Escape from Meaning

I dreamt my pen rolled under the doorway to hell
and I wondered if it meant something
There was a train…
Don’t let too many doors close behind you, I said
The clock. It is a traitor
you never know what time it is
I groped through the darkness to find my voice
leaving a toe on the bright side of the threshold

One night I saw a village of
white houses with brightly painted windows & gates
then, under a screeching-cat wind
with pockets full of mud I clutched
a massive ring of keys in my gritty hands
as it rained, the whole world was unearthed
what lies through those bright gates and sills?
what is the price of discovery?

A grown man played with stuffed toy dragons
holding them up, turning them slowly, looking…
the magical idea examined in depth
the question of veracity lain aside
sometimes I was him, sometimes I watched him

The hourglass is slipping sands
Mitosis is running amok
while fireflies flash in the wood
while hunger turns me to a wild dog
while teeth crumble to pebbles
You never know what time it is

I’ve decided what most of this means
I’m pretty sure the cat wanted out of the box
Just as I’d like to flee but stumble instead
from one form of meaning to another
Maybe treading lightly will
prevent the web from sticking
if we’re clever enough for social commentary
covertly interjectedfor the ears of our kin

I could paint something whimsical
A portrait series of myself mounted on winged insects
A rosy maple moth, an emerald damsel fly
Only to unearth in foreign eyes
further meaning of more serious nature
My relative smallness either a mark of self-perception
or a statement on the nature of mankind

Thanks to Jung, thanks to Dali
dream dictionaries, modern minds scrying
dreaming in deepening spirals
mining, unearthing quantum gems
of meaning that never existed prior to discovery…
then they become so real, more real than the tangible
post-post-post-modern meta

the creative act modifies the subject-object relationship
through intent
And the perception of the product is modified
by the history of the observer
there is no escape from the subjectivity of meaning

So, I will paint an erotic series
of men eating ice cream cones
and women brushing their teeth
It will be erotic because I’ve made my intention known
So that it will be part of your history when you see it

But most meaning has nothing to do with anything real
Realize what that means?
It means: none of this is fucking real
Until it is
An idea can change everything

Share on FacebookShare on Google+Tweet about this on TwitterPin on Pinterest
Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

seventy seven + = eighty four