Monday, February 12, 2007

Painting Under Construction from Nana Devi

I had a good burst of activity on this painting and now it is sitting in the very popular "almost completed" stage. This painting is based on some photographs shot when we were in Nana Devi up in the Himalayan foot hills at a little chai stand. Nayan had just turned one. It was a really lovely day, and we were on our way up to my favorite Mundir.

Painting from Alchemista in Zipolite

I recently started a painting based on some photos from one of our hang out spots in Zipolite, Oaxaca. Nayan and Ananya had a blast playing on the swings every evening. This piece is still under construction, but its in a fun state right now so I thought I'd share it.


Sad sky, thick with tears.
Full moon drops into still water
ripples against resting logs,
white spray coats the shore.

Between my arms, through
my knees, I look down and
see my chain flowing.
Under my wheels --
whispering moss, soft
sponges, crackling branches.

Trail fades till fallen old-growth,
ten feet wide, hundreds long, few
weeks down, split in half.

End of the ride, I climb
inside, cedar scents, hiding in
your belly, sprouting ferns,
lying in my new bed, thirsty,
mouth open, drinking mist.

The Fall

Lights beam, pierce through dark night.
Snowflakes float, then fall.

Driving to baker with my roommate,
missed the exit, too busy babbling,
tires slipped, lost control, tried to
downshift, too late, car smashed
through the guard rail, we were
falling to our deaths.

Heard the Kodo drum banging,
900 pounds of tree. In blur.

While falling
I pressed my forehead
against the window,
peered out, down
to the ground. Saw
the shivering ocean
nestled under a
white blanket.

He turned toward me and said,
"I'm not afraid of death,
I've already cleaned the kitchen."

I said, "I'm not ready, my
sister's coming to visit and I
don't think my mom could go
on, she just lost her brother."

Sunday, February 11, 2007


I was at a party last night and got into an interesting conversation about philosophy and art and poetry. I realized how much I miss writing and thinking about poems. I started digging around for some old poems of mine and realized that so many of them have been lost between many of my disk crashes and moves over the years. Anyway, here is a poem I wrote back in 1994 when I was immersed in graduate school in Wisconsin. This poem was originally published in a journal called bloo published by the Illinois Institute of Technology Department of Humanities. I've had to adapt it slightly to fit this web display.



Sweet sounds wheel forth
resonance and night fall
feel freedom
tripping over language and hearts
beat soft incandescent whispers
frail voices touching.

The breath of your waves
and the beats of your message
post rhythms
of a clear blue lake nestled in
scenic landscape
fields of orange
crisp vibrant solar beams
drinking sandal wood
forward and ascend
smell fear shrooming
nuclear pasts.

Contemplate the thrill of
a new journey hand in hand with a
kaleidoscope ocean singing
green tropical forests
on a peak high
pointing toward a joint
vision of handrails and footsteps


Inflating wheels sway
filling and releasing
air loads of motion
exchange persian whispers
store warm
inductive dances
tabulate slated rituals
motional transience
control stiffness back
arc paths bathe brilliance
wrapping flat orange ribbons
finding your feelings resting
calmly, serenely
in pattern locations
cardioid radiation patterns
dot new nights
of sunshine in open
grass phase
fields progression
sounds of
art and pitch


The mapping from solid to liquid can be
described by a piece moving on a sandalwood
chess board. First the piece is picked up, then it
is relocated to another square. This process
involves rigid stiff gearlike feedback control -
calculating, carefully, repetitiously perfecting
his chops, the jazz drummer drums perfectly.
Neurons remember ascii and process floating
point options, like an algorithm reciting victory
non-dynamically programming commands of
piece for piece 1) if ahead, make the trade 2)
bishop and knight hold equal weight 3) queens
gambit opening, go to memory response.
Think about the possible excitement, 3 frames
per second video of blue lakes located
physically, geographically in the mountains, as
slope increases the frictional force required to
maintain static equilibrium increases; a blob of
Jell-O, on the other hand, coaxed to the edge of
a table balances on the edge dripping wiggling
vibrating falling


king side pieces marble smooth
weighted for motion
sensations tactile to touch
deep lungs fill
arms moving fluid like
water from a hose down black
tar driveways
controlling hydraulic
action ballistic momentum
glides oil
flowing forward feeling dry glass pieces of
chess find new homes on silk
boards tilting like a square block
sliding down an iced plane
drums jazzing rhythms
top toms


A block slides down a plane.
A solid wood block slides down a steel sheet of metal plane.
A solid block of jello sticks,
stuck on a slide,
wiggling, wriggling
melting in the sun
slowly slide
rivulets form
down slides
sliding and melting
jello falls liquid
flowing clear
panes of water


Playing pool in a hall on a table with no holes
for motion not money like hang gliding or chess
without clocks on a wet dry journey no ticking
through solid to liquid matter transformations
on a steep flat slope motivated by gravity
force affecting velocities of motion like an
increase in viscosity approaches solidity therefore
thereby increasing frictional forces or the forces
of friction causing the descent downward,
investigated by boundary analysis methods,
finitely sublimate or continuously yielding a
locust bean gum like property which when
concentrations increase of powder to water from
liquid to solid like drums to jazz or square on
flow down slopes to pools of jello to tea


Sticks slide crack balls
pool hall
soft whispers say
like rolling hills and a
thick milkshake
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