stain

stain

you never think of
the fruit of a rose
the flower is too dark
and wonderful and you
forget its only a prelude.

rose hips stain the snow
now,like blood splatter and
you should be warned that
her kiss will leave toxins
soaking in your skin.


JANEisnotplain 2.09

1.20.09 CHANGE

1.20.09 CHANGE


every everything
is available to
every [thing and] one

abstract concrete
hidden showing
[time space]
conservation symmetry
united survival

we are happy and sad
hopeful and desperate
by choice of thought
observation and attention

this is a magnificent and
sobering responsibility

now is then and
this is now and
intelligent people
[places things]
realize now and then
is never ever
[always]

JANEisnotplain 1.20.09

on the inauguration of america’s first black president

i miss

i miss making her smile, dancing on her toes, sharing a meal. i miss late night journies, hot showers together. i miss holding her until she fell asleep, waking up to her music. i miss her touch, feeling safe in her arms. i miss her voice, her eyes, the way she made me feel. i miss her hands, her laugh, her stomach, her stubbornness. i miss the way my heart would pound when she walked in the room. i miss being in love with my best friend.

there is something about her that makes the spaces of my heart seem insufficient.
but she must know this: that i am neither gullible nor blind.
i know what she did, and i know who she did it with.
so what really is there to miss?

JANEisnotplain 1.09

self portrait #13

self portrait # 13

i am i and no one else.
i am the sum of atoms and
a sum of seconds. i cannot
transfer completely to someone else.

i string words with care
and pisceanly realize that
things can be communicated in
other more complete ways.

i have depth of beauty in form and ideas.
i am not a highheelstitbitch.
i wear flats among dandelions
and sometimes that is all.

art saves me from science. and
science saves me from art.

i have all the right potentials.
i just need an equal to
close circles in me.


JANEisnotplain 12.26.08

for the want ad project

mathematics

mathematics


mathematics is considered a dry discipline
depleted of life. devoid of emotion.
alive in weird scientific minds.
guarded by chaos.

mathematics is a higher order
of clarity and holy reference
a swirl of countable channels
for primitive line segments to
manifest in didactic series
of misguided well intentioned
left-handed-ness.

but mathematics really is a
beautiful means of calculating
abstract concepts infinite-ly
intense non-sense on the
relationship binding slope
of tangent line to the area
below the curve to the unseen
notion of sums overflowing
with wanting.

mathematics is simply beautifully complex


JANEisnotplain 12.8.08

November 4, 2008

November 4, 2008

obama. hopefulness. past present future. a humbling beginning. emotional light-headedness. a tingling reality. mania. vibrance, resonance, reciprocity. the un-calm of a generation. limitless.

JANEisnotplain 11.08

"BLACK AND WHITE"

this project explores the idea of color and the emotions that colors evoke. combining the theory of chromotherapy and text, this project is intended to push the audiences boundaries and comfort zones utilizing only two very minimal colors.

please share


JANEisnotplain october08




"BLACK & WHITE"

VALEDICTION

Valediction

dear r:

there are mornings i dive deep beneath my consciousness
and hammer until solid at things that i will say when
i catch you unguarded and surrendering to my presence
[ as i surrendered to you].

hypothetically, this moment is ours
but if i approach you from inside
[as you approached me]
with my hands around your neck
[as yours were around mine]
and lean in to allow the light to reflect from
my eyes will reflect in yours.
cheek bones in slow contact,
brushing you with trepidation
[“so close, but how?”]

valediction.

i have nothing to say.
i have only to remind you
that you were never up to me.


copyright JANEisnotplain 10.08

gut rehab

gut rehab



this moment was coming.

tearing everything in half
was necessary. [love] things spilled
onto the floor. marbles fell and
scattered, rolling out of the door.

the pots and pans clanged,
papers shuffled, years built
collapsed.

i tried to super glue, nail,
hammer, cement and screw.

i will sandpaper, shim,
and paint until nothing
original is recognizable
anymore.


copyright JANEisnotplain 9.08

on trying to live after R.

Reflections

Reflections

i am trying to understand how your heart operates. it is a remarkable machine, hurriedly competing over scarce resources, including, but not limited to, love by way of lust.

you are devoid of power, devoid of control, snatching it wherever you find it unguarded. and this stands as a barrier to your ability to participate in love.

you live life with a suspect heart that is manifested in a dramaturgic analysis of love within love.

and you can come, and come, and come to the same conclusions as i:

this is no longer [about] love.
this is not [about] humanity.

this is anthropology.
this is science.

the solution to your love[less] life is:

a redemption of the infrastructure of your heart as it is operating from finite resources, including but not limited to physically and emotionally violent men.

it is volcanic, an eruption for disaster.
it has turned your heart blue, then olive, gray, orange, then cold, steel.

my obsession with your machination proved to be detrimental to my survival, you see. i found little truth on which to live in your mechanical metal heart and so died. but not before seeing a reflection in the mirror of its hardened walls.

yes. you, and i, we were real. but my time as your tortured heart has become exhausted, outmoded.

and as you read the cold disconnect of my words, i am sure that you feel me in a way that you never felt me before. you won’t feel me again.

copyright JANEisnotplain 9.08

self portrait #15: post r

self portrait #15: post r

vital signs


pulse: irregular; uneven

pressure: heavy ; onerous

respirations: shallow; choking

saturation: depleted; empty

temperature: hot; cold



physical exam

head: unclear; with evidence of trauma

eyes: crying; unfocused

heart: bruised; some parts absent

lungs: black; unclean

abdomen: ulcerated; raw

extremities: amputated; immobile

neurologic: short circuited


assessment/impression

septic

decaying

dying

copyright JANEisnotplain 9.08

CUT

cut

my eyes are red from the inside out from the way my brain is crying
they are lodged like a smoke clogged traffic jam in my throat
i can feel the poison, invisible as it is, creep into my lungs
a cold monoxide of frozen blue/black preying on the warmth of heart

i wish i could cremate my heart and jump start it with the fuel of ashes
blow the black flakes everywhere and make it snow with fire

i want to escape these veins, these millions of capillaries which
soak my essence like a sponge, a vampire of foaming hexagons that
hold hostage my blood, the compassion that is my greatest pain

i want it out, this feel[th]ing someone has left in me
maybe just another sigh, another cough just to
blow my soul out like a forest through the eye of a needle

i am distracted throughout the day
i keep forgetting that i am supposed to talk, walk
and let the electricity run courses through my circuits
turn off, turn around, or turn the corner

i only wanted to fill my spaces with birds and trees,
flowers and butterflies that would sing me lullabies
and cradle me like the only baby doll in the world

instead i am coming close to roaming where the
periods mingle with the question marks

she cut me.
how could she?
how could she cut me?
out.

copyright JANEisnotplain 8.28.08

on the end of what i thought was true.

dear r: 8.16.08

8.16.08


dear r:

it was just the two of us
our sex and our despair
all day (accompanied by
a few other pleasures, sins).

photographs and shots, just
bits of pretending to be okay
for moments at a time.

there was dancing and singing
there was food and music but
mostly, there were lots of things
under the surface that cannot
be explained or simplified
under the influence of anything
more than a certain pain that
mostly goes unspoken because
words are just too simple.

JANEisnotplain 8.16.08

on not making love, i know its over.

monophyletic evolution

love + natural selection = evolution




life. domain. kingdom.
phylum. class. order.


p2 + 2 p q + q2 = 1


family. genus. species.
hybrid. variety. Aberration.




JANEisnotplain 7.08

where p is the frequency of dominant
where q is the frequency of recessive

self portrait # 18

self portrait # 18




how do [we]/i define [our] my
SELF?


[ i .] as a perversion of sub-consciousness


[ii.] as an abstract discovery of continuity implicitly plicate with complexity


[iii.] as a metamorphosis forthcoming







JANEisnotplain 6.21.08

self portrait #17

self portrait #17



i don’t consider [my] Self
to be [any] Thing or Person
in partic[u]le [ar] other than
[my]Self




yet here i am in my
physical reality relying
on this existence of
all matter in order to
continue to matter
no matter the person
or partic[u]le [ar]
[con] sequence
my matter will never
be destroyed but rather
assimilated into infinite
energy embraced by
matter [less] external consciousness




i am
where time and space are
just monitors of infinity
[no] Thing[s] exists singly
but as particles of
awareness and [Be]ing that
transcends making [Be]lieve






in [my] Self





JANEisnotplain 6.08

ohm's law

ohm’s law



I = V/R

current, flow, tide, now , existing, present, [oc]curence= voltage, potential energy, conceiveable ability, aptitude, excitement, possiblity/ resistance, opposition, reluctance, antipathy, antagonism


P = V * I

power, influence, force, authority, passion, pleasure, love, will = voltage, potential energy, conceivable, ability, aptitude, excitement, possibility * current, flow, tide, now, existing, present,[oc]currence



JANEisnotplain 5.08

music & poetry

music and poetry


sometimes music is like hard poetry
obscure, obfuscating, obsidian
[un]familiar sounds composing

it sounds like god more
than like anything real

dante did not inspire me
but mahler chases dante
down the rabbit hole
like a slipping fugitive
running
tripping
shrieking
pursued by a maniacal
swarm of flutes and
one first violin
a devilish tritone
that pulls at your
heart explodes to
escape their chests
and lose the pulsing blast
of trombone on skin
low brass battling

sometimes poetry is like difficult music
straightened up with lofty analysis
adagietto, rondo, fugue

a symphonic poem of
harmonic tape
euphoric gauze
two bright cymbals
suspending in a paradise
the artist can
sometimes almost understand

sometimes music and poetry
are like [in] love


JANEisnotplain 5.10.08

dear r 5.3.08

5.3.08

dear r,

i imagine escaping like this
with laughter sealed in the hollow of your collar bone
and fingers on the friction slope of your lips
cursive kept under your tongue like a love letter

i want a rush of consonants and vowels
and footsteps i cant retrace

but instead i have
notebooks to balance with percentages
schedules to show up for on time
miles to cover without a breath
things to stumble under

i smile
i talk effervescence
but i still cant find enough cotton
to fill this small hole
which whistles with sadness when i exhale

i don’t remember how to live without you
but i am, i am, i am


JANEisnotplain 5.08



r's response

dear e,

i've imagined escaping like this
with laughter echoing through empty halls
and fingers on instruments that no one hears
my tongue moving with every solitary song

i want a rush of ideas and dreams
recorded to visit again and again

and now i have
schedules to show up for on time
routines to settle into
fresh air to breathe
balconies to relax on

i smile
i sing effervescence
i weave the rainbow of my dreams
around my aching heart
to heal the lonely spaces

i still live within you
and you are in me, in me, in me

photo by brian wiles

self portrait # 16

self portrait # 16

dear editor:

please accept this submission
not because [i]t is good but
because i am afraid of not being what they predicted
because i am a sparrow trying to fit in amongst lions
because i am more of a semi-colon than a period
because my poems are blown more like opaque glass than broken pearls
because i am a finger-painting they have created
because last night velazquez spoke to me in the present progressive
and told me to patch the roof with risk and intention
please accept this submission because
god help me, i have tried




JANEisnotplain 5.08