Monday, March 15, 2010

{ 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.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

{ 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
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

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
( 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...

Monday, March 8, 2010

{ Faced With A Bright Idea } by Ray Swaney

Anyone else ever felt like that (in the face)?

Sunday, March 7, 2010

Horsey, side 2...

The horse is one of my totem animals, not to mention my sign in the Chinese zodiac.

Horsey, side one...

I've recently taken to the Goodwills for objects to paint on. This horse is one of those beautiful finds. I need to remember to buy a clear coat spray, so the paint don't chip off so damned easily. -R

Saturday, March 6, 2010

{ Ray Swaney } by Miles Frode

I like this drawing a bunch.

Collaborative art...

I love drawing with people as some of you may know. One of my favorite art partners is Mr. Miles Frode, currently of Ashland, Oregon. This is a drawing he made of me (lose lines/form) and I, in turn, shaded it in (tight lines/tone). Together, we are MR-.

{ Dream Of Just Deserts }

Art Blog

It's getting tough to blog on and on. Anyone want to know anything? Any ideas for posts on art?

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Look how happy art makes me...

...said the world's third laziest blogger.

Abstract with a few options on orientation...

If you bend left at the neck 90 degrees, it looks like a psychotic fox to me. -R

Sculpture by Marites Eldred

A comrade from the Kellogg Community College days, dah? I wish I owned this piece.

{ Stick Your Fingers In The Ink } by Big Sway

Stick your fingers in the ink
Get more than you'd expected
Country music
Stains the wallpaper
More beer
Begs the buying...
Water drips on a rainy
Late-February day
Bottom-top to bottom...
Down to the lowest point, stealing
We drop in a bow
Looking to how, healing
(Straight shots of feeling now)
A court-appointed clown
Drunk 'n' wheeling!

- - - -

A Rachmaninoff piano concerto
Sways fingers like bristles through my mind
Through wet paint, whistling
Working slow-pressure valves
I melt like a clock
A large Foster's cancerto sits empty
Choking on F knows what

Car doors play the night
The moon readies her crime
A small child eats her okra

Dr. Horowitz operates
Upon the ole black 'n' white
(Rides a Baltic-bound baby grand
Fearlessly in flight)
Dreaming of an opera

- - - -

Holding a prayer candle to my feet
Jesus turns them into jet packs
So we can fly through the sky all day
And drop little holy water balloons on sinners
We eat excellent pizzas, muffins and wafers
We put on masks and pretend to be each other
Until communion (I can't stomach cannibalism)
Eating a red-bound songbook
Jesus turns me into a Deep Purple hymn
And we rocket around, eating pastries, singing
"Blessed be the child who thinks he, Him"
Or some other holy vision

- - - -

Holy, hot hell!
My molars sink into tundra
My eyelids are slowly falling off
Drilling for the root
My crotch just doesn't feel like my own anymore
Same for my elbows, big toes, tip 'o' the nose
Deep down in the eyes, I'm dense anti-matter

Needing a warm flapjack
A tumbling freak sack
Fumbling in lack
A fuck (but more or less vulgar; your pick)
Hot, holy hell!
There's a crack in your logic like the Liberty Bell
Filtering a surer light
(But purer less/fuller; your pick)

Dang, yr right!
Get a fair price
For your marrow
Stay true, too
Through time's harrow 'n' kick
Cultivate love for all seasons

- - - -

Anita O'Day announces spring
Pig-latin for dough; cute
Gettin' pay like Mel Tormé
With no vibrato to boot!

Gotta run, here comes Nat
Doin' the Harlem Swing
Yr vocal chords on trombone slides
Yr soles are sprouting wings

Louis Armstrong dances, wide
To Gypsy blue flame singin'
Puttin' air through funky there
Blowin' and a'winkin'

- - - -

A twinkle in the starlight
A stark kill of bedroom lightning
A barking bolt of fire-light starts
A startling, white hot art, bolting

Mulched emotions...
Electronic clippings from newspapers
Simmer at the surface like leaves...
It all boils down as heat labors

Fingers, wrought sun gardeners
Fingers, run to gardens' eve
Fingers, tend garish seas
Fingers, north wind martyrs

Grasp spirit
Bear life
If you'd please

- - - -

Get more than you'd expected
Sticking fingers in the ink
Valencia Oranges open
Are tenderly torn door
Venerably absorbed kin
Sunlight water-founts drop
Bottom-top to bottom...
Down to the lowest point, stealing
We drop in a bow
Looking to how, healing
(Straight shots of feeling now)

- - - -

Across the bow
Left reeling...

Wassily Kandinsky...

{ Mars In Revolt }

This one seems to be big with people. I like it, too. It came out really quick. You can't tell in the photo, but there is green sparkles as well. -R

What do you see in this?

Pen and ink Rorschach art. -R

{ Army Of One }

Drawn from a lady in the newspaper and her guitar at an East Bay civil demonstration of one sort or another. -R