New Life, New Laptop For Digital Drawings!!

Digital drawing over photo (photo subsequently erased).

{ The Existentialist & The Honey-Bee } by Ray Swaney

Sold!  Ink & Acrylic (only brush used).  About 24" x 18".

Squirmin' Ink Doodlin' With German Deep Noodlin'

{ Reconciliation } by Goethe

Passion brings pain! –
Who will soothe you,
Troubled heart that has lost so, lost completely?
Where are the hours that all too swiftly flew?
In vain were you granted a sight of Beauty!
The spirit is clouded: purposes confused:
How the world’s splendour fades from our view!
But music soars aloft now on angel’s wings,
Millions of notes on notes are intertwined,
Piercing through and through all mortal being,
Eternal beauty flows now through the mind:
The eyes are dim, and filled with highest yearning,
The divine power of tears, and music’s singing.
And so the heart is eased, and once more feels
It lives and throbs, must go on throbbing,
And in pure thanks a willing offering yields,
Of self, in kind, for this so generous giving.
Then it is felt – that it might last forever! –
The double joy of love, and music’s singing.

Collection of short poems from social media....

My life is largely full of spectres
Not fully there, not fully gone
Bless those who can reach beyond themselves
To shake the infinite hand
So distant from the human condition
So distant from these ugly words

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Somewhere over the rainbow... there are more rainbows. "When all is said and done" is my favorite euphamism for death. "To make a long story short" sounds like a movie adaptation. Freedom isn't free, OK, but what degree of freedom are we talkin' 'ere? I want to know the purity of this freedom first before I start drillin'. Familiarity breeds contempt without distraction and drugg'ed persistence. The pen is mightier than the sword until it comes to stabbing. In the end, there was a period.

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I intended to write something of worth when I wrote this sentence, but a sense of self doubt put hands at my throat. I intended to write something of worth when worth slipped out of it's bodice and toupee, showing me it's cold naked all-you-can-eat buffet.

I sit in bed typing this prosetry on my "remedial phone." Jazz bass slinks out of 89.1 fm Eastern Michigan University radio/alarmed clock. A swinging rhythm and bass dragonspiel with Coltraine and Miles. I lay in bed and write something of worth (less -ness and more essence.)

My best friend is a tiny gray tabby- pretty lil Samsonite aka Princess Grandpa. We lay on crimson sheets. We frequent windows. We just want to eat and be petted at our own discretion. We intend to write no history. We eat Dave Brubeck keys turning in a heart's peep. We keep coming back for more... of the same... dopamine, man. Dope, I mean fly feeling Sam I Am Because I Think I Am. I do not intend to land... man.

I will see you up top... or at the drop... and will venture out in concentric circles. I put stock in these words mocking locking meaning up. I put up with the downpour of drizzle intellect trying not to mistake meat with math. I remember you in stride- keep me open, love!

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Show me your efforts. Don't show me yr speech. Show me acts of devotion and not just yr preach. Reach out and touch my sleeve. Gently, for there's a heart that falls apart when u leave.

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Core life opens up to you
Only through you, ripens truth
To sweet fruit angel juice
Sewn, we, to you, all, noosed
From birth till swing dance
Keep a shuffling up-
Kissing hands

Orchards of time
Orchards of man...

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Only so much time in this linear model
Allowed each he & she
Only enough time to think great thoughts
Or borrow forever funeral garb
The gods and godesses grant yr every want
Only enough time to think great thoughts
Or nothing beautifully at all
Singing silence
No time for self imprisonment
That quiet corner time or drooling glare
No time for a tool
That will do my thinking for me
Technolgy makes distance an abstract
There be only time
For three... six... & nine...

Afterall YOU are the authority

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My pretext is context
My left shoe has gone to tie one off
My sextet is tonally textual
Yes, that is #
(Read hashtag)
"#1" is done time past swallowed up out pissed
#thetimestheyareachangin'
#nascentmisinformationage
#nospaces4ever
My pretext is context
My right shoe has left to write piss poor poems
My exigent existential etch-a-sketch
My oh my my
Tra-la tra-lee
Fetch a bye bye tree
The cradle will fall
The bough'll break
The bowels shake
Felled in a bye bye tree
Baby and all everything to be...

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Brotherhood sisterhood neighborhood stood
Together in weather like hell or high water, would
You become brother with sister and wonder? Could
Love be drew, colored true blue and still be oooh good to you?
Do you blow true blue?
Do you feel oh so you?
Nobody knows no booty
No truepenny fool
Knows how much cool
A man needs to snare a goddess glare
It's like wrestling with tenuous, serpentine air
Or wrestling a rule...

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They're building things
Gilding things
Killing things in gold
Dying folks in old rebellion
Lying thick for slick Daddy Sold!

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When it bores, it pains

To birds with wan stone

The poop is in the pudding

Eat, drink, beam eerie

I, doughnut, halve a dog in this fight

Living, let's dye

Live, it's like a box of chalk, lit

Early tube head, Earl, he tour eyes

I'll, of you all
 

New simple line drawings...

{ The Artist's Duty } by Kenneth Patchen

So it is the duty of the artist to discourage all traces of shame
To extend all boundaries
To fog them in right over the plate
To kill only what is ridiculous
To establish problem
To ignore solutions
To listen to no one
To omit nothing
To contradict everything
To generate the free brain
To bear no cross
To take part in no crucifixion
To tinkle a warning when mankind strays
To explode upon all parties
To wound deeper than the soldier
To heal this poor obstinate monkey once and for all

To verify the irrational
To exaggerate all things
To inhibit everyone
To lubricate each proportion
To experience only experience

To set a flame in the high air
To exclaim at the commonplace alone
To cause the unseen eyes to open

To admire only the absurd
To be concerned with every profession save his own
To raise a fortuitous stink on the boulevards of truth and beauty
To desire an electrifiable intercourse with a female alligator
To lift the flesh above the suffering
To forgive the beautiful its disconsolate deceit

To flash his vengeful badge at every abyss

To HAPPEN

It is the artist’s duty to be alive
To drag people into glittering occupations

To blush perpetually in gaping innocence
To drift happily through the ruined race-intelligence
To burrow beneath the subconscious
To defend the unreal at the cost of his reason
To obey each outrageous impulse
To commit his company to all enchantments.

Another little abstract face...

The Venus Of Willendorf Smokes Picasso Lyrics...

Venus Of Willendorf Wikipage

More poetry, this time rhymey... rap it outloud!

I bleed my arms around you like a moat in a siege
I lead a lovely devotional so we all can be freed

From sweet something of nothingness
Comes a buffering from suffering this
Life of loving and grieving, it's
Slowly weaving and leaving us

I feel to be a creed in a onesie of meat
A fusion of illusion and reality delusion
I'm the instant of infinity
The sin in me's divinity
The light in me's the night in me

We open up enlighteningly
Gently and frighteningly
Look, loves! See!
The love, we just must be...

poetry is a good brain excercise...

Enveloped in the room by all the space between electrons, protons, and neutrons (etc,) as the space between electrons, protons, and neutrons (etc,) working in fields of strong localized and weak cross-dimensional forces, I and I listen to ghost radio of void transmissions...

You can even begin to fathom the dark side of the sun and the sunnyside up of the street cracked and running on sentences in a prison of words in New Balance in short shorts or really really short pants (she said, "you bring me closer to Donald Duck")...

I think yr apathetic but you really can't be bothered to care one way or the other, so I steal yr shoelaces and put thumb tacks in yr texty thumbs. Open up like a hand like fingers spreading outward to inward winds blowing up skirts and through oaks, cranking up the corners...

Be the best no one you can can!

Shout-out to Jessica post...

Here is an update for ya!

This wonderful 3-person collaboration was a product of my friends, Jenn and Finn, and me.
Ink on paper.

T-Bois Blues Festival 2014 poster design...

Done on Wacom tablet, using SketchBook Pro, Illustrator & Photoshop.  Retouching by my brother, Russ Swaney, who made it look SHARP for us.  Enjoy...

Poetry excercise of putting my best two-word combinations together:

powdered enema... obsequious present... perverse ordinary... street caviar... jazzy feces...  puppy nuggets... fairweather infinity... better worst... splayed hills... concubine shotgun... leper bomb... grandpa hexagon... erectile incorporated... pizza pile... muckamuck manservant... instant nascence... manger danger... salvation doughnut... buttermilk spine... canned empathy... hamper judas... CEO milk... egg blacks... yolk cola... limp roast... polka ham... tonight's bobsled... blood's cousin... toothpaste condom... suffering (parenthetical)...  libido farm...  stillborn orphan...  mystical taxidermy...  extra medium... intrinsic mozzarella...

Valentine's Day sexiness...

I've been playing around with my Wacom tablet and SketchbookPro of late.  Here is today's tasty offering...