“HOME.” Technically, Symbolically, and Hyperbolically Speaking. So, a “Home” in Theory, for intangibilities and “NO NOT, LIKE, LITERALLY” air-quotabilities. In-Terms of Reality, Home is Elsewhere Entirely- This is Just “The Start.”

 


 “…what i want in this life– is a willingness

to be dazzled.

To cast aside the weight of facts, 

and maybe, to float  

just slightly above this difficult world.

– Mary Oliver

 

 

hi there, and welcome!

oh Kind & curious stranger. i’m abby… the girl in the photo back-there,

the one trying to appear all-casually candid in a “who- me?” 

contrapposto improvis-pretty… but anyway. hi :)                                                               

 and thanks so much for stopping-by.

Here’s some of my artwork, along-with my many (indeed, perhaps- too many…?)

pretty-random thoughts and feelings,

which i’ll be expressing to you predominantly in Rhyme.

Now, the whole rhyming-thing is absolutely not my fault. it just sort-of happens-

i can’t explain why, though i’m sure the psychological underpinnings are deeply complex and fascinating ; ) All i know is that i tend-to unconsciously, gradually slip into Dr. Suess-ish style rhyme-speak whenever i feel some craaazzzy, lofty, quixotic desire to be clear, focused, and honest  (don’t worry- the irony here has not eluded me) in my expression of things i feel strongly or passionately about. Totally crazy, i know; it’s like asking for the moon…


 

So this is why, sometimes, i wish words just didn’t exist-

that we could rely on some other, silent form of communication. Like…

we could play full-body primal dance charades,

or cave-wall primitivistic pictionary,

or communicate via silent emanations of Soul-Speak; intuitively conjuring symbolic imagery through some combination of creative forces, like whatever maybe happens in a college “Improv 101” class…

  except we’d learn to cast ciphers in shadows by firelight, on a stage in some surreal dreamlike theatre infamous for its dedication to a single show, something with a strange and alluringly avant-garde title like, 

“In The Silence of Ciphers: Plato’s Cave of Shadow Puppetry.”  

But sometimes i just wish i could hear, for a little-while at-least, that truly ancient and long-lost Silence.

Before Man came along with language and his constant chatter of words,

and seeing-as how divinely complete the whole celestial orchestra seemed to be,

the cosmic design of harmonic synchronicity (they had it all-down to a perfect T)

we just couldn’t resist. We HAD to ruin-it,

with our dissonant and off-key lil’ doggerel ditty- 

our dying cattle, death-rattle chorus resounding straight-up

to the Heavens and back- in appallingly atonal cacophony:

We couldn’t stand being so-quiet. We just had to shatter that silence.

So there you have it.

Sigh… epically. (One must ALWAYS sigh epically.)

 

anyway, i hope you enjoy my art (and aren’t too terribly irritated by all my silly writing, pseudo-poems and general glossolalia). But i’d love-it if you stayed awhile and took a look around. i’d also be positively ecstatic if you left a comment…you’ll notice there is not a single solitary comment throughout this entire website. That’s pretty sad, if you ask me. I know certainly feel really sad and sorry for myself, and if that doesn’t illicit your pity (ideally expressed in the comment section :) well, then i can appeal to your obviously highly advanced emotional sensibility and ask you a question that, literally, NO decent human-being can justify saying  “no” in-reply to…

 “Could i just ask for a little empathy?” i’d ask you, my desperation painfully audible, my voice thin and quaking beneath a thinly veiled facade of bravery, my murmured plea for just a bit of human-decency eventually trailing-off with an indiscernable whisper, ending  in a wilting cascade of several sighs. 

Now will you write me a little comment in the sad little empty comment area? Did i tug ever so-slightly at the appropriate harmonic minor-key heart strings to invoke the appropriate music of empathy? i think if you listen very closely, you’ll hear the faintest sound of Faure’s Requiem, or perhaps The Duino Elegies…being played on what sounds like the world’s tiniest little violin… 

Hear it? I know, it is very, very sad. If it would make you feel better, i will happily, shamelessly accept your pity. Or empathy. Express-it (or literally any other random feelings you may be currently experiencing) in the comment-square there whydontcha? Or you could just say “Hi!” I’d be thrilled.

You could literally close your eyes, then sit on your keyboard, and hit “send,” without peeking. To receive a thoughtful gesture like that, like “jhsdbjsbsjbalnisdiuu#$%^&*” …would be deeply moving.

Do you have a pet turtle? What’s his name? Really? Tell me more :) i would genuinely love to learn every, single, tiny, little, possible thing there is to know about that little guy.

But, in all seriousness, it would be great to hear from anyone. Especially if you have any thoughts you could share about any artwork. It obviously doesn’t have to be positive- as long as it’s how you feel, I’m always so fascinated to hear all about the different reactions/interpretations/emotions or lack there-of that people have when looking at my work. it’s maybe even one of my very favorite things…even when the response is completely brutal :) So honestly, i’d just be so grateful for anything you feel like saying…and i’m not joking about your turtle, your butt-talk, your random feelings, or anything else i mentioned. I’m sorry for the epic length of what was a really pretty basic, straightforward request…in the beginning, at least in-theory.    

I hope you leave here in a better mood than when you first entered. I think that’s probably a part of what i’m hoping to do here. because sometimes, feeling “better,” or even, sometimes… just trying to stay in the relative-range of “basically okay for the time-being,” are not always so easily grasped. Especially without other peoples’ help.

so, i wish you the very best of luck- wherever you are out-there in this wild, bewildering world, wandering the earth with all the rest of us incredibly strange, though sometimes quite beautiful and always extraordinary monsters. 

again, thanks so much :) – abby *

 

 This is a poem. Hence the rhyming-thing is entirely intentional. If the following was not, in-fact, a poem, but merely the result of a chronic compulsive need to  rhyme, i might find this somewhat troubling. So I just wanted to make-that clear: )
We may so often glimpse,
but so rarely can we hold
these ciphers cast in amber-fire dayglo. 
shadows perceived as mere hypnagogic echo-light ,
for insight speaks a language known only by the soul- 
symbols still-framed in flash-bulb brilliance-
like a moth’s dazzled gasp, or a pale-fire ghost, 
hoping to re-ignite those wide-eyed-fires our hearts ache for the most. 
those things we had that made us happy,

so very long ago,

those things we lost somewhere back there,

 or left behind? cast aside? Did we spare a blink before releasing our hold? 

 were we ever SO young- too young to regret our unscathed hearts yet to start bleeding,

when we were whole, unbearably light, and life felt breathless and beating,

and there was a restless beauty awaiting discovery,

a sense of grace in all of life’s unknown-

but now looking-back, we shoulda coulda woulda really wished we’d known:

that there are parts of life you must cherish- certain things you don’t let-go

…and the rest of life? These other things are best held lightly-

all-things fade, “mono no aware,” “this too shall pass,” so

 “go with the flow,”  read “the art of letting-go,”  

 learn to distinguish the sound of your voice from impostors of ego.

but amidst all of this letting, losing, going, flow, there’s one thing our hands must hold,

never let Who-You-Are fade-away or slip from your grasp,

keep it clasped tight to your chest- because once it’s gone, you can’t get-it back.

 It’s these precious unspeakables that slip-away so silently,

without the slightest “peep,” this moment of our heart’s detachment,

the moment we stop “Seeing” and the soul falls asleep,

but some of us get lucky enough to fall- fast and far so finally to break

(it has to be hard to re-start the heart and slap-us awake)

 That’s when we get that second chance-

numbness gives way to melancholy, a newfound “dust as quintessence,” kind-of human empathy.

an empty ache shaped by the contours of its absence.

That’s the Happy Ending, anyway. But its the only end i can envision,

for some it takes a lifetime, to end at “Happy” once again-

….but for others it takes an instant:

a disaster, a loss, some miracle or gobbstopping vision,

and that’s all it takes for us to fall, to break, to splinter

like a singular beam of pure-white light suddenly crashing through a prism- 

to awaken as from a dream fractured- a kaleidoscopic collision

a rainbow awaits  at the end of every catastrophe,

to glean from the wreckage still-reeling-

its the BEAUTIFUL DISASTER reflected in our mirrorball shattered  

that bewilders and delights and creates us anew

blinking-awake with the dazzle of light that seems to illuminate,

or even originate- somewhere inside  you.

in the end, what we deem “True” is at the mercy of hope-

a force that is truly unstoppable-

for at heart, we’re all visionaries, creators, and dreamers

whose imagination careens

beyond the brink of what logic deems possible-

So-moved are we all by these God-lights colossal, 

and for a while forgoing our “all-too-human”

obsession with uncertain-truths we call FACTS before the halcyon numinal-

 we spin-up and out of ourselves to become something Chimerical

some Greater-Being for a momentary miracle,

as brightly-glanced will-o-the-wisps, wild & flying into the Luminal..

” The End. ” 

 so there you have it. . .

 Boo-ya.

* * *

Now . . . More Artwork. By Me. Abby.

Quoth The Raven, ” Why, Hello Lenore. “The Abandoned Planet of Microscopia

 

Empathy

” Do not go gentle into that good night – Rage, Rage Against the Dying of The Light. ” – Dylan Thomas

What Was Lost At The Carnival. . .

” Mono no Aware “

” this is the root of the root, and the bud of the bud

and the sky of a sky,

of this tree called life- which grows,

higher than mind can hide or soul can hold.

and this is the wonder that is keeping the stars apart-

i carry your heart ( i carry it in my heart) ”  

 – e.e. cummings

               Ephemera’s Final Breath At the Brink of Impermanence

” Hush. . .” said the sky. “For this, too, shall pass-us by.”

 

 

 

 

 

2 thoughts on ““HOME.” Technically, Symbolically, and Hyperbolically Speaking. So, a “Home” in Theory, for intangibilities and “NO NOT, LIKE, LITERALLY” air-quotabilities. In-Terms of Reality, Home is Elsewhere Entirely- This is Just “The Start.””

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