Beannacht (“Blessing”) by John O’Donohue

Beannacht (“Blessing”) by John O’Donohue

On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.

And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets in to you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green,
and azure blue
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.

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The Scream by Edvard Munch:

The Scream by Edvard Munch: Modern Art Analysis

According to Munch’s personal diaries, the idea for the modern art painting The Scream came to him while looking down over the Norwegian landscape from an elevation. While a mountaintop or a scenic view from a summit might sound like a beautiful natural landscape to paint, Munch’s personal interpretation of “nature” below was very different than you might imagine.

“I was walking down the road with two friends when the sun set; suddenly, the sky turned as red as blood. I stopped and leaned against the fence, feeling unspeakably tired. Tongues of fire and blood stretched over the bluish black fjord. My friends went on walking, while I lagged behind, shivering with fear. Then I heard the enormous infinite scream of nature.”

What is the meaning of Edvard Munch’s 1893 modern art painting The Scream? When it all comes down to it, a “scream” is above all a sound and an auditory sensation. The wailing of both the dying animals and the cries overheard coming from the nearby insane asylum, however faint they may have been, give an added and potent personal and autobiographical meaning to the painting’s simple title. The true meaning behind the title of Edvard Munch’s “soul painting” The Scream may very well come back to the decidedly ugly, even hideous, sounds of living beings undergoing both physical and emotional suffering in the modern age.

days

There are some days that like rubix cubes,  in turns I think of your energy and your and gut and will growth and how it becomes dull, and atomic. Like the  then and the now, the renew after flash being of  energy. Dematerialization. And re-materialisation.   Like the glows of the ending of the discharging waves of the twinges of the charged and thrown light of dusk.. The days die, constantly, beautiful desiccant, decampment of the suns focus of decay  and beautiful rays, a daily gift. Ridged in daily job position, regardless of the sacred season. No thankyou’s. Good mornings, afternoons or good evenings.

Then,  I think how taxing and savage life is and just getting to know a person it all is. Growing to know and understand their traits and taxonomies, enemies of their own inner civilisations, and a juxtaposition of being their own guardians and warriors seeking and accustoming to both yourself, friends, creations of family, savages of others, even me. The solitary of self and mastery of soul, naming limits and then the heights and limitations again ironically enough is enough to inform one and send one running.

When you stand in approximation of yourself, front your structure, and me, what of it.. to sound out and  of my niggling woeful blinding habituated ignorant gravity. Uh. What do I know of your humanness, other than that your mind is a core of capability and integrity an intellectual conduit, constructions connections loops, waves, hex and bands. You act, you stand, you have architectural allotment and self.

I wish I could self-adjust brainwaves like people self-adjust, their belt buckles. You are like the super awesome kind of something special. Not the window adhesive face sucking special kids either. More like the little Einstein bobble heads.

You know, you are only human, despite my faring fired up trend setting neurons in the brain that tells me otherwise on so many intrinsic levels. You must have been great with an abacus when you were young, because you are one that is able to calculate and is dependable.

I often wonder how many boxes you have or have stomped in your brain, perhaps filling cabinets in your mind, more suited effacement for storage and placement. Just wonder how you do it. Eh.

I know it in my depths, soul deep, brainwaves and complexities and perhaps this is why I ache in my bones they have become my transparencies. I will eternally with gratitude miss you and all that you have honestly and openly shown and given me.

For a friend.

I wish you were here, to find me, or for me to find you – toes peeking out from beneath the certainty of the curtain, betraying the shades of white and green, clinging tightly to the strength of the rest of you, the chambers of your slight echoes from the  structured  ridgid body, trying far too hard to be stagnant. It’s not your fault, you’re amazing. The glimmer of a flash, find me grin, drag me from my life, from my Earthly stall direct my resignation of with that soft sliding smile of the syllables of my name that only you can choose to accompany with the pull of togetherness, attention and bespoke calm. Still a window. You’re press,  one says nothing and everything with such prominence, almost like an intellectual promenade, the sanction of acceptance an excerpt of the analogue of the best dog ear re read pressed, cracked spine of a novel. The more I think, the less I know. That’s ok. All dressed up and nowhere to go. Sit down, sonder through the leveling of life and art and conversations of exclamations and compressed smiles, the other tessellations, relive the wonderment.  Levers and boulders,  wills evers that nexus, ocular that divide.  Perhaps our minds are destroyed in the middle and it’s all a perfect and irrelevant, start to a finished parallel line. Maybe we will never cross that threshold, divide. I like the notion, the idea that in the existential plains, the holographic designs, in strides in nature in every curtailing or uncertain way you will be there, arrived and waiting not necessary for me. But Free.    

Beck and Robz

Quote

2003

2003

For an unhinging series of capillary tightening, depleting, lifeless still motion cacophonous flip book flag pole life. Failing defilading these aborting moments. Excessive dissemination, recitation, revision. Death and debasement. Blankness, paper giant scenes, spines. The flashing and fading tail lights, permeates. ‘I’m tough..’

For an unhinging series of capillary tightening, depleting, lifeless still motion cacophonous flip book flag pole life. Failing defilading these aborting moments. Excessive dissemination, recitation, revision. Death and debasement. Blankness, paper giant scenes, spines. The flashing and fading tail lights, permeates. ‘I’m tough..’

2003 Ipswich Festival

… eh.. brooke.

Thinking about you a bit today Brooke.  Your sickness, your choices, and the disparities your life played in the shadows in the despair, how to live, image, draw breath and existence and compulsion.  Wonder how your bones supported your choices, identity, your muscle mass sure failed in the compartmentalisation of the gravity of it all, the cement reflected the greyness. The  gaps, so hollow and callousness and caustic measure of the masses can be enigmatic, clandestine,  the foreboding the nature of diming interior and exterior so ugh like weathered plastic. We ignorantly buried our brains and covered our eyes. Prime examples of the observe effect. On many occasions you said you felt as if you were dying. You were. Only a matter of when, not how.  If only you chose to consume your beautifully arranged and packaged architectures, containers, of survival constrains of hopes, perhaps it would have been enough for a while. Thinking, viewing, impaired of fridge and freezer compatriots, barriers, and sentences.  No point in analyzing, signalling what your heart and electrical pulses cannot rearrange, sustain, and contain reiterate . Every time I see a skeleton, even the rubber ones, I think of you. I just want to add water, instant joggers and a see a sense of detachment, red hat, gold jewellery and a fine eclectic love of tattoos. Boom- jutting bones, a black board sketch of you. You are right, dead. Right. Sometimes apologies will never satisfy the masses. 

.This is for then.

I Scribbled all the notes,
the tiny letters down
embalmed and anchored
tied and weighted ,
Think they call them heavy notes captive insoles,

hostages invaders,
tiny fingers hold the fibers of the paper
Reminders of you.
You can only do my bidding when my concerns outweigh my faults
memories,
rusty one sided breached gates
for when I have you book marked and saved
still life, dove tail joints, dog-eared contented a hug goodbye replaced, atonement.
When my spine is a crumpled paper giant, my brain merely dust.
You are the constellations in my installations and grains of truth

Without consideration or ordered hesitation
Hypoxic, hyperbolic
myth or fable now, a consulate left the names for someone else to say
Climb inside
allowance its all downhill and ablaze
tongues are truths
forged from steel
no serendipitous man to catch or repeal
No brace or hope or cape to cope.
be a sword, even reality is composed of twigs.
Under wired and underwear is unawares
My mother deceased now origins of myth
wrote my name
on the inside of underpants.
For fair trading?
She decanted a soul
I walked pantless to become closer to what I was.
Wear my Underwear on The outside
Model the system on educating people with the notion of Epic
self respect and empathy and acceptance

Cultivate Inside
wear it on the outside
in the hope of losing aptitude resistance  hesitance
a wish for resilience, depth and spectacular blistering
truths

because names come from Legends
swearing doesn’t come from a lack of vocabulary,
perhaps insensitivity and aberrant hostility,
I fight fires with all the fucking words.
and none of them transcend or abate,
some speak the same epic language in synchronicity in tune with the irregularity, Infused, transfused red, white harmony
in synergistic angularity,
or perhaps due to the Arrhythmic beating chemical, electrical heart pumping mechanical familiarity . .

9/11 Artifacts Unveiled in New York City

 

artifacts
Joe Daniels, left, 911 Memorial President, and Anthoula Katsimatides, right, a member of the 911 Memorial board, is seen through tangled steel recovered from the World Trade Center (WTC) site and installed at the 911 Memorial Museum, Thursday, June 27, 2013 in New York. (AP Photo/Bebeto Matthews)

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Anthoula Katsimatides, right, a member of the 911 Memorial board, views the wreckage of FDNY Engine 21 recovered from the World Trade Center (WTC) site and installed at the 911 Memorial Museum on Thursday, June 27, 2013 in New York. Her brother John Katsimatides was killed when planes struck the WTC towers September 11, 2001, where he worked as a trader for Cantor Fitzgerald. Engine Company 21was dispatched to the World Trade Center after hijacked Flight 175 struck the South Tower. It was parked beneath an elevated walkway when the towers fell. (AP Photo/Bebeto Matthews)

artifacts3
Part of a stairway from the World Trade Center (WTC) site is shown in its permanent location at the 911 Memorial Museum on Thursday, June 27, 2013 in New York. Recovered from the WTC site after September 11, 2001, this stairway offered a clear exit from the World Trade Center Plaza to Vesey Street, providing a means of escape for hundreds fleeing from the Towers. It became symbolic of survival and acquired the name “Survivors’ Stairs.” (AP Photo/Bebeto Matthews)

artifcats4

Perimeter box columns from the World Trade Center (WTC) is installed in the 911 Memorial Museum with a view towards the new 1 World Trade Center on the on Thursday, June 27, 2013 in New York. Recovered from the WTC site after September 11, 2001, this structural steel called “tridents,” rose from the base of the North Tower (1 WTC). These columns were embedded at bedrock, branching from one column into three at the sixth floor. (AP Photo/Bebeto Matthews)

artificats5

Joe Daniels, 911 Memorial President, lifts the cover for a glance of an ambulance during a tour of the 911 Memorial Museum on Thursday, June 27, 2013 in New York. Recovered from the World Trade Center after September 11, 2001, the vehicle will be part of the museum’s permanent installment. (AP Photo/Bebeto Matthews)

Anthoula Katsimatides, right, a member of the 911 Memorial board, views the wreckage of FDNY Engine 21 recovered from the World Trade Center (WTC) site and installed at the 911 Memorial Museum on Thursday, June 27, 2013 in New York. Her brother John Katsimatides was killed when planes struck the WTC towers September 11, 2001, where he worked as a trader for Cantor Fitzgerald. Engine Company 21was dispatched to the World Trade Center after hijacked Flight 175 struck the South Tower. It was parked beneath an elevated walkway when the towers fell. (AP Photo/Bebeto Matthews)
Published Friday, June 28, 2013

 

 

NEW YORK (AP) — Gray dust blankets everything in the subterranean halls of the unfinished National September 11 Memorial & Museum. But while the powder may look ominously like the ash that covered lower Manhattan after the terrorist attacks, this time it is a product of rebirth, not destruction.

After a yearlong construction shutdown because of a funding dispute, and additional months of cleanup following a shocking flood caused by Superstorm Sandy, work has been racing ahead again at the museum, which sits in a cavernous space below the World Trade Center memorial plaza that opened in 2011.

About 130 workers are at the site each day and there is much left to be done, but officials with the museum said the project is on track to open to the public in the spring of 2014.

Some of the museum’s most emotion-inspiring artifacts already are anchored in place.

Tears rolled down Anthoula Katsimatides’ cheeks Thursday as she toured halls holding a mangled fire truck, strangely beautiful tangles of rebar and the pieces of intersecting steel known as the Ground Zero Cross.

“It makes me sad,” said Katsimatides, whose brother John died at the trade center. But it’s also inspiring, said Katsimatides, who sits on the museum’s board. “Seeing it come to fruition is pretty intense.”

Work on the museum was halted for nearly a year, starting in the fall of 2011, because of a money fight between the memorial foundation and the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey, which owns the trade center site.

In retrospect, that slowdown was a blessing. Shortly after the two sides worked out their differences, Superstorm Sandy sent the Hudson River thundering through lower Manhattan and filled the museum cavern with 7½ feet of water.

The flood destroyed interior walls and electrical circuits, but the construction delay meant that hundreds of artifacts and exhibits that might have been in the museum still hadn’t been fabricated or were sitting safely in storage. There was minor flash rusting to one of the fire trucks that had already been lowered into the space, but the damage was repaired by conservators and isn’t noticeable today, said National September 11 Memorial & Museum President Joseph Daniels.

Today there is no sign that there was ever a flood. Daniels said there has been “almost indescribable” progress on construction since the storm.

Structural work appears mostly complete on the glass pavilion and wide staircase and ramp visitors will use to descend into the museum, past two towering “tridents” that once helped form the distinctive base of the twin towers. Once silvery, the columns were stripped bare by the fires on 9/11 and are now the color of rusted, raw steel.

From a mezzanine, patrons will be able to peer into a deep, nave-like hallway nicknamed the South Canyon. The hall’s high western wall will eventually be covered with a multitude of notes and letters of support that people around the world sent to New York after the attacks.

“They continue to send things. It’s amazing,” Katsimatides said. “That outpouring of support is one of the things that got the 9/11 families through.”

Further down the ramp, visitors come to a platform overlooking an even more massive cavern bordered by the slurry wall, a 70-foot-tall, steel-studded concrete slab originally built to keep the Hudson River from flooding the trade center construction site.

In the hall’s center stands the last steel column removed from ground zero during the cleanup operation. Recovery workers covered the pillar with their signatures before it was carried away, and visitors will get a chance to leave their own mark on another big piece of steel near the museum’s exit — though their autographs will be captured by a computerized touch screen and projected on the slurry wall, rather than left in ink on metal.

Throughout the museum, curators have hung pieces of steel that were bent and twisted into striking shapes, including one sheet of metal that now appears to ripple like a flag and a huge girder bent by the impact of the aircraft hitting the towers.

Many of them look like sculptures.

“In a strange way, they are like pieces of art,” Katsimatides said. But Daniels added that they weren’t chosen for their beauty, but to explain what happened at the site on 9/11.

A few design elements of the museum are still under discussion.

When visitors descend to the very bottom of the museum — where, in some places, they will be able to view the very bedrock that the towers once rested upon — they will enter a hall with a large wall bearing an inscription from Virgil. “No day shall erase you from the memory of time.”

Behind that wall will sit a special mausoleum, off limits to the general public, containing the unidentified remains of hundreds of 9/11 victims. Most of the interior walls of the museum have the look of bare concrete, as a constant reminder of the site’s location within the old trade center foundation. But Daniels said the museum’s designers are talking about possibly cladding this wall in a different material, or a different color, to separate it from the rest.

“It’s a special place. Do we need something to distinguish it?” he said.

The bulk of the work remaining to be completed will revolve around installing the museum’s exhibits, which will include many artifacts, including a wall made up of portraits of all 2,983 victims and a room where visitors will be able to call up video presentations that tell a story about each of them.

“The idea is to learn about the lives that they lived, not just the deaths that they died,” Daniels said.

As I read through this article, I remember this day, dissimilar to other perspectives, as all people hold unique perspectives, memories. It is certain, however, life and loss absolute to the citizens of the New York, those in the Towers and those with their feet a few centimetres above ground level. Family members, links  to  people who have bookmarked them because of their disconnection are anchored, entrenched in their safety of keeping. They will not forget.  I remember, atrocity, time- those ignominious beings took away life belonging to others by bench marking so many stills and less, questions and lessons. I stood heavy booted in Adams room, we were open mouthed, silenced, he cracked me a cold can, the usual hi five halted. The epic fizz in hot pursuit follow through somehow hollow remained stagnant. The air compressor competed for nothing; we all wanted more and received much less. In that moment, life was crisp, fatal and even the heroes were instruments of flickering litter, so much office equipment, entitlement, and debris amongst it, paper and twisted consumption, compensation of what? Names and waves Instrumental in so much more, that we could do nothing over here but observe, media deep, in aching swollen throats dripping of Salvador and Pollock, a surrealist outcry and abandoned out pour.

For Jammie and Her Family.

Finding Solitude, One day.

Said Farewell today to you, your family bold and strong, released a tribute of purple and white balloons into the atmosphere, etched with thoughtful cathartic messages: of love and safe passage. Committal took place, the travel of your body and reviving of the Earth took  in the presence of your family and friends. They released of a single white dove. Amazing. It flew home.  You would be so proud of your family. I am. Everyone is. They are outstanding, individual human beings, courage, fortitude..

You see this, watching.  Before the release of your balloons, an illumination, rainbow.
Take care. xx

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