fvryder

[fvryder]

"Ya want to end war, and stuff, you've got to sing loud!" Arlo Guthrie, Alice's Restaurant, Alice's Restaurant, October 1967, Reprise Records

11/11/23

[fvryder]

I love You

I trust You

I have faith in You

I keep my eyes on You

I fear You

I obey You

I bless You

I thank You

I proclaim You

I treat You with reverence

I keep the sabbath!

8/11/23

[fvryder]

                                       Where are they all going?

6/21/22

[fvryder]

Yeah

When the pandemic’s over          

                          When the pandemic’s over                          yeah    

When

the pandemic’s over

Turn out the lights

Turn out the lights

Turn out the lights

 When the pandemic’s over          

              When the pandemic’s over                                                       yeah    

When

the pandemic’s over

Turn out the lights

Turn out the lights

Turn out the lights

 For the pandemic is your special friend

                                             Dance on fire

                                             as it intends

Pandemic is your only friend

Until the end

Until the end

Until the end

 *Riffing on excerpts from When the Music’s Over, Strange Days, The Doors, 1967, Electra Records

7/10/21

[fvryder]

My silence     not silent

I cannot incessantly rattle like hand-fulls of cheap shiny candy

It is not condescension

      not pretention

I do not panic     in the hush        

Nor yearn

         for the gravel-grist of my puny voice

         for croaking irrelevant jabber-squawk

for feigning waning exasperating homage to the inconsequential drone of

  Your      empty                               mouth

 My silence     not silent

It is a familiar old veranda

undisturbed and well-suited for

        memories, observations, information, “bon-mots”, prayers,

bathed in

regret

or

longing

or

fear

or

anger

or weeping

or

laughter, even joy

even

love

Constantly colliding creating

On a pleasant summer’s afternoon

                                                                                           It’s hard to leave.

 6/11/21

[fvryder]

True jealousy lusts for outcomes, the spoils            

Its end is destruction

True equality arises together with process,        

honest, respectful, inclusive, informed, passionate, full of mercy    

leads to peace

“Do not envy the oppressor,

And choose none of his ways.” Proverbs 3:31

2/13/21

[fvryder]

                                                Self Portrait

                                                      2121

[fvryder]

Arthur

kneeling desperately on gray frozen cracked concrete 

for hours

intently searching through dark circles

cracks in the floor cutting

beating pain like a heart

searching

glancing at the melting clock, up to the sky,

crying out to God

behind a vast white canvas        blank

seemed a shield,

or was it a cage?

his trembling hand clutched pallet smears

dead rainbow blood flowers

waiting

the only colors in a silent still life      life

 Arthur

needed

to

paint

Daphnis

  closed

his

eyes

only

a

moment

 red long hair streamed to pure white shoulders

a slight turn of her head flashed infinite vulnerable mystery

lips, in shy smile, a darker crimson

delicate fingers knowing his arms, his chest, gently his face

pressing touching grinding hip to hip, fiery shelter

making love in the warm wet dark

 Arthur opened his eyes                                                                                            alone

 beating pain like a heart                empty floating                   bruised

 2/9/2020

[fvryder]

“Well –“and Trout rubbed his hands, watched the rubbing, “what you did in Rosewater County was far from insane. It was quite possibly the most important social experiment of our time, for it dealt on a small scale with a problem whose queasy horrors will eventually be made world-wide by the sophistication of machines. The problem is this: How to love people who have no use?”

God Bless You Mr. Rosewater, page 183, Kurt Vonnecut, Dell Publishing, 1965

1 4 20

[fvryder]

A Dream

as it were      … one cozy-cavern 

filled with sturdy stacked cardboard boxes           a cityscape worthy

of Manhattan

for exploring                           and sleeping

2 picture perfect windowed walls            all balmy rustling oak-filled panoramas

    bossy fluttering blue-feathered jays darting brown sparrows

grey bickering wide-eyed flying squirrels

                                          But that’s not all, that’s not all

semi-dark sanctuary,

comfy

food nestled in a delightfully delicate crown-shaped golden bowl

constant cool

water, small slices of turkey served nightly, precisely at 8PM, on Villeroy and Bosch

                      OH          …         THE           …           BOX, 

A rapaciously royal repository proffering

perfect pine-scented piles of powder PINK, OH YES DEFINITELY PINK

heart-glowpeace-tiffany-light hushed on a heavy writing table made heavier with dusty stacks of books  

where he works                                for sleeping,

over-stuffed

wise old winged-back chair        for sleeping, (for scratching too)

thick quilted four-poster bed

where he sleeps                              for sleeping.

A dream

as it were,

10 5 2019

[fvryder]

I

        “Where are we?” suddenly waking, startled, silk white night-gown trembling.

“The bank clerk said, April is the cruelest month” Arthur replied matter-of-factly, silencing the blink and bark of an alarm.

I believe it is November.”

Arthur pulled Daphnis to him. She tried to nestle spilling long red hair over open pages of a book on his chest and struggled against the shield he always wore

“Love is falling,  

falling in delicate withering explosions

fiery reds, sacred golds, musty mud-earth browns

spontaneous, beautiful, submission                         inevitable, conclusion”.

He tilted back his head,

“Love cannot die, love is only transformed.”

               Emerging light, a billion billowing blooms bursting through the yawning maw of the open bedroom window                                                                 

                                                     spreading           floating

a galaxy of tiny hot-white stars, drifting

falling

 Daphnis   wide-eyed, flailing hands and arms

bleeding purple stigmata

clawing the bed clothes, loud whelping, convulsed pain, fear, hate?

 She pulled away

Arthur reached up. White-hot stars gently melting into his cupped hand

                                    inhaled the sweetness.

tears 

ll

Possessions of the old woman in a dull room down the hall

Grey flannel pajamas        barely stirring    barely breathing

                               Gold frail rimmed empty eyeglasses 

Dreams.

Dreaming amid faint piss smell,

dreaming as a young girl on a swing

hoping for a dance,

a job,

a husband,

a house,

a child,

a life

now

hurtfully               drifting                away,

hiding memory

dreaming of love

dreaming to fall in delicate withering explosions of fiery reds, sacred golds, musty mud-earth browns.

 The old woman wrinkled her nose,

                lips gently whispering in half-sleep connecting … chanting

                                                                                A prayer in three whispered voices

“Weary of sleeping weary of waking weary of pain weary of time weary of mercy

weary of hope weary of pills ... I want to go home.” 

IIl

The black squatting tea kettle hissed its boiling whistle and the prayers down the hall drowned

“… for dust you are and to dust you will return.” Said the news.

Arthur frowned,

snapped off the radio,

poured a cup of hot black tea for the road.                     Swarms of worms slowly digesting the mortar in the walls.

“My job is to fund this expedition,” he thought. He picked up the radio and slammed it to the floor:

“and spirit returns to the God who breathed it,

Falling in delicate withering explosions of fiery reds, sacred golds, musty mud-earth browns.”

IV

Arthur stepped resolute into the head-winds of the day

Mercurial eternal invisible spirit

                 Sometimes still, sometimes wildly coursing through water flame flesh earth

“Songbirds are never heard in high winds, yet they remain,” he thought, driving to a job that consumed him like the worms in the walls.

 “There is only pain here,” Daphnis sobbed.

The old woman stopped

spontaneous, beautiful, submission                         inevitable conclusion”.

7.21.19

[fvryder]

[fvryder]

The weak ones waiting for the wolves or worms to eat them, or the providence of God, oh ya

The ones who say they love you; but are always too busy, oh ya

The ones who cut themselves

The ones who let you work yourself to death for the Corporation, oh ya

The ones who stab needles in bloody holes between their toes, oh ya

The ones who know it all, oh ya oh ya

The homeless ones, wandering zombies, just part of the scenery, oh ya

The ones who need a gun

The ones who promise paradise full of free sh*** if you give ‘em your vote, oh ya

The ones who lawyer-up

The ones who get shot

The broken ones straining not to disappear into wounded hopeless pain, oh ya

The ones you thought you loved, oh ya

The greedy ones who always want more and more and more, oh ya

The ones who scream for liberty at all costs, oh ya

The ones who get raped,

The ones who win the Academy award, ooh ya

The ones lied about in the press, oh ya oh ya

The ones who stretch on their tippy-toes when they kiss, oh ya

The ones who rot in stinking prisons, oh ya                                                            

The lonely ones, far from home, oh ya

The ones who ...

*with deepest respect and apologies to Lina Wertmuller

 7/4/2018

[fvryder]

I don’t want to spend another birthday away from you

 don’t want to wake up unless your body is the first beautiful blessing I see

           want to know your softness as often as we can touch

                    to easily kiss,    

                           spend the hours wiping away your tears

                           another fear put down, time together for coffee, a laugh, a walk.

               birthdays, 

it seems,

               are like bond fires

                           some bask in the warmth, the flickering glow, some get burned

                                                                   … others stare at the ashes.

*Painting thanks to Julie

12-14-17

[fvryder]

I know an angel

                                           knowing flash grey-eyed grin soul,  

          bound his golden wings and loved a man.

 emerging

strong, bold, deep, chaotic,

from the scars

 deeper into love life lived

 Green Celtic potions,

Silver prophecies,

Big fat bawdy glittering Tuesdays      all purple party-flesh beaded and jazz,

exotic emerald cocktails

hot arguing...coupling...arguing...coupling...

painting, restoring, 

laughter

a bottle of good scotch.

joy

  Time, the spoiler of all good things,

                                              broke the ancient strings

                   golden wings unbound  gleaming

the man could not hold him

             sad                                 free

He flew away.

7 24 17  (for Michael)

[fvryder]

          do           what           you           say           you’re           going           to           do Orders your footsteps Humbles your promises Builds trust.

“Trust is a hard thing to come by these days.”

Arthur T. Exandier in conversation

6-10-17

[fvryder]

Run the horses Leathered and hitched Sweat Heavy breath heaving heavy over bits Run them harder Harder

Whip them Faster … faster

At some point they quit     bleed. 6 10 17 (2)

*Painted this one myself