Exhibits in the ‘Dream Forms on a Wall of Sand’ Gallery

flagellates_of_fire

Flagellates of Fire (03/10)
 

still-life for lunatics

Still-life for Lunatics (03/10)

 dream forms on a wall of sand

Dream Forms on a Wall of Sand

here they come
again
the walking
walls
oddly bobbling
their own sidesteps
through the building nobody
‘s occupied
for so long
so they come
with impunity
sporting
the frontality
with which they
proffer
their address.

They just
keep on coming
———————-
Charles Stein, Barrytown, NY, 07.02.10

meeting_of_the_kingdoms

Meeting of the Kingdoms

kingdoms
divested
of the cross dwellings
of their
princes
whose attentions
diverted
from war
dress themselves
in color
alone

Is this, then, a place to dwell? Or were we consigned, as if through the enchantment of language itself, color itself, texture, graphemics, or the seed and generality of all idolatries– to have found oneself, anywhere, among the cat tails, ghouls in black linen, as if the atmospherics of discovery–any discovery–any finding oneself in a place after some intervale of confusion–and the atmosphere turned out to be not an atmosphere at all–but an outcome–a compilation of transitory testimonies–as the three dimensions required for a gaseous saturation of an underworld–were itself a veil or screen behind which–behind whom–and as it were impertinent, under such conditions, to simply say what one sees, or would be, impertinent, were there some attitude, some situation, itself pertinent–to articulate the registry of some–of some–yes that’s it “registry”–some pond scene, some lacustrine umbra, some-WHERE–and yet there remains a kind of light, a kind of dramaturgy, some trace of that which, if it were true might indeed be projected as some narrative–small tales, released without pretense of mastery–for being had long been –relieved of the duties of… appearance–its showing up–there were an entire company of stage managers, not just one stogey jawing AIM–a stage full of underemployed thespians–vying for the EYE of other eyes—-but throwaways–in the skirtless rain–where the very state of vegetation, into which one wishes to resolve oneself, yet far from equilibrium–and without suggesting a fixed abode, one finds–impertinently glimmering–without, call it reticence–the Mole Priest and his sandals–waiting at the bar–gazing as if across the wind of space itself–together with the sound of it…
———————————
Charles Stein, San Francisco, CA, 10.02.10
 

pleasure wants what is closest, love what is furthest

“Pleasure wants what is closest, Love what is furthest”

Timefolds mindfolds. The surface that will not surface unfolded but shows where its folds might have been. Now(-)here’s never now enough. So the faces break apart into their own planes but the spaces that might have distributed some intercourse among them…are spaces not yet sufficiently problematized, if at all. You cannot find them to abuse them. And that the faces manifest attitudes, attracts those attitudes into the said problematic unexposed. And there are walls as tall as verticality compounded, upon themselves, in the same place. Each parameter in principle withdrawn, however, causes the colors that their eviction evacuates to grow ebullient and fulsome. In the end, these qualities prove the only evidence for the principles whose absence they are the trace of. What principles these? And just how long ago, can these beings be?
————————————
Charles Stein, Barrytown, NY, 26.02.10

 


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