Category: AI Art
-
1201: The Voice, A Six Liturgy
A Liturgy for the Hollow & the Heel The Invocation This is the hook on the polished stool,the calling of lacquered lightand murmuring ghosts. This is not emptiness,this is a chamber.The Bistro.The Stiletto.The Anchor.The Hook of the Night. The Invented Whisper. Of Anchors and Architecture This is sacred geometry.This is waiting.The black heel,the spike of…
-
120126: Calarcá
Calarcá, Colombia: Two Days Before Christmas I.Night View The village square is a wound stitched with fairylights.Luminous sutureson the velvet of night. The plastic kings in earnest ride,the donkey, a cow,and Godnewborn abide. And from the church,a martial woven pleamarches forward in lockstep harmony. But turn your eye,just turn your head,the alley breathes beside the…
-
The Old Woman With No Cat
The Garage SagaOr: The Cat, The Porsche, & Grand Theft Auto The Old Woman stands in her tidy, overly-organised garage,phone to her ear,staring at her car that hasn’t moved in a month.On her screen, the tracker app glows: THEFT WARNING! A voice crackles through: “Ma’am, our system shows your vehicle is stolenand it’s moving through……
-
10.01: Journal of Thoughts
The Thimble and the Hummingbird I. The Inheritance of Absence I keep few things.A silver thimble, a rocking chair,and a preference for memory over monument.Objects shed their stories like birch bark,curling inward, fragile, ghost-scripted.But the thimble holds the shape of her fingerprint,the chair holds the curve of her spine,and I —I hold the space between.…
-
09.01: Csárdás
Csárdás — (myth in the bones, fire in the blood) It begins with a single note.Thin. Aching.A thread of winter smokeunraveling from a fiddle. The room stills.Dust rises like memory.Somewhere in that soundis a field at dusk,an empty chair,a story your grandmother once whisperedwhen she thought you were asleep. But then —the pulse strikes. The…
-
0801: Ten Things of Thankful
I’m back home after a glorious holiday with family. I am thankful to have seen a Savannah Hawk land a few metres away from me (in Anapoima Colombia). Its wingspan was so large that when it took flight, I felt the pressure of the air under its wings. To see the night sky in all…
-
0701: A Six Sentence Story
Clinging to Small Solid Facts in Six Sentences We talk about Venezuela, as if naming it might steady the water, and I drift in the jacuzzi like a bubble, briefly convinced of my own shape. I mention that Einstein had flat feet — facts don’t ask questions because saying something solid feels like ballast against…
-
05.01: A Liturgy for a Bubble
A Liturgy for the Bubble in a Current Once upon a time We gathered at water’s edge,in a jacuzzi between the spokenand the dissolved. We knew when a metaphor was not a metaphor,but a bubble wearing a skin of air, and we spoke to the Brief Republic,the Spinning Borders,the diamond thinning to memory.We called it…
-
0401: A Heightened Pass Through the Current
We’re talking Venezuela;it’s coup dressed up as civics,steam lifting words from our mouths like ghoststhat won’t vote,and I am a bubble in the jacuzzi,a brief republic of air, spinning its borders open and shut. “Wasn’t it flat feet that spared Einstein the uniform,” I say, and facts being facts, statements pretending not to ask permission,…
-
The Old Woman With No Cat
THE CAT’S TEMPORAL PROTEST(Or: Why Fix What Isn’t Broken) The Old Woman is hanging a new calendar.A gift from the crow.Who stole it. January glows with a photo of a serene garden. The cat watches,tail-tip flicking with skepticism.“Explain,” he says,“the need for a new year.The old one was functional.It had sunbeams.It had sardines.It had that…
It's Still Life 