Relearn Your Alphabet for the Twenty First Century Series. F is for fulminate, feast on a cornucopia of hope––don’t let your mind sup on the apocalyptic apparatus. Arm yourself with the prospect of affirmative life.
I was almost asleep then I startled with panic over S. I keep not visiting him. He is so sick. He’s drinking himself to death. He talks about committing suicide every time I speak with him. He tells me how much he loves me. I tell him too. He is so low. God help me to help my brother please. He is this ache in my throat that never goes away. All that I say stultifies, is not right. He jars at my advise––abhors it.
I set aside a caterpillar found feasting on the corn. I allowed it to go on eating, albeit encased it in a jar without the lid. I watched its delicate black felt elongated form fixed to the decomposing vegetal stuffs. When it moved it became a corporeal flow. I set it free in the back garden by turning the jar gently on its side. If I touched it with my indelicate human fingers the spell of our communication would be broken, so I let it to the skeins of light.
Boundary Speak (Diaries 2013-2021) centrally focuses on reportage of my life’s happenings, notes on readings, phantasms or wild forays, riffs off music or footnotes from poems that take me on a strange journey, ruminations and thought fragments. My outsider artwork is focal on my Re-learn your Alphabet for the Twenty-First Century drawings (some of which are collaborations with my children), my robot series, as well as many other drawings undertaken over the period 2013-2021.