"Last Trip To Costco"12/11/2017 Pieces of paper
scattered and gather'd written on recycled sheets & rolled up retail reciepts pen pressed against jargon and laser laid fine print return policies tell the story of our falls feats and fallacies grinning glasses wearing plaid-shirt-sporting strange strangers walk by as the story is scrawled in a rough hand by a man-- very alive and ever present hearing words whispered on the wind musical whispers words that once written one can never rescind He sees eighty-year-old hobblers racing for cases of pre-fab fodder to be sold at wholesale prices but never consumed it's interesting considering this beast of consumption continues to balloon he sees someones' last trip to the grocery store they didn't know... still adding up items in their head bewildered wondering "should I have bought one more case of those..." "one more" The Great Northern Railroad and the cars and sky-busses of tomorrow will carry the children and cousins and brother of that ignorant soul looking so weary so old to the place chosen for such things and they'll bring their nice clothes and their kids to the hole in the ground with no lid and someone someone... will be born (from the ashes of their sadness) and their diapers will be bought in bulk
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On soaking up color12/11/2017 It's a great thing, to be able to soak up color. To let it "settle" into your soul. It really tickles my fancy when my eyes start to feel that buzz. The hum of a certain frequency of light. That visual tickle. That rush. Like the yellow in Kelly's panel, "Red Yellow Blue White and Black." I just saw it today for the first time on an art blog I stumbled across, and I loved it. I kept jumping to the yellow. But only in my mental peripheral.
I savored the fact that I wasn't exactly looking at it. I was sensing it. Sensing it's bright, overpowering inevitability with my soul. Aware but waiting. Watching but not looking. Like I was spying on it. Like I was part of some covert artistic operation. Where I felt like if I looked at it too soon it would fly away. Like a hummingbird you get too close to. So I saw it with my spiritual eyes. With my eyes; unseen. And I kept putting off actually looking at it. Like once I did, I would wreck everything about both myself and the painting in one stupid moment. So I pleasure-delayed. And just let the bright, cheery, spiritually illuminating, humming, buzzing, vibrant, still, yet chaotic frequency tickle my soul through my eyelashes. While I batted them at it. Doing a little dance with the color yellow. And dance we did. Luke Aaron Venters, 11-5-15 Absolute Truth Exists12/11/2017  Absolute truth exists.
One is not two. Up is not down. right is not wrong. and male is not female. Old is not young. and young is not old. Fresh cheese does not have mold. Black is not white. And loose is not tight. truth is not a lie. a hamburger is not fench fries and I am not a woman I'm a guy. clear is not convoluted. and dark is not light blind is not sight and left is not right clearly is not darkly and fear is not peace war is not peace and rocks are not trees freedom is not slavery and choice is not command wood is not stone and sea is not land this poem is not a book and it's the eyes not the nose that look ears hear feet stand hands hold and if it glitters It might be gold remember what has real value and that that is truth and not lies do not be deceived b e b o l d do not believe lies and do not be deceived no matter how hard someone tries ~ L u k e ~ PS: Kennedy said, and is quoted in the photo at the top of the page: that, “We must never forget, that art is not a form of propaganda, it is a form of TRUTH.” Peace. Luke Aaron Venters
A 34 year old writer from Northwest Montana. ArchivesCategories |
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