Kombucha Intentions

Protein sweet tannin sour bubbling up
Marking her sweet with her drippings.
signing intentions on his bare chest sipping twilight winds warning of aftershocks
Tipping her neck back
Traversing full satellite

The

Dreams are the guiding words of the soul.
Why should I henceforth not love my dreams and not make their ridding images into objects of my daily consideration?

Tidings from the ocean floor

Waiting in the room
In the land where nothing happens, the need for Dream ceases to exist.
Deceiving drugs my body
Finding rest of the rest of the restless.
Less now then before,
Stealing dreams from before,
Copying them
Suburbing bacteria growing fungi in my mind.
Pausing from the panic of no escape
Except through closing eyes looking back
Firsting times seeing you. 

Ministering   future food comforting  huddle

companioning as a school of one

Splitting wood

Firing through the night
exhausting fight with bone cold
Splitting slivers from the whole
Catching a vein and running wide
a ladder Connecting now to later
Splitting time down the middle
Missing rungs from the bottom
Finding another way. 

Embers

Smoldering moldy fumes billow Hills of heat
Seeking high ground clinging Hungry hands
Passing aging lovers Queuing forms Rising floods

Catching drips that
Tappies carry away
Creating rules
Forming into pieces

Fallen gather in murky ponds

Two great and frothing armies
Opposed and facing each other
Roaring silence

Motionless standing present
Battling victorless,
Monks measuring weighted words
Looking across
Negotiating deaf
Seeing only alien
Opposed for all time

Rhinos

The rhinos stamping embers
Before smoke turns to flame

Koi

The bright  koi are anything but coy
The sound of the coming train brings them to the surface to show off their beauty in exchange for richness pellets
Grayness spreads slowly until the shadow fills all available space

Troys fountain head

Celebrating a claw they captured,
the ones on top dig deeper
Consuming  mouthfuls of them at a time
Chirping new feathers and feet cling to the mesh singing with
  the rythm splashing of  a retired crucible leaking out the sides
Rhinoarachnid catches the mist on the rim of the dark pool the shape rises from
Humming
"Escaping from the flow
Preferring the unknown"
Distant laughing echoing through space lucid data becoming self aware. 

The nose naps

Days after waking under the giant mushroom,  the nose naps on.
The feline maze city in the valley beyond the stalks of maize will be explored at a later time. 

Scraping the floor

Scraping the floor,  a sharp material pierces the soft flesh of the bare foot and the kobold remembers a time with the reflection pond.

The nose sniffs the dancing light of the pool.

"I want to drink"
the kobold said in the only way it knew how.
The sound that came out was something between a gargling cough and a sigh.
GajhhhWaaaaaaahhhhhhh.

The ToadFrog sobbing response, "....I'll rub some tears on it. Tears are supposed to heal things."  Then winks one big eye before continuing with programming. 

Falling headfirst, the kobold entered the liquid light.

The pool's images created empty lungs to cry out as beating life began to vibrate through the limbs. 

This is the  first time to hear the sound of life beating along the spine; the sound of galloping feet echoing off a hard surface towards something new. 

The eyes want to see more than the body is able.  
As the pool was drained,  the kobold was able to pull off its nose and toss it towards something unknown. 
The oil from the Kobold's body contaminated the liquid, causing it to be drained and the kobold is questioned and being unable to respond in any way,  is put to work scraping the floor and making cones. 

Chapter one notes

Moving towards the sound and lights of the trains,
The kobold comes to a great ToadFrog looking into a black reflection pond. 
"I'm a beautiful creature,
what do you know?  You can't even speak right.  "
the kobold realized that there are no words when witnessing all the stories of the reflections.
Burning embers interrupt her beautiful  reflection,
the hissing STEAM smells of morning mist.
The pain from grasping the Ember moves the feet buried in the muck. 

The kobold takes another step

The light from the reflecting pond illuminated the figures whose wailing laughter drowned out the wet sounds that surrounded them. 
Embers drifted down around them hissing when they touched liquid mirrors igniting the surfaces with brilliant images before the thick smoke overtook them all.
Overcome by the stench and deep burning in the eyes, Everything wanting to vomit out the oppressive substance, the feet of the kobold continue on. 

The princess

One day there was a princess in a tower and she thought a white Knight was coming to rescue her and he was beautiful and spoke kind words. And he seduced her, knowing she was enchanted and would never say no to him. When she became with child her world was filled with joy. But when she told the White Knight he turned into a vicious Goblin and ripped the baby from her stomach and ate it. The goblin was magic so that he did it in such a way she kept on living with a hole in her stomach. And so the princess stayed in the tower in the castle forever after that because she was too afraid of the Goblins outside her Tower. And who would want a princess with a gaping hole in her stomach anyway?

Truth in trash

The art Is a lie used to tell the truth.
What is the point of talking into a machine that is unable to understand you? It is the same issues I've had with every other person I've ever spoken to. Words that sound like other words are transposed on top of each other. In the quantum world these words do exist and the songs that we don't know the words too also exist.
We often go back to the moment of waiting in line under Christmas lights  two hands brought  together, no electricity pass between the two.
Electric into time and into the future and I see you. All of the options that could be there. Your future, so bright. I push up against it with my hand and you hold tight.
The lights flicker and go out  and I hear you gasp as you feel me absorb the life from this moment.
I wonder if in that moment the words that we spoke came back to you? The words about an artist creating the world around them. The artist using words declaring what they want,
And all I wanted was to hold the hand forever.
My hand was open waiting for you to grab what you wanted.   And then your hand against mine found it and decided to cling to  this  moment. The Christmas lights flicker and are gone. We stood there waiting in line. I hope the lights remain off. 

And then your hand pulls away for fear of someone seeing as you're reminded of a discussion they had on the state of being.
The character of light and dark and the electric current that exists between the two.
Christmas comes back on,  never close again, except for every moment since then. 

They spoke on the idea of trash
in humanity as we picked up and threw away the  discarded. 
As I threw my trash over a fence I  speak on how there was more God that I saw  along the street then in any church.
Wax smoke  covers my clothes and turns them into Rags, is what is filling my lungs, and my brain. This is the Purgatory where I move the muck but go nowhere except for old memories.  it weighs thousands of pounds back and forth to be melted down. There will be no record of the work.
Trying to find something of value in all the death, The definition of art has now become unoriginal decoration. Of course everyone hates it. And there is nothing to understand of it.
Love Is Alive used to tell the truth?
Love Is A Lie used to tell a truth.
The lies that were told are now forgotten.

Your hand let go to let the trash fall away.

Mid cities tidal waves

Trains made into words spoken into the void reflect the faces of those witnesses to this moment.
The art is a lie, used to tell a truth.

Reaction frames

There has to be a witness. If there is no witness, one will be sculpted. It will be sculpted in something that will last a thousand years in the frames of our dna. A message that took more than a thousand years to get here. It is asking what do you see?

Thoughts on the process

1. Paying tribute to all of the Unseen workers that brought us to this moment. 
2. Looking at the suburbs from an Artisan's perspective by deconstructing the bronze casting process.
3. Creating a structural moment of pause in the noise that is distracting Us from this moment.
4. Being transplanted in and out of time,  a constant alien and foreign traveler brings a sense of permanence to its surroundings. 
5. The Continuous Observer views the moments across the globe, pulling them into the present, to travel along with us into the future.
6. The Artist uses the closest available materials to assist in bringing the reflections of the surrounding environment into being. 
7. The Substantial enduring characteristics of bronze has traditionally  relegated this material as  one that commemorates the life and death of individuals.
8. There is no crime of preference  when everything is reproduced to be the same.
9. The Artisan is preference in action, hidden behind the final product. 

 10. In the land of the seasonal rotation of replacement, we hold onto a specific moment that reflects and defines the species that we are a part of.

11. The goal is not to hold on to a specific  moment forever but to be ok with each moment as it comes.

The anthem of Atlas Shrugged The Fountainhead

We play the anthem of our recording to anyone who will witness
when we're gone the recording keeps playing through our children and grandchildren.
Atlas Shrugged The Fountainhead

Little free library

Lyons waiting for the pump remember a

Perfect moment of tremendous speed across water 

Caught in thinning hair, smokey mustache whiskers, 

Loose collars, trailing out a testament to

 tears that are acceptable to the machinists

 weekend witnessed by the cream coveralls 

Attending to giant chess pieces pumping. 

Unedited :

Waiting for the pump
The sun hits the shiny skin
She remembers a perfect moment
He thinks of his boat
The white dress shirt is unbuttoned to catch the speed
The wind tugging  his thinning hair
Salty seasoned tears streaming down the  sides of his face.
The mustache whiskers catch the smoke that trails out a testament to the tremendous speed that man can travel across water.  
the attendant in cream overalls waves him next.
We both wonder when the last time we will see these kinds of pump.
They watch the car  leaving and wonder when the last time they'll see that kind of car together.
We pass each other.
we agree that you can tell a lot about a person by their vehicles.