Based on Mediaeval Latin verses in the Codex Buranus. Below, you will see the English translation.
The Sun is my Empress, She shines over everything
I was tempted to put the full text here. However, I remembered that Chrome’s translation software would chew it up. I hope the two images render without any issues. If there are any, let me know. The raw text is available, so please contact me if you would like to have it.
Image: Postcard I received recently of Anna Ishii’s 2019 work, “Charming and mesmerising” – 193 cm x 193 cm oil on canvas.
Go out in the morning, into the tabernacles and the courts. Blessed are the souls that receive you; they will be comforted. Do not faint from toil; find rest in mine house. Sleep, and see a mystery in the early moments, before the trumpets will sound. Continue to the city, touching all who praise thee for thy works. Blessed are the faithful that rejoice in thy labour; they will obtain gladness even until the latter rain.
I will not age nor show how frail I am, nor let the flower of my glory fall away. Yea, I will bless them that sow in joy and wait to taste the bounteous supper. Mine riches shall I heap upon their heads.
Therefore, feel not disquiet, but hope. Walk in righteousness, and be worthy. Weep not for days, but return to me. And measure not my devotion in a handsbreadth; surely, it will endure forever.
My addiction of choice is your past. Its powerful spell makes me anxious, creates a tension that is so deep. You are cocky and terrific. Grinding right there is the hardest thing in the world. But your stuff was beautiful and the consummation was a thing of enchantment. I genuflect under control.
The second half makes me want to get squelched so fast into several pews. The three-part thing was so spontaneous. You are a pretty raw wonder. You did something really special with your stick. Took a minute for it to sink in. Just love to picture it.
How beautiful to know it all works inside me. Truthfully, strong man, morality is all stupidity and foolishness. I think I’m pouting, yet taking it painfully is humbling.
Cheer me on, Oblivia
as I wind up from the knees
to rend from Earth this nemesis
of everlasting peace
Aiming at the nose bridge
of the Grand Chaos Machine
bracing with the groundswell
fully charged, I launch again
Swing that arm around now Come on David, let her fly Holding up your left hand as a shield against the sky watch that middle finger you must use it as a guide Clean your stones; less friction Count, release and it is done
Lead, my faithful vanguard
Gather, kindred, go that way
On your trusting footprints
shines the mighty light of day
Come on, children, walk this way…
Note: I wrote this poem at the end of March and hid it, thinking I would never need to publish it. Clearly, I was kidding myself. Tammy, and Jeanne, this poem might be all I can do. Photo credit: Archangel Michael defeats the Evil One, St Michaelis Church Tombamasta, Hamburg, Germany; image via Pinterest.
These photographs were taken on Thursday and Friday (May 19/20), in a small port town, where I attended an art conference. May is the month in which I return home to do laundry and repack my luggage. I hope it’s been a good month for you.
Notes had been sent asking after my whereabouts. I hadn’t indulged in my favoured Earl Grey, tiramisu and panna cotta combo for months. This is my day off, so I presented myself at my friends’ patisserie just after 11.00 (dessert before breakfast, people) and got to work. Eating, that is.
As for play time, this is what I got up to. Special thanks go to Egbert Starr for permission to work on this composition using excerpts from his brilliant prose poem, The Gallows’ Horse. Please visit his blog to read the full version.
Featured magazine – Numéro, Tokyo, April, 2016. Vol 95: Perfume ads; “Dark Romanticism” and “Pretty Killer” editorials by Ellen Von Unwerth with art direction by Yuni Yoshida.
Upper: I said to the wise man I met, “Love.” And I said to the crone the same. To children, I said to them, “Love one another.” To kings, philosophers, chemists, scientists of every kind, my message was exactly so.
Lower: I remembered from the land above the flower of my treachery. I remembered my rage and anger and my fulsome seductions of a thousand Persephones. How pleased I was! How capable! How incisive and cross-quotable my demonic possibilities. I was in the world of common men without compare!
Epic prose poetry, and it tasted fantastic. My friends and I chatted while I worked, so they were my guest editors. Thank you for reading, too. Enjoy a sip of all right until we meet again. SB
Meaning: Dust yourself off and try again. Notes: I didn’t realise until Thursday afternoon that the painting resembles the horizon as seen from Victoria Crater, Mars. *As you know, Mars is dry; however, 19th century areographers used “sea”, “lake” and “ocean” while mapping the planet. Thank you so much for viewing.
The actuary’s gaunt face presented harshly against the hush of apprehension that gripped the room. The Empress veiled herself with a blank expression. When no one was looking, she released a slow eye roll.
Etiquette dictated that she not show scorn or deference. Today was particularly challenging. On the eve of expansion, the actuary stopped to raise a challenge. He had discovered two spots on a six inch map. The surveyors looked confused. But they quietly agreed that this was a democracy, and let him have his say.
Trailing off the table were yards of hemp scroll. Empress Tikki wanted to wrap it around his neck. “One more passage and then we’re whole, one last signing is the end I’m told…”
Shadowed by nervous ministers, the actuary started clearing his throat. The metallic timbre induced, in the Empress, a maddening primal scream. “Be impermanent in this please, do not drag it out another note…”
“Pray the deities, restore my soul,” muttered the Empress, “we are held hostage by a mating goat.” She flashed a smile to restore decorum. The actuary had until sunrise to interrogate the two moth stains.
Empress Tikki | SB
Photo credit: SHXPIR for Harper’s Bazaar China, 2014. Musical inspiration: Habanera from Carmen by Georges Bizet.
In moments of serenity
Habitués, as I recall,
recline in vintage lounges
and sup their timeless treks
The gold flecks in your eyes
define my sacred pledge
Just promise …
you’ll love me if
we ever meet again
We’re moments from serenity
so join me, let us fight
for Love, for real,
uncloaks the darkest knight
Through moon drops let her beam
down rays of silver suns
until our rock’s serene
until all hearts