Categories
ART

Decommissioned Prose

A few months ago, I stated my intention to draw every day during 2025. How is it going? Really well! I don’t feel compelled to share much here other than it has been very rewarding. Drawing is one of my favorite things, and I’ve found that by doing it more frequently, I feel sharper and more comfortable with it. It’s more second nature, and this challenge is not a chore. Very satisfying.

I’ve also been working on a project concerning Asemic texts. Asemic writing is a wordless open semantic form of writing. The word asemic means “having no specific semantic content”, or “without the smallest unit of meaning”. It can be gestural, and often is.

I have been cutting up certain materials to reassemble them in new ways. It’s not exactly Asemic writing, but several expository efforts have made their way into my sketchbooks over/alongside my drawings. These feel connected to the Asemic project. I like them, and have, in turn, had a robot read them aloud for me. I then recorded these orations and added them to some of my instrumental RPM tracks, which ties several projects together this month.

I will likely make completely posts for each “writing,” but for now, I’ll share these WIPS as a sign of my enjoyment in these tasks.

I’m getting into assembling these! I’ll clean them up and share them more fully later.

Categories
Dioramas

Be like the Bird

Be like the bird, who
Halting in his flight
on limb too slight
feels it give way beneath him,
yet sings
knowing he hath wings.

victor hugo

I made variations.

Update (3/15/2025)

I made an insomnia haiku (no. 19) from this.

Categories
Dioramas

The Missing Fruitcake

Crime Scene no. 16 seems to have more to do with a robbery than foul play. In this scene, the protagonist is still alive. It seems he traveled many, many miles for a fruitcake. When he arrived home, his suitcase was empty, and where the fruitcake had once resided, now there was a note. It reads as follows:

In a parlor, dimly aglow,
A flicker eerie, a figure in woe.

Miles traversed for this delight,
Now home alone on this stormy night.

Valise in hand, hinges creak and rasp,
Was followed sharply by a gasp.

Pondering, weary, a shocking scare,
His treasure missing, a fruited affair.

Empty now the once-full case,
Just a few crumbs remain in place.

No molasses, eggs, or savory spices,
The fruitcake vanished, all stolen slices.

When did this caper transpire?
Listening intently, his heart on fire.

No butter, dried fruit, or nuts are near,
But how did the fruitcake disappear? 

A note among the scattered crumbs,
Ransom? Jest? But no meaning comes.

No reason given, no visible motive,
To stir this unrest and feelings corrosive. 

Bewildered, wretched, saddened,  sore,
A poem was left, and nothing more.

One of my great regrets in life was not sampling a fruitcake that I found in Porto, Portugal. It was a real crime to let that one get away.