WANT AD #7

want ad #7

i am attracted to the curves, the

straight line. i am attracted to the

flawed soul, gentle touch. i like

unfolding, subtle beings, intention.

you are still searching, still wearing

useless attire, still willing to lay

everything out there, still seeking

whatever “it”  is  meaning

JANEisnotplain 6.5.11

for the want ad project

BREATHE, LIFE

photo by: P. Sinclair

it isn’t the breaths we count,

nor is it the moon or the stars

sinking into the sand, or the

sun rising again and again.

if you close your eyes and

let the cool air surround you,

the trees will whisper wind,

lovers will love, dogs will

bark, and energy will flow.

if you close your eyes and

just let yourself fall freely

of chains and of thought,

and just simply allow one’s

self to just be, you will live.

JANEisnotplain 2.5.11 

 

i want

0330am : i want

i want to be missed, without being known.// i want someone who will take my mind and/intertwine it with theirs;/ who will stare into my eyes/ until we reach infinite moments.//

i want [finger]painting at 4am/ and nostalgic butterflies coated in musk.// i want meaningful love making /in the midst of the crowd..// i want my breath to be devoured.//

i want to taste the trees/ the bark.// i want someone to listen and/ someone to show me/what is not visible.// i want to explore [  ]/ them.// us.// show me [  ]  am real/ and exist.//

i want to be released.//  i want my mind to be let free.// i want to feel everything.// fingers on [ ] spine.// i want bites on my neck.// i want warmth and care.// i want beautiful minds.

JANEisnotplain 2.5.11

for the want ad project

0330am thankful

thankful:

for hot baths and the / hot water heaters that / reach boiling points and/ soak into my skin in a /most painfully pleasant /way. // for pencils and erasers/ but more so for pens and / the fact that ink does not  /erase so it forces me to / accept what i write even /if it’s honest, raw or ugly.// for acceptance from and / for the people in my life/ who take me exactly as/ i am and swallow me /whole.//  for sleep and for the / [ ] that help[s] me sleep/the coffee that wakes me/up on nights i cannot sleep.// for changes in me and others in the world for/ new opportunities and the/ never ending row of doors waiting/ to be opened by me.//

JANEisnotplain 0330 am 1.28.11

gematria

gematria

some might think i am purposefully odd

because i sometimes assign num[b]er[s]ic 

concepts to letters. can i read your

digits? some nights i cant sleep. like

words are keeping me awake tonight.

all kinds of random words behaving

like cognizant quantum part[s]icles

and dancing outside of linear time.

they seem pointless yet interrelated.

death and depth are separated by one

phoneme. like tide and time. so close.

yet we pray for depth and whisper about

death. how would it feel? the texture of

words on my fingers. it seems too risky

to put one’s linguistic identity into an

arithmetic lexicon. its cliché. like

reincarnated rainbows transformed into

polygot integers that can only attempt

to describe chromatic iridescence. our

language is unstable. this is certain.

merging is now colliding. presence is now

absence. has a mathematical shift occurred

in linguistic process? could it be that this
gematria is a little bit correct?

some might think that i am irregular.

but it is not me that is falling apart.

i am actually connecting the dots one two

together. building [ ] mathematically.

JANEisnotplain 12.9.10

art is sex

art is sex

this is foreplay. arousal stimulated by

flirtation of ideas and an exchange of

vulnerabilities in the language of pre-

verbal space.

i don’t have to speak again. i don’t

need to entertain at this moment. i

am intoxicated with the pitch, tone,

and composition of your rhythm.

violets tremble at the edge of glass

unbuttoning tongues and uncorking

breaths. lips wrap in throbbing lyrics.

fire alarms may sound.

don’t run. this is not a cliff it is a

platform. it is a very intellectually

intimate fucking of [  ] senses. it is

the vernacular over easy.

[ ] art is sex. it has volume and velocity.

like a sweet and sugary cereal on sunday.

it is surprising just how little control we

have over something so elemental to us.

these vagabond rendezvous are like

secrets between silences. casualties

between catastrophes. i relish these

strange moments of [   ].

i am uncoiled between temptation and

trouble. i wonder, darling, if rain turns

to thunder or if, there was lightening in

the middle of the day could you stand it?

you kiss [  ] incrementally and unfold

soft affirmations as if still willing to

lay all mistakes at shaking feet and

outstretched charge.

to my left is a teacup. to my right is a

crucifix. ahead are tangled branches.

my fingers follow lines and form words

your jeans are nice. i like your [h]ips.

JANEisnotplain 12.10

sunrise

sunrise

safer than depth, an untouched morning

glances into quiet azure space actively

passively formed from pristine edges.

subject lines align with flower cusps

pregnant with the last night’s dew[y]

composure of young daylight.

a rinsed creed lifts projected daylight

onto a crowd of actors from a prior play;

an unnatural selection gathering fiction.

the tripod lasts beyond the photograph

but in the lens you can hear my memory

gaze, surrender and frame the sunrise.

JANEisnotplain 10.30.10
after Q Studios Halloween

FALL

fall lies within the final sentence of the year’s paragraph

like the smoldering ash of a semicolon, or the flick of a pen.

one leaf in the mounds of leaves burns by the roadside like

the many letters of a lost lover, set ablaze by a waning sun.

if winter is the season of solitude then fall must therefore be

the lonliness that precedes it as in a season of proper longing,

wind blown confessions, silent penance and spring’s regrets.

fall is but punctuation in a beautifully tragic form as its days

grow shorter and collars instinctively turn themselves up toward

the brilliance of an orange sky abandoned now by sun sweetened

kisses and warm embraces.

the charred remains of summer with its forgotten words and

guilty pleasures turn now like colors. now shifting,now drifting,

now depleting themselves of affection until reaching the crisp

translucency of winter.

JANEisnotplain 10.17.10

THEORY #2...inprogress

dear unexpected:

dear unexpected lover:

good morning beautiful. would you hold my hand?
spin me around on an emotional rollercoaster? drag
my face into the pavement, let my body swing into
anything and everything. break my bones and squeeze
me. twist and turn the way your emotions do. make
me scared. make me cry. you fucking bitch. then
leave me. nauseated. the ride is over. the ride is over.
oh thank god. this fucking ride is over.

do you wanna go again?

love,                                          JANEisnotplain 6.10

unlocking JANE

unlocking Jane

lately the words in my head

have been very loud. banging

sometimes without any rhythm.

sometimes to my pulse, my

lust. but i am all in my [head].

my words are constantly chattering.

often they awaken me to my Self

having a heated conversation with

Self answering my own questions

about colors, conundrums, and the

uselessness of  sentence structure.

individually they are each only

words. tiny, miniscule capsules

of expressions that i re-use, re-

think, re-cycle, re-call, re-order,

into thoughts, breaths, and ideas.

compressed into columns  and

constructs on notion bound pages.

they want to build new stories,

these words. they come at me.

all with hidden agendas, thoughts,

wants,and needs. they are tortured,

enunciated, played out, stacked up

but still trying most desperately to

conjugate a new sentence or to

complete a smile.

i use words. not legs to seduce.  hard

bound shapely words like [anticipation].

to expose doors and open windows wide

to confess that this is what i want is my

words to make you feel my thoughts my

touch. i am more than black ink on white

paper.

i carry my words close as if i may

need them any moment, day ,hour,

minute, second, if we all fall down.

and i draw the delusional curtains and

sing private lullabies under the guise of

infinite and the definition of  struggle.

i hope no one notices that. i am these

words. raw. chaotic. complex. kinetic.

superfluous. scribbled. even beautiful.

sometimes running on from  sentences

and metaphors. slight in frame. distorted

in look they pour out undefined. unlabled.


JANEisnotplain 5.15.10 

happy birthday: for maria

happy birthday



another year closes on the world
like an hour, like a second and
something momentous WILL occur
with the stroke of the hour hand
like reaching the pinnacle of
a sand dune in the sahara
or….



For maria andersson on her 28th birthday
8.14.08

gardening

gardening

down on one knee i

pull up handfuls of

wet grass.   i push

it and squeeze it be

-tween my fingers

in the hope that a

surprise will emerge

perhaps a secret from

a colorful cosmos now

buried deep beneath

my feet pleading to be

set free to find the sun-

shine and the spring

down on one knee i

am telling myself that

it’s a rather slippery

slope this searching

sort of thing but i dig

on through the winter

scars toward a fragile

newness.

JANEisnotplain  4.10.10

self portrait # 37: perspective

 

photo also JANEisnotplain

this is what it is like to be alone.

squinting fingers hang on near ledges

uncertainty stares up at me like old times

nothing whispers over fallen shoulders

i feel liberated and possible.

JANEisnotplain 2.15.10

1500 1.31.10 60608

lists

lists

i keep a laundry list

of things to be done

before i am the person

that i want to be.

things like eat less,

drink more water,

become a vegetarian,

pay my taxes on time,

donate a pint of blood,

finish the crossword,

cure [stupidity] cancer

write something profound.

i wonder if you

can tell that i am

working on myself

but not for you?

i keep a laundry list

of things most people

worry about but with

only a few things

crossed off.

when i reach the bottom

i will have only one

more task to fulfill.

leave.

JANEisnotplain 1.10

snowflakes

snowflakes


there are snowflakes as big as my heart and
they catch as globs in angry jealous winds
naked souls dancing through tree tops quivering
frozen in soft kisses around cold little feet
currently vulnerable waiting for warm hands
to defrost my fragile chest gently sneaking
through my window there is beauty. there is
wonder. there is faith. there are snowflakes.

JANEisnotplain

1.2.10 am

driving insanity until dawn

0745am 2010: driving insanity until dawn

i am at a borderline.// my personality meets me halfway.// but i am still Myself.//

i am at that /place where thoughts grow/ragged/and bending light/shifts through

words creating spaces.//

if i were to leave this space.// if i were to disappear into .//  broken atmospheres/

of the past/ of the future/ of the present/ crossing.// between/blurred boundaries

and textured contours?//

space is an illusion of/ depth and movement.// and my left foot is racing my right.// in horizontal timed rhymes/but i am still Myself.// standing with this disorder/ in order.//

i am an intersection/of zeros and ones/ at a border a/ cross between/ my life lines and sky lines.// but i am still Myself.//i am driving insanity/ toward the sunrise.//  released.//

JANEisnotplain

begun on 12/28/09, finished 1/1/10 at 0745am on carroll st.

BWiles Photography: Artist Bio

Brian Wiles is a photographer whose work brings that which is not readily visible, to the surface.  His camera is the lens with which he investigates the effects of light and line on an otherwise ordinary landscape. Rather than simply record his environment, Brian interprets it by crafting a unique interface with the viewer through his mastery of composition and perspective.  His technique incorporates the very definition of light as the essential condition of vision. The result is a beautifully unexpected palate of texture and rhythm intimately framed in an innovative perception that invites the viewer to actively participate and appreciate.

Brian’s work has been featured in …

for an upcoming west town gallery showing

JANEisnotplain 12/09

revelation at 0400am

revelation

4am or one hour before the
beginning of the end of time
and i feel a sad dream falling
slowly through dimly lit trees like
petals of white papers with black
words touching innocent sheets
on the line in the shadows between
truth and deception, good and bad
melting into an aged rain that
bathes the grass at dawn with
the spit of shallow weeds and
medicated repetition as the
so[u]l[e]s of my shoes become the
legs of my jeans and the day/i
surface[s] gasping for air and light

5am another inch of time creeps out
of fragments of broken monuments to
step forward into fragile enlightenment
trembling under fresh green skies
orange horizons fall eternally backward
into silver ribbons of sun awake

6am sweep the patio clean,
lie to the earth, swallow the spaces
stop chasing citrus thoughts with
bittersweet aftertastes and just
gather up all the blue lemons,
add happiness, stir, and
make some lemonade.

copyright JANEisnotplain 7.09

---from the 0330am series