how it comes of blood.
how it comes of bleeding.
how it comes with feeling.
like you eat the way the slaughterhouse felt/feels.
it’s in the meat, like a secret
ingredient the FDA doesn’t wanna talk about. and it becomes you. and u wonder, y am
i so sad?
u go 2 the dr.
and you trust what comes in an orange plastic bottle with a nice white paper label and
directions for use in the typography of impartial findings.
slowly, your systems get confused-‐-‐is that cancer, some disease, or just another
expectation of me?
don’t be embarrassed. they’ll clean your bedpans, mop up the blood you come of, open
you and brace you open, and cut out of you the stuff you’re made of, throw it out, a barf
of surgery. you’re just hunks of made the easy way. and your funeral is the big show.
or someday, language will say these things. and we’ll see ourselves in its mirror like
things we never stood for.
like another war, and another war.
death before the bastard’s innocence.
like emptiness. like arduousness and emptiness, trying and trying and emptiness, and
trying and trying and trying and emptiness, and trying and trying and trying and trying…
cobra, phoenix, amoeba. mule deer, monkey, bee, moth, mammoth, giraffe, wolf-‐-‐ different things in different spaceships. be made, remade of cantaloupe and cucumbers,
of avocado and almonds, nuts and kale and flax seed, kelp and tomatoes and sea salt and lettuce and cayenne pepper.
robot and his monkey brother.
and lo!-‐-‐the sun doth riseth, a wailing, wasted ball of drunken water on fire, less
idealism, merely, and the ponderosa’s sap is hot and flowing, it flows, in the sunlight
glowing, and the mosquito is fat on blood and on the ponderosa napping when-‐-‐poor mwah-‐skweet-‐O!-‐-‐he is trapped in hot drip of sap avalanche and preserved for 40 million years.
d. is a graduate of the University of California, Davis and the University of Virginia, Charlottesville. d.’s work has appeared or is forthcoming in Tattoo Highway, Fringe, The Collagist, Orion Headless, Birkensnake, and other places. d. lives on the river in Portland, Oregon.
Artist and curator, Charles Wilkin took the time to chat with The 22 about the upcoming collage show All That Remains presented by Ugly Art Room at Picture Farm in Brooklyn. Resourcing from a VAST pool of collage artists, the show is dynamic, bold and most of all, really fun. The show opens Oct 21st, with an reception from 7-9pm at Picture Farm (338 Wythe Ave.)
The 22 Magazine: You happen to be a collage artist yourself, correct? Tell me what it is that first got you hooked on collage and what you love about it?
Charles Wilkin: Yes I’m a collage artist. It’s funny because I sort of fell into collage by accident in college. I was late for a drawing class and forgot to bring my pencils and paper. I ran across the hall with nothing more than a stack of photos I’d just printed from my photo class. Instead of smacking my hand with a ruler for being unprepared my instructor said ” well use those photos”. Clearly she saw something in what I had done that day and encouraged me to make more collages. I guess what I love about collage is it’s immediacy and the happy little accidents that happen along the way. I love not knowing where I’m going until I get there and with collage I can sort of get lost in the moment. I think that’s what I really love about it most, for me it’s very freeing.
Asian male looking for a multi-ethnic woman who gets dark in the summer and complains about tan lines as she unties the bikini strap to reveal her bare back, smooth like frosting, and I will long to run my fingers down the small of her back, but will control myself and spray her back with spray-on suntan lotion, and I will be a little angry at the inventor of spray-on tan lotion bottles, who took away my only chance of sensual synapses firing on all levels, but she will be surprisingly pale in the winter, skin like porcelain, and she will dye her hair in an array of colors to match the changing of the seasons, auburn in the autumn to contrast her paling face, and before that a dirty blonde to match her sun-kissed skin and to accentuate her light blue painted finger and toenails, and before that a light brown of which I will only see the bangs of when she wears her gray hoodie in the spring, and black hair in the winter, which is her natural hair color, and she will say that she wants it black to absorb what little sunlight there is for warmth.