One in the know drops a line,
there was no A B C to spell,
yet it keeps spreading.
An animated lingua
wraps round the eyeline.
All those that get wind of it
arise and keep counting.
Without a beginning or an end,
For it has no 1 or 9,
not a mark nor a sign.
Speechless, breathless me,
turn to mine, the one,
superior turned-on mind.
And it appeared true,
true to that credible nature
that identifies indeed
the 'name' of the composer!

Meanwhile, a bird of time.
A giant spell takes no time,
eases off in a blink of eye.
I start to breathe,
begin to revive, again in my
native countryside:  
some clay-bumps on the river.
I can cry, smile, now I
can shed tears.
Rhyme on the river.
What's in a river?
'Lores of time immemorial,
an open heart on the move!'

Is there anyone out there
'tapped into the running cycle of water,
following the rhyme on the river'?
One in the know drops a line,
there was no A B C to spell,
yet it keeps spreading.
An animated lingua
wraps round the eyeline.
All those that get wind of it
arise and keep counting.
Without a beginning or an end,
For it has no 1 or 9,
not a mark nor a sign.
Speechless, breathless me,
turn to mine, the one,
superior turned-on mind.
And it appeared true,
true to that credible nature
that identifies indeed
the 'name' of the composer!

Meanwhile, a bird of time.
A giant spell takes no time,
eases off in a blink of eye.
I start to breathe,
begin to revive, again in my
native countryside:  
some clay-bumps on the river.
I can cry, smile, now I
can shed tears.
Rhyme on the river.
What's in a river?
'Lores of time immemorial,
an open heart on the move!'

Is there anyone out there
'tapped into the running cycle of water,
following the rhyme on the river'?

One in the know drops a line,
there was no A B C to spell,
yet it keeps spreading.
An animated lingua
wraps round the eyeline.
All those that get wind of it
arise and keep counting.
Without a beginning or an end,
For it has no 1 or 9,
not a mark nor a sign.
Speechless, breathless me,
turn to mine, the one,
superior turned-on mind.
And it appeared true,
true to that credible nature
that identifies indeed
the 'name' of the composer!

Meanwhile, a bird of time.
A giant spell takes no time,
eases off in a blink of eye.
I start to breathe,
begin to revive, again in my
native countryside:  
some clay-bumps on the river.
I can cry, smile, now I
can shed tears.
Rhyme on the river.
What's in a river?
'Lores of time immemorial,
an open heart on the move!'

Is there anyone out there
'tapped into the running cycle of water,
following the rhyme on the river'?

It’s on everyone's eyeline
the flying clouds spill the treasure sea
raining down on this perfectly placed mural.

The Queen of Sheba tiptoes on this way
King Solomon keeps an ear on the ground
only to find seas of silent blooms already
musing dipping in the sun kissed dews
on gently tilted roses that won’t drop down
not from this picture perfect navel-high!

Velvety rose up from the ground
forever green earth is hanging low
in the dew on the rose that won’t fall.
Blossoming, eying on a acute high
evermore hopeful to scale high aspiring
to the faraway awaiting heaven’s pool.
There the spotlight won’t move  
to the north or south nor up or down until
Queen Fathima the Queen of Heaven steps on
spot on on the ‘as above so below’ *****.

There the newly resurrected earth will be primed
its minted atom’s vibration will hit out of the park
for the first time rising atop the navel high.
Perfectly wrap atom’s circle finally turns on,
the stepping stone one that has no pi decimal hole.  
Pure scientia on the door of paradise shall hang on
lo the numerically perfect Queen Fathima to step on!

God willing she will work in beauty
the most sought after perfect works of art,
the lost masterpiece not in translation
but in the pi decimal hole in earthly deep
lo the gleaning sleeping beauty peeps
trailing the role model Queen.

Fathima the first woman entering paradise  
walks the walk perfect straight numerically precise.
Like she knew back from the earth
the murals ahead hanging on the paradise wall
mathematically exact!
Mirrors of imaginations anew wonders on heaven’s way
in the murals at the golden section on the navel high.

She zoom passes the ever spinning atom's perfect span
cemented tangent at the entrance of paradise.  
Yet leaves no foot print like she never did
on sublunary earth, new ponder in the old classic eyes,
oh pi still irrational, wonder in measured navel high!

ok so here is what we are going to do
i'm going to get a bout de souffle
what was i gonna do..
one thing getting to nether still need you
are you all here
one thing getting getting to noter
288 guitars 
i've been hoping  don't get much dumber 
and getting to noter
this movie is not yet rated
i'm kind of trying to decide
i will send an email to your parents
so… just off the bat 
your parents are not ok with that 
kind of thing
she was out there interviewing her?
right there… have you seen that? ok good
movie theater to hide
c'est rare
reste avec moi
ciao petite fiiiille
elle est la bas je crois
vous parlez français? yes
attention ma petite fille on ne plaisante pas avec la police parisienne
you think i'm lying? you are
i didn't see you
you don't believe me
bonjour mignonne
qu'es ce qu'il dise
les flics me recherche
parle le moi quoi? ca alors
tu es marie
c'est trop **** maintenant d'avoir peur
bonsoir madame
il faut absolument que je trouve antonio
accelere minouche
il est alle a monpellier
why don't you smile
it would certainly surprise me
sourrrit sourrrit
je pense a quelque chose?
je ne sais pas
je voulais être seule
c'est finis
tu m'emmene au champs elysee
au revoir 
tentez votre chance
un cafe alors
moi je peux pas partir
et puisque je suis méchante avec toi c'est la preuve que je suis pas amoureuse de toi
ahh c'est trop complique
j'ai envie de dormir
c'est vraiment dégueulasse
how would you relate
destroy the rules
young actors
....sommes seuls, cette certitude de nous-mêmes dans la sérénité de la solitude ne sont rien en comparaison du laisser-aller, du laisser-venir et laisser-parler qui se vit avec l'autre...
audition for the leading character
interesting combination
the criminal
just the edge of his frame
she seems innocent at the beginning
looking at his notes
just fyi i throw out someone
loving and desirable
playing off of that very consciously
you just not be working
archival stuff is on Facebook
c'est l'heure du gouter
de la glace au chocolat
working on your transcripts/ paper edits
that's probably not a smart thing to do
t'y va
Not this sense
that I don't know what the hell
a human girl is...
where’s the coast guard? 
just a spotlight gimme something
ca commence a 6h 
t'es cool
quickly
i smells like **** did you ****?
you are the love de ma vie
he talks like that he is french
she is like ze morning sun in ze...morning 
beautiful
ze temps is in ze essence
muaaah
is our classroom
i can sense the connection
the connection? 
the connection entre nous
so madame alezraa give me this much
i heard boss
he is not doing anything
to give me a kiss 
it's in the 1st tab
it's still there
you don't have to click
i can't save it, just stay with me
there is no word on this ****
i need the inspiration
you are my muse
c'est pour ca qu'ils sont si petit
small
je vais m'occuper de
the whole point of life is to rearrange it in a coherent running story
people don't talk in stories
cut each section
some sort of a story
nice
tu veux que je mette
ouai ok attends
elle est l'autre feuille
permien tu veux que je colle recolle decolle coupe recoupe decoupe
how do you feel about solving…I mean it's an interesting way to solve it…
〜flowed〜 nicely
it was sort of an ingenious solution
she's in the airplane, she's in the sofa
try to transition between the two subjects….where does your friend come from?
what it was like landing in New York, looking out the window...
the process of arriving
not really fair to say that
in the future, if you're going to try to tell a story…in their minds….what's the story she's going to be telling me?…..coming home
fill in the blanks
don't go shoot blind, that's the biggest mistake
does that make sense?
great!
wubwubwububwubbbbbwubwb
gloving is......flowing lights in sync with the♩music ♫
flowing in gloving is broken…
liquid
finger rolls
tutting
figure eight ∞
wubwubwubBAMwubwubwoosh
wave-like movement…basic thing….wrist in a motion
tutting is like the angles…. not um 〜flowing〜….like tetris
you want to more, rather than following
solid ⸪lights, ⸫single⸭ solid lights⸬
pink to green to orange to yellow to blue
advanced strobe, solid line of color [...] streak of purple
electronic, dustup, elector, house, trance…
you’ll probably never see anyone gloving to like, classical music ♬♪
my name is Henri Geneste and I'm a glover WUBwubwubwubbbWUBWUBAHHHwubwubWUBWUBWUB[ONE][TWO]WUBwubwub[THREE­]
putain c’est magnifique
je me demande si il fait ca la nuit, quand il arrive pas a dormir...
window thing, kind of dumped
either the ours magna or the I equals me squared²
like language, like art, there are rules
go out and break them, just mucking around
fix it, wanna make one, totally your creative decision
how awkward
a bout de souflle
totally revolutionary
ainrr
radical, argue truer, but it's jarring, that's one way to do it!
aware that they're there but not ⑈jarring⑇
close to wide…..there's a cut there but the eye can follow it
um i have to go...
bye henri!!!
bye!
bye man.
see ya monday!
the hair!! im gonna shave it this weekend
I've been to raves
is he, like, a straight-edge?
there's drugs…do you guys ALL go to raves?
how the audio?
looked cool, the rain in the background
DUHDUHDUH that's hard to do
a huge amount, i'm sorry but gloving without the music?
if he does drugs OR NOT, how he's enjoying it OR NOT, if it interferes with his studies OR NOT..
just FYI we were all young yesterday
two bodies
he's here cause he's not going, right?
are you interested?
oh i would be very interested
yeah i see what u mean
you could come with me….i could always take the bus
it'd be cool
moi elle sera belle
here we go!
woah
their audio visuals are not very HOT
hours per day?
1…2 hours a day
sometimes 30mins
mostly people, sometimes like little animals
mostly people
i look at their art a lot
really interesting style
environments
if i want to…how I see them in my head
stuff like that
usually kinda random
i pretty much self taught
mostly from practice
everyone draws…but i got serious about it, like very…6th grade
i don't like the idea of competitions
and mum drawing is like, something that's kinda important
a passion
not sure i would want to go into it as an industry
more than just art
for now im not really sure
alright
so our usual questions
eyeline! thank you
on the couch….at the end it was really weird
who was…sitting where?
where were you?
she didn't really even really look, she was too far away, she just kind of….looked
much…she might not have ever looked
with the eyeline…it was pretty steady, no jerky-herkys, there were several edits
forgive it cause there's enough change
you could follow it, you could see that time had shifted
the content demanded it
WOAH okay now i'm really curious
we could see it, but then it was on the something else
process the image
now we're trying to look at the art, now we need more time
arc? did u feel like there was an ◜arc◝?
umm yeah…..
how many hours a day do u draw?
try to make sensible out of that
is that they use 2 3 four…
uh...cut..i did….cut
the cutting itself is like a commentary on her
since i was little. when i was little
when i was little
but my parents, my family don't
hands and arms
collages, magazines
photography
big part of photography
San Francisco Art institute
graphic animation, we only had like 3 weeks
still lives, models we would draw them
we had like an exposition
the person my mom works with's husband
wanna do an artistic career
alright so
not the greatest projector ever
too much head    space    
a lot of nothing
it makes it a lot more interesting
i think it was okay in the video cause
what she was saying and stuff like that
fair enough but I don't agree
lost in this big sea of wall
you're totally forgiven
no questions
power of a well-placed microphone
fantastic
the beans!
alright
you guys are the wrong audience cause you all know each other's stories
good feedback
movin' on, okay
very frustrating
and now.....surfing! woohoo!!!!
30 loooooong minutes, it's a nightmare!
7 minutes
3 minutes
it's a 10th
there's something fascinating about listening to people…you can do it yourself later
bolinas, del mar, sometimes surface, livermore, ocean beach
......riding the waves…....man….....it's the best feeling
you're walking on water you know? that feeling…….i love the ocean
i love the water, after you get that perfect wave you just feel accomplished
that feeling…..is awesome
surfing, it's all about having fun..
you surf once, and….you know?
if you're a surfer, you have a love for the ocean
my, my grandpa always loved the beach, we would go there at two in the morning and just….
my grandpa died and he asked to be cremated, he wanted his ashes to go in the ocean, so we took his ashes out to the ocean
I remember walking out to the ocean with my dad, we threw his ashes into the ༇wind༅ above the ocean, and we looked down….
we want to get the pain!! and the sorrow! because we're vultures you know? we just zoom in to get his expression
little bit weird
i do, i like it
it's black and white
it's just a surfer, it's not movin', it's there…it's not always the same
sort of echoey
…the ocean, and so i remember my dad taking the….
too much archival? too much? not long enough? both.
there was sort of a disconnect at times
her story, you have to cut
when she says "CAT" i want to see a CAT, when she says "FIRETRUCK" i want to see a FIRETRUCK!!! i was like, okay, i  just went to school…
and now this?
or you see a woman that looks like a cat
it's hard, it's complicated, it's not given
so they just kind of ended
you guys im trying to help them
oh okay
hey you know what no no no you know what don't take any of this personally just be like oh okay
he's got a funny manner of speech
any thing else?
arlo says no
"it would not go well"
what IS the really great ending?
amazing feeling one can have…..
you feel like you own the ocean, like it's heaven on earth
this technique it's called killing your babies…i love that
uh what
he says "uh no no no this is a 3 minute film"
sad but true
we all get attached to things, we don't want to cut them out
just play with it, if you decide
we can schloop
can we watch
not exactly…here's..uh okay a quick heads up
oh
for this summer
advanced lab, art advanced films, screen-writing, animation and more
field trip!! i need to contact your teachers
what day? a thursday
almost all day…nine to three
we would leave here
now im gonna erase this

uh-oh
You're too slow
didn't even see where the red ones go
wasting your eyeline on waves and hares
but the animals only go in by pairs
keep it moving, don't be late
you can't hide when there's too much on your plate
sweating like a cheddar in the midday sun
thinking too much for anything to be done
time trickles through your fingers like a leaking tap
the tide waits for no man so mind the ****** gap
load it up, baby, pose and pout
shake that *** and move it out
dance with the devil, run with the wolves
pride is the sin of he who falls.

Reach into the nothingness
Like a warm breath slipping into the cold night
Hands outward, eyes open, upwards towards the sky

Embrace the silent subtle voice
Which hides behind the daily routines
But is no less mindfully alive

Cast images onto the fog itself
Until you've seen the many dreams which you've procured for yourself
In this cloudy life

Breathe with the forgetfulness of evey waking step  
As you amble through these miles set
With jawline firm and eyeline slight

Smile at the passing sight of another universe in tow
Which ambles by and out of view
As your inward story comes alive

And live not in line with every Crow on any high wire
But fly as if there were no tomorrow in your quiet sigh
Upwards and towards the sky

bullet bitten
coffee smelt
road been beaten
ducks in a row
pigs grounded
box shredded
roses smelt
chewing the elephant
as we speak
no looking back
dusting the cowbwebs
offa the shelf
and the tigers in my eyeline now me and my betterself gonna take a timeout
talk about my life
got the box list here
love check,check,check
life double check
home check
health check
wow !!!
all silver and gold affirmitive wealth
so now i can,
kick back,
relax and grow
disgracefully old.
jeez i just love
this new
self management gig .....lol

There's this thing called love
And this is how it goes
First, you take a shot of poison
It's your choice which one!
There are several, after all
Arsenic, cyanide, strychnine
Take your pick, dear

Then you sit back and take a breath
Your veins start to burn, fire in your blood
Your heart speeds up a few beats
Will it rupture if it goes so fast?
Your stomach starts spinning--that's the nausea!
Try to keep it down, babe
The pain will subside soon

You're turning cold and clammy
You start to shake
You stop breathing
Are they looking your way?
Don't meet their eyeline
Just let your eyes roll back into your head
That's what you get for loving someone

Along with the idea of romantic love, she was introduced to another--physical beauty. Probably the most destructive ideas in the history of human thought.

oh
to see my mirrored image rise
and fade into smoke
masking divine faces and beautiful pillows
(laced with gold so pretty)
in an ***** den

my body bursts with imperfections
and i can't bear to look
while shutters flutter over lenses
where prettiness blooms like sunflowers
yellow and bright like so many better
than me

how can i ever match
the daisies and the crisp cool shirts
that move them to tears?
what sandy shore has my shape earned?
reflecting pools sing in shrill
tongues like earbleed

eyes and heart are locked together
eyeline to lifeline
a rome-born French Connection
and i can only look
from miles away
heavy

but Lord was she ugly.

i crossed my legs

&found; that many hours later
i was still
full lotus
eyes half open
the exhaustion crawling
through each pore
steaming effervescence
reminding me that there is never a time better
to withdraw into ones self &then; far beyond
is it floating or is it flying
singularity in eyeline
within the nearest whole
blacker than the absence of light
this dark...

this dark
consumes blindness
buried is
all the matter of another universe
waiting to erupt

consciousness like ours
needs never to travel into the depths of space
headlong into a new biological manifestation
but instead be patient

The wind is teasing my laundry as it lays limp on its nasty cheap clothes horse
Five dollars on sale. Whip that up they said. Is that how people get their kicks?
Hugging their shrapnel to their chests as if that’s what everything comes down to?
Haze back to nothing. Focus on eyeline.
Bra strap lolling rudely over the cool metal bar.
Like a fish in a bowl I’ll potter around my room until I can potter no more
Until no knick knack can be moved to a more perfect angle
I moved the owl ornament so the sun hits it in a way that makes it look scared of light.
How cruel of me.
Until the carpet is positioned beautifully
Until each piece of fluff, each gathering of atoms is disposed of in the bin to create a new earth with stuck people like me.
That’s how we were made you know.
I’ll feel the walls until I feel my warmth bleed into the drywall
Meaning only one thing
I’ve been there a while
An hour or so
Just kneeling
Watching the laundry
Shiver in the breeze
Faked by my plastic fan.

you want to know how long it took? i knew before we met. there are words and then there are your words. your words made you mine long before i held your hand on the cold uphill dash to the gin bar. i was late and breathless. you broke the ice.
you broke my ice.
i couldn’t eat for making room for you inside of me. i can still see your eyes gazing over my head. i wanted so badly to be every idea you've ever thought. when you realized what had been done to you had been done to me. when the stars refuse to align, over and over, i see the patterns repeated. in your mind, i am always in a state of panic. in my mind, we are never apart.
“and yes, i do believe her mouth is heaven. her kisses falling over me like stars.” and yes, they brought us together. and yes, they keep us apart. i am still so grateful to them for everything. to you for everything. you can view me next to the art as long as you’re still in my eyeline.
you want to know how long it took? the time it took the first grain of sugar to fall.

If you could do anything.
I'd catch you plucking at the twilight.
Dipping you contour brush in nebulae, you'd paint your eyeline with a skyline...  You'd bejewel your accessories with quasars spinning in quartz's and supernova sapphires and... your eyes would shine with star light...

If you could do anything, You'd sequin your extremities with snowflakes. Pattern your skin with the shine from the sunrise and you'd refract yourself into the world around you. You'd dye you hair like the northern lights... Stand still in squalls just so you could emulate its animated shimmer. Against the back drop of the night you'd glimmer. But that wouldn't be enough... You'd go to any length drown your frame in beauty.

If you could do anything, You'd steal the sensation of rain drops disturbing roof tops and overdose on an feeling of shelter from the storm. All attempts to subdue your high would met with scorn.  You'd break off the part of you that caused concern. You'd burn the
service receipts of ever shoulder you'd had to cry on. You'd outsource your own insecurity. Any obscurity to your character would be shot dead on discovery. You'd invade your own humanity and pillage it of difficulty.

If you could do anything you'd bargain with calendar just for a couple more days to avoid doing something. You'd fashion your words into hurdles and litter the ground with more and more reasons to fall. You'd talk yourself out breathing because the threat of suffocation is less intimidating than the thought of persisting.

You are swallowed by your own ideals. You're drowning in the hope that you can live like a statue, staying ever beautiful as time crumbles away at your stone. You're begging for someone to save you from yourself.

If I could do anything. I'd pay you a token of gratitude for every imperfection you're still convinced I don't treasure. I'd write sick notes to your anxieties to inform them that you need time to get better, and in that time we'd strategize. Make a battle plans for a better life and show you how to fight.

This is your battle, Not mine. But it hurts to see you struggle, hurts to watch heartache eat away at your smile. Hurts to watch demons blow raspberries in the reflection of every tear drop.

It hurts to ask if you're okay...

A dream took shape, defined by the contours of the hole
you cut into the fog when you left that night.
You were walking on a dark cobbled street,
the drizzle coming down like sheets of silk,
the pale streetlight reflecting in the sheen
of the cobbles your gentle footfalls fell upon.
A man in a flatcap holding a skull-handled cane
smoking a cigarette with strong, yellow-tipped fingers,
watched as you ambled past his eyeline and down the hill.
He looked up to me, threw me a wink across the distance
and turned to follow you, his slippers sliding on the cobbles.

He disappeared from view and soon I heard the shrill
call for help come from your hastily muffled mouth,
but I just stood there and waited for the cries to die,
becoming drowned out by the drizzle pitter-pattering
upon the old cobbles and the stone wall lining the street.
The man came back up the hill, breathing heavily,
a line of blood trickling down from the corner of his mouth,
and he stood back under his solitary streetlight,
lit another cigarette and threw me another wink,
licking his lips and giving me a secret freemasonlike nod.
I picked up the shovel resting against my thigh…

When I woke, I thought of vampyres from the near east,
Transylvanian midnight hunters longing for the blood of virgins
to soothe the burning pain flowing in their centuries-old veins.
Still wearing my overcoat, I stood up and looked out the window,
overlooking the gaslighted cobble street enshrouded in fog,
the cemetery across the street, the stone wall doused in drizzle,
and I swear I could see the hole you left behind your body
as it vacated by world to find a new life to forage from.
I tapped out the dottle in my pipe, stuffed in fresh tobacco,
and lit the pipe, creating a large plume of smoke that quickly filled the room,
indistinguishable from the world-weary fog crawling beyond my window.

And then I saw the man in the flatcap, the cigarette hanging from his lips,
bent down from the rain, surely much too hard to gain anything from it,
but the smoke did indeed snake its way up into the air from the end,
like snakes of blue that decided gravity was far too cumbersome to believe in,
ready to escape the atmosphere and find a better way of living.
I began to feel empathetic for the smoke when I noticed the focus of the man’s gaze;
the window I was now standing at, where I too was smoking and gazing,
and he threw me a wink across the distance followed by an almost imperceptible nod.
I dropped my pipe, the wood splitting upwards along the shank,
almost shearing the tenon, but none of this I noticed as I stepped away from the window
that allowed the figment of a dream to gaze upon me and for I to gaze upon him.

I sat on my bed for an indescribable length of time, planning to stand up,
find the courage to step towards the window again to lay me hallucination to rest,
but the smoke must have still been stirring in my eyes because tears flowed,
and all I could think of was that figure of you disappearing into the fog
and how I let you disappear without saying but a word, without so much as a fight,
to try to convince you that I could change and that I was ready to change for you.
I may as well have picked up a shovel and started digging your grave,
or would that hole in the ground have my name upon the headstone?
Whatever recourse led me to this situation, I was surely now stuck
with no mode of transport available to allow me to venture to other pastures,
to view upon other cobbles, ones not lined by a cemetery,
ones not housing an hallucination that smokes snakes and winks and nods.
But here I am, wearing an overcoat in my bedchambers, dreaming of you,
because that is all you are now, walking away into the fog of a memory.

when i bob my head above the waterline,
my lungs expand to maximum capacity, and fill,
for history tells me of the uncertainty in the timing
of my next upward tumble into oxygen.

and insight feels the same way.
when my ego, superego, and id all align,
the rush of wholeness overcomes,
and i search for pens and paper
for history tells me I will soon forget
being myself ever made so much sense.

lately, in therapy,
i have been working on building a floaty
and hopefully, later, a boat
so the thrashing won't be so intense
so even if i dip under, the sun will stay in my eyeline
so i will be able to lead myself home
so i wont forget that home truly exists.