In defense of putzing around...

“If work and leisure are soon to be subordinated to this one utopian principle -- absolute busyness -- then utopia and melancholy will come to coincide: an age without conflict will dawn, perpetually busy -- and without consciousness.” -Gunter Grass.

So much of my art comes from a place of rest, of lollygagging & of a love that doesn't need or take effort in any currency.

{ Fair-Weather } by Big Sway

There is no fair-weather love
In nature, no fair weather...
In love, there is nowhere fairer
Than your heart's desire of
And not for

Care or despair, rebel
No rebellion is inclusive
No rebellion is merely personal
Though so conducive to propel all points
Onward, to be continued, dot dot dot...

There are no fair-weather dreams
In plain English, no free lunch...
In love, there is nowhere fairer
Than a non-dominant unswayed declaration of self
And a non-hypocritical acceptance - inequitable wealth
Of the kit 'n' caboodle
Sent to subjugate us all

Rebellion is slavery dressed to the T

Grace is the closest we've come to heaven

Lost 'n Found

Second piece is lost to Burning Man. One of many pieces lost due to boneheadedness. Broke my heart, but gotta move on. Picture by David Gilman of me selling my Valentine's outside the Tea Room Cafe here in Petaluma.

Rayturn Of The Mack

I'm back a bit now. New pieces coming soon. As for now, golden oldies...

{ Drinking Decaf Coffee In The Tea Room Cafe } by Big Sway

They'll never understand,
but we won't hold it against them.


There's an infinite space
beyond the upstairs' hemline

& upstairs, the windows spin,
trying their best to suck me in.


Backwards, towards advancement,
they try wadding my spine like T.P.,

only to have their fingers snap
like brittle ribbon pulled too taut.


See, we'll never understand,
but let's not hold it against us.


I notice my thoughts are made
from the same mettle a songbirds,

a gilded gong, Madeleines, words,
lid-filtered light & sugar packets.


Before long, we'll all be dead
& happy as a newborn.

A god wakes up after dreaming
seeming meanings, corporeally worn out.


There's a finite place for your failures.
My life is a voluptuous thought.

Sometimes rainbows vomit...

{ Wheels Of Steal } by Big Sway AKA Ray-Ray Swaney

HOW can you forget a name like that?
HOW can your forget a face
Like that
Hm?
As they say in ancient Greece,
"There ain't no cure for the summer-time blues".
And no damned need for no damned measure
I stand by here-forth with an apostrophe Q.
Run-on sentences fall apart and run off, away from
Glorious summers under willow's dark weeping touches-
The kind of eyes reserved for the muse's apparitions.
Fine feathers form a spinal mission. As such:
A name / a face
HOW can you forget?
Like that
Hm?

Glazed lips...
Carve my name into your shoulder blades...
A swirl of odor,
A swirl of caramel on yr tongue and I
Drink deeply of yr dark carafe, Shiraz
Uncorked...
( I make love to the silences ).

Touching the root with bare fingers,
We linger on the chair of the fruit;
The riches, like works of Chinese fire
Make all logic moot
And loot, alms.
Fingers playing in a loom
Marvel at magnetic heart strings
Written in palms.

Things as they are, I ought
To not worry so much being caught
Doing nothing wrong-
King Kong vs. a knot.

The wind's picking ups
And I'm collecting rain on my
Chimera turned lover.
The needles sting the skins
Racing down animal highways. I'm over
All this immature bullshit, I'm in
To you...