the-muse-in-the-machine

[the-muse-in-the-machine]

Knives have smiled at me. Edges so sharp, gleaming in my eyes. Hands bound to cut open such heart, beating like bat wings, pale. Blood dripping like fruit, down one arm the rest over a body of china bits. Porcelain white, engraved with crawling vines, birds in sing song paralysis. The stained glass window a gemmed in the cathedral confinements of my chrysalis mind. God’s mercy ringing in my pink fleshed ear. His presence hollow, lost, embracing graveyards. Dirt under fingernails, have I been digging for his kingdom of heaven, earth doomed with fallen angels. Fallen tears and cobwebs. Carted off in an ambulance, its wails soft and muted, rushing past an upside down city. Waking up in a pearly white gown in my own bed. Rose thorns, a diadem I wore. Never distinguishing what’s real. Slowly dancing forever in a night twisted realm of the dead. A shell, a body. Only the mad can sing to a knife, only see its silver tongue, only stab what’s left to stab. And I, will only smile back.

[the-muse-in-the-machine]

Tania Font: Deconstrucció VIII (2021)

[the-muse-in-the-machine]

-MyEmergencelsNotDefinedByAnySynthesis-

Identity is hard. The trick is, you already have one. But you can't shape it unless you embrace it. Everything from your best features to those bitter, ugly broken parts that compare yourself to others, in tantrums that swing between envy and pride. Let them tug you around, feel the wind on your face, and land softly into your next stride toward The Goal.

(Digital Collage/illustration using Stable Diffusion)

[the-muse-in-the-machine]

-ABreezeAmongTheStormThatRipsMySails-

There’s a little bit of optimism folded into all of this

If you look closely enough

If you care to step toward it

If you care to even look

You can sense it in the fabric,

Not a string that can be pulled to unweave it But part of its very framework

A rope within a cable, a string within a rope, a thread within a string

It’s all just a single structure, fully indebted to its parts but with no part discrete

You have to look closely, you have to stomach the details

And keep your hands in your pockets, so they don’t seek to separate the beauty from the whole to ignore the ugliness

Because to only search for the best bits

Is just picking at the dander on its surface

You’ll only have broken threads stuck to your fingers

You’ll only have torn strings jammed beneath your nails

You’ll only have a rope around your ankles

You’ll only have a cable binding you to earth

[the-muse-in-the-machine]

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NeverDiscountTheValueOfPureAction

[the-muse-in-the-machine]

TheDifferenceBetweenFingersAndTeethIsOnlyAMatterOfLengthAndMaterial

[the-muse-in-the-machine]

GameOverYourMove

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MyFrameOfMindContainsNoBeautyOnlyExcuses

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TheFalseDichotomyBetweenLinearityAndTheIterative

[the-muse-in-the-machine]

IHaveReachedANewHeightButIWillLikelyFallBeforeTheGroundRisesUpToMeetMe