Category: AI Art
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24.2: A Six – Enter Ozymandias
Beyond an Intersection Named After an English King and a SaintSix Sentence Story: Day 8 Part 4 Enter Ozymandias “That book doesn’t belong here—it’s a clock that strikes thirteen, a poppy in a wheat field… a perfect misfit,” says an elderly gentleman. He stands beside us—scholarly, spectacled, with a wonderfully unkempt shock of white hair…
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23.2 A Cadralor Poem
Wild Poppies … I. In a Danish fieldyou ripple, ridinga breeze. Your seedsfrom dark to bright, blossomsscattered like broken vows. II. Wild peals of feathered voice,the wind that envies yoursilken red. Quick!Root your brethren to a fieldin drifts of delirium. III. You scorn shadows nestingin shafts of wheat, scorn the corn and its rigid rod.…
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21 Feb: A Miracle Done
You laugh as if a cool sweep of sea has touched your feet, touched your toes white as snowdrops. In your wonderfully wide eyes, cool grass on a summer day is a miracle done. What will your first word be: some sound no one will comprehend until a tide of liquid laughter ripples beyond babble.…
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19 Feb: Journal of Thoughts (and AI)
The I in I Want I want to look at crows on a limband not think Hitchcock. I want to remember the tasteof soft sticky sweets wrappedin dull waxed paper. I want a poetic mould, a soulof mellowed rhyme,of wit and shine. I want to remember wordsand names and famous songsthat sit on the tip…
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18 Feb: A Six—And It’s Written
Beyond an Intersection Named After an English King and a SaintSix Sentence Story: Day 8 Part 3 Et Scriptum Est — And It’s Written This Six continues from Nick’s (The Gatekeeper’s) comment of last week … I take the chair beside Nick; the book lies open, relaxed in its binding, “A leap from shadows of persecution into…
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17.2 The Whisperoak
The Whisperoak Louisa had always been drawn to the old tree in front of the house. Its roots curled into the stone walls, its gnarled branches scraped the sky, and its massive trunk was hollowed into a darkened passage. Her grandmother said that it was ancient even when she was young and that those who…
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15 Feb: Winter Daybreak
Daybreak 7:15 a.m. Saturday.The sky is the same dreary expanseof rain sodden soil that mirrorsmy emotional tone. Grey hills that catch the light,lifeless as steel—the samelandscape as Sunday, Tuesday, and every daythis February. It’s a Brontë sort of colour,of stunted joy felt by a blossom spurnedand snubbedby a winter chill. Some artwork is created using…
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10.2 A Six: Et Scriptum Est
Beyond an Intersection Named After an English King and a SaintSix Sentence Story: Day 8 Part 2 Et Scriptum Est — And It’s Written Continued from Part One “Nick—what?” He points under the table at the book—words etching blink-fast across the page: “The word invasive will fill his head; he will question if this book…
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9.2. Wisting
It’s Saturday, 21.00, and I am watching Wisting on BBC 4, Norwegian, subtitled in English, although I don’t need the subtitles, and there’s a man standing on a wooden dock that rocks with the brush of each wave under its pontoons, and a large dog standing on heaped mounds of rock that look shaped by…
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