,
melted and expanding,
settle the puddles upon yonder cair
why does the mark fade so readily?
why does the world paint over?
as if our footsteps are pressed up and away,
rejected by this earth,
such being the resilience of spring clover
the folly of infinity, indeed!
the arrogance of forever!
were it not so short an expansion within the desert of each letter."
"etch thy walls well, young rogue.
chisel with skill, and grace.
for the graffiti of your kind is the history to another race
unwound, yet wounded, tongue tied and blind...
they will seek your wisdom upon these corners,
they will worship your dreams,
they will wish themselves upon you and for your inevitable return.
Though you may be the deific force to bear for these generations asunder,
you have one other thing,
a living fact that you will be given much time to ponder:
That you are here and now
and that I have deemed your rules of play and expression,
regardless of your indiscretion,
and as such I am torn to judge accordingly:
That your work on these vertical bricks is art cannot be argued.
It would be witless to attempt as it is in front of the viewer
and even the most skeptical illusionist would be forced to agree,
this is, at the very least, a thing of beauty created by a single man's hand.
However, and again... I presume to surmise that as I approached,
your sudden turn and spirited flight points toward knowledge of certain ledgers
and events written by many men, many years before us.
That I have caught you is no reason to be belligerent.
And the fact that you have been arrested for defacement of public
and private
property is a matter with which, I am afraid,
you will have to discuss with your attorney.
You have the right
to remain
silent."
"invisibility cloaked
mindswept soaked
the unknown of whither goest the rogue
and whether the mouthspeak has something to say
for all these things unpredictable
though as transparent as silken sheen
the passing secrets barely detectable
the fingers, the body, the mind, the self played and played in the intimate mean
such harps that chime and thrum and vibe their way across our frosted air
my fingerprint leavings,
melted and expanding,
settle the puddles upon yonder cair
why does the mark fade so readily?
why does the world paint over?
as if our footsteps are pressed up and away,
rejected by this earth,
such being the resilience of spring clover
the folly of infinity, indeed!
the arrogance of forever!
were it not so short an expansion within the desert of each letter."
"etch thy walls well, young rogue.
chisel with skill, and grace.
for the graffiti of your kind is the history to another race
unwound, yet wounded, tongue tied and blind...
they will seek your wisdom upon these corners,
they will worship your dreams,
they will wish themselves upon you and for your inevitable return.
Though you may be the deific force to bear for these generations asunder,
you have one other thing,
a living fact that you will be given much time to ponder:
That you are here and now
and that I have deemed your rules of play and expression,
regardless of your indiscretion,
and as such I am torn to judge accordingly:
That your work on these vertical bricks is art cannot be argued.
It would be witless to attempt as it is in front of the viewer
and even the most skeptical illusionist would be forced to agree,
this is, at the very least, a thing of beauty created by a single man's hand.
However, and again... I presume to surmise that as I approached,
your sudden turn and spirited flight points toward knowledge of certain ledgers
and events written by many men, many years before us.
That I have caught you is no reason to be belligerent.
And the fact that you have been arrested for defacement of public
and private
property is a matter with which, I am afraid,
you will have to discuss with your attorney.
You have the right
to remain
silent."
I'm stepping in front of the gushing hydrant in a hurricane. I'd like to see the traction I keep.
Post edited by Unknown User on
0
Comments
peee-u, lol
this is lovely, imo
funny that thoughts of ETCHINGs should be so concurrent and yet so far away
i love your muse
tell her i said so
that's how I know its good shit.
I have a friend who did some kind of presentation about this..
She was quick to point out all the advertising everywhere and how that is all we have to look at. How something more and more creative is good..
bla bla bla
-Outs
But I'm not about to give thanks, or apologize"
The other day the above lyrics hit me like they never had before.......Almost dizzying....So true, feelings i long recognise summed up in words so beautifully/perfectly.....
the first stanza, from "invisibility" to "letter" is voiced by the artist themselves. Heartbroken, somewhat careworn, in need of their art to verify their existence, they paint to create their mark, to sign the landscape as it were, and make the world anew under their watchful and naive eyes. It is the escapism and the vagrancy that contribute to its ability to achieve and artlike status. The rebellion is heeded as an artist's call.
Unfortunately, they too are under watch by an appreciative audience who understands both sides of the "Signature" equation... that one should leave their mark with passion, indeed with style; but also with inclusivity and tolerance and a care for those who came before them.
The policeman gives chase, half-heartedly, knowing that the youth is a mouthpiece for the next generation, a class of youth that doesn't always achieve voice so easily. Telepathy would better serve us all, he thinks, due to the level of honesty ascertained by an individual's inability to lie to another, knowing that their thoughts are known. Also, telepaths have no need to paint the foundations of bridges with fluorescent colored compressed propellant, when they have need to broadcast their thoughts or their missive. These are the things that go through his mind as he goes through the motions of apprehension.
Once hindered, captured, bound, the young auteur proceeds to witness an officer who understands his beat well enough to know that he needs the hip flask he carries with him, every night. Irony states that this flask, filled to the brim with Wild Turkey, was engraved and presented to him by the department on the eve of his 15th anniversary, the night he finally earned his stripes, the night his son was killed by some asshole in a hurry to get nowhere fast at the corner of 14th and Leetsdale. Irony. Fuck irony.
The second bit is his speech.
And while it is unfinished, I understand that it would have to be due to the criminal/justice relationship that has taken place before the finality of this event proclaimed rights. Also, a policeman with a penchant for Wild Turkey should say as little as possible if his quarry is to remain incarcerated for long. The less given to bargain with, the better. Also, the chief would be damned if another car was given the 86 at the auto shop this week.
There is a soul amongst us all. I have often pondered whether it was an individual thing, as taught by so many religions, or whether it were a shared spirituality, a shared awareness through courtly bonds and in-commons... or just by happenstance in a world we all seem to live in. I believe that, while flawed, this piece is one that may attempt to credit some to the idea that we are shared creatures, through one format or another... one man's dreams die while another's are gained...
and yet there are rules to be followed, much to the chagrin and constant consternation of my son and daughter. ah but where lies the balance?
peace be with you.
total compliance, rewarded with applesauce-sweetened oatmeal cookies AND a smile on my face everytime they call me mean...
yeah
i'm NO fun
dam good shit though
http://www.myspace.com/alotalotbetweenus