Thanks for the generous and supportive comments.

On Mon, 2011-03-07 at 09:23 -0700, Douglas Barbour wrote:
> What texts you put beside each one will count for a lot....

Ha, yes, that will be interesting since the text can't illustrate even a
process of image production yet must in some way resonate for the book
to work.

The order of images on the blog are arbitrary, more or less as I went
through the process of producing 8 bit 600x800 pixels.

The opening verse sets up what appears may be a conventional narrative,
but after that... well absolute deviation where the categories of
narrative and lyric seem to merge or disappear and then come back, or
whatever....

Here's the opening which you have seen before, even if I may edit
again.... the chance to space across a matte art page, line breaks,
white space, etc

The BBQ

Nations with self appointed high rank sweep across
landscapes with pioneer planted flag's far off claim
inventions belch to air industry's footpath doings

there is no world that is to be invented by minds of men
that's what we are told so when the barbecue lights up
big arguments rage and he becomes part of the living world

into a world where dead men tell lies cool love words burnt
by fire and he wants to flee where there are no rules to learn
to measure street's cruising angry minority speech into his
life so cheap fifty dollars a visit and one fifty makes it
his for the night and for life a picture of him
on the bare wall above his bed

 
* * *


he looks for a four leaf clover
        when he finds it he'll hand it over
                and be off again

a stone tumbles and spins
rough edges polish to gemstone finish

it's not the romance of the heart
but the romantic endless road
which leads our man astray

in the end he finds an empty world
of wealth to re-invest which never
can be passed from father to son

his mortal remains rot as the words he breathed
are said to rise and sit with the right hand
rights and wrongs do gooders aspire with faith long lost

left to slander
        the little respect
                left over from pride

and the lost hopes of liberation
blighted by war torn dead
what rights do they speak

memories are gone of childhood beach days
and surfboards tied by elastic ropes

        in high summer flesh burns
         a watery blister red

and wonder at those things his nocturnal moments
filled with boy adventure to nurture insanity

he has no innocence now narcotic
visions indifference forgotten monuments
bells no longer toll even a muffled ring

redundant memories silent neurosis
the first time he grabbed a cock
a feral beast
and the memories

papers curl in the acid sun
crumbled personal archives
asked to shoulder a kind of manhood
heavy coffins push into shoulders

he has not seen the funeral parade of the dead
         not even in mock



* * *
--
have chronic fatigue syndrome so may be delayed in reply or brain fog weird

just to let you know that's all, Chris Jones.

Blog: http://abdevpoetics.blogspot.com/