Um… okay so I’ve finally succumbed to it, and I’ve created another blog for rambling. So you’re not going to get rambly posts here anymore! Read them at your own risk, anyway… it’s just a place for me to leave out the garbage. I’ll probably shift the writings from here over to that one too, so you’ll know what to expect on that page.
anyway, you’ll find the link in my link list on the right —–>
or you could just click here: thedevonilewolfbear.wordpress.com
Hey there, so the online magazine (One Imperative) for which I did the cover illustration some time ago is finally out! It’s a good read, seriously. The one I got to contribute to is the 3rd issue, Philia, along side dear old Stick (yanyun) from Stick and Balloon, who did the wonderfully sweet Squid illustration in the middle of that same issue.
You’ll get it here at this site: www.oneimperative.com
and the following’s a quick excerpt about the magazine, taken from the site itself:
“Each issue is hinged on a theme.
Once that has been decided, everyone is completely free to explore in whatever way they desire. Hence each piece, poem, painting, and design, is re-thinking of this theme.
You have but one imperative;”
I think of something to say, but before i can, I get bored of my own words. Many words of mine have dissolved into oblivion that way. There’s a thousand and one things wrong with the world, and a thousand and one things to comment, but we’ve gone over them so many times that I get bored, so those words never see daylight either. My words, the ones that actually mean something, I often shove aside for words that mean nothing at all. Nothing-words like these. I sweep them under my tongue, and soon forget about their rotting corpses. It’s so much nicer to listen, so much more pleasant to just watch. and if my words do sneak out, they do so in a guise that even i do not recognize, because words that actually mean something never really die.
i slept between the moon man’s whiskers,
mouldy and meady as could be
tugging at his age,
rooting for a fish,
i dug as deep as he.
the rain child i called to arms
with fins and fists
in ale coloured bars
drink, drink,
drink with me
this silvery greed
i polished for thee.
by evening he wanders through the folds of her golden dress,
long spindly legs stirring up eddies of flame as they wade..
mixing, churning
folding the sun, whisking the moon
gently as a child in a dream
these are the days and years of forgetting,
of trying to put shadows into jars,
of turning old fruits into jam.
the first days of a new amnesia
where have all the words gone?
We have a donkey to kill, said Mrs Jones to Farmer Sam.
Kill it grill it fill it, said Farmer Sam to Mrs Jones,
flip it over, gut it right, not too thickly not to tight
Just so, Farmer Sam?
Not the bones, not the bow, keep the bow Mrs Jones
Your brother’s bow?
Your brother’s bow.
You have a donkey to kill, Farmer Sam, grill it right, keep it tight.
And burn your brother’s bow.
I found a dead girl in my closet one night who stopped breathing because it wasn’t original anymore.
So I gave her a hug.
