rileyineden

If we found ourselves in Eden, how would we serve our current reservations poetic justice?

[disease]

NO HARD FEELINGS. | 2024 RAPHAËL VICENZI // @mydeadpony [collage on paper | 297 x 420 mm.]

[disease]

SILENT SERVANT

HYPNOSIS IN THE MODERN AGE: V2 | 2016 HARM IN HAND | 2018

[hwhwgwhnwnwbwbwg-deactivated202]

Andrei Tarkovsky

[rileyineden]

Mellow in the morning,

Beloved, I would stay —

but the bluest football player

aids in your decay.

My pen is black as fright, 

a diamond, in my bones —

but, still, you’re in my bedroom;

all is lunar all alone. 

The Bible is my blunt,

God’s love, my nicotine — 

the mania will cause your crumble,

releasing doves you’ve never seen. 

[rileyineden]

untitled

It’s the way my stomach bends in,

and my skin glistens 

across a dark lip —

bare flesh, the hair on my chest.

A body made for a man and unfaithful cavities, 

neurons for a being more divine.

Why does my chest cave in? 

Why is there salt on my cheeks…

peculiar elixir —

the eyes are bluely peculiar 

shining with luminescent texture.

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

“As if you were on fire from within. The moon lives in the lining of your skin.”

– Pablo Neruda

[gnossienne]

Czesław Miłosz, “Ars Poetica?”

[rileyineden]

Poetry brings poets together, I think. It is just another way to make the experience of being a human being and an artist much more beautiful. The process of making art should never be isolating. What I have learned in my experience as an artist is that yes, it is important to be in tune with your own values and visions. But nothing is ever truly original; in that fact, there is a contained admiration we have in other people who commit there lives to their craft. It is the job of the modern poet to address a gap in the culture and fill it (that gap is the exclusion of our soul that is filled through the process of creation).

We have gotten to a point in the culture where all art is the product of some past exigence or inspiration. As the culture progresses, however, it is becoming a lot easier for people to find the common lining in our art. And that is a beautiful and optimistic prospect to contemplate and even fulfill. It is our obligation to love other people and revel in their beauty. The same logic applies to animals, our relationship with our mind and our bodies, and Nature.

Life is so exquisite and poetry helps us realize this holistically. Open the door, and talk to the strangers who enter it, but remember to protect your heart. Stay kind. Always. Even if your heart breaks.

[rileyineden]

"With the death of rumination is the birth of a lie"; December 24, 2023; Shot on a CANON DIGITAL REBEL XTi

Visited Centralia on Christmas Eve. The air there felt rather surreal, and in the winter the gloom was especially overwhelming. How often do we find ourselves as observers of lingering destruction? I have never been a citizen of this town, and have no ties to it. Yet I found myself captured by the grief of a presence I could not identify. The hole was not of a metaphysical nature nor an existential one --- more of an evangelical buzzing sought by the death of old faith. It is a residence I cannot go back to, so instead I travel miles on the road to experience the weight of places like these. I observed the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary and attempted to place the situate this sight in the context of my own tranquility. Of course the Assumption does not exist for me. People feel peace within its walls during Sunday services, and their faith has nothing to do with me. I know it is possible for me to return back to this way of living, but I doubt it would be good for my soul. Always better as the onlooker, especially with matters that have to do with God. Because I experience God not as humanized force but as the mold of Splendor --- the continuous state of love-binding: the air I breathe, the people I love, the art I create and absorb, the words I put together, the trees in my gaze, the winter sun in my periphery. God is unity, not conformity. God is solitude, not isolation.