Night of Stones

The night is my element. I reach down to earth and grass and stone. My secret life is this life untouched. Each time I climb this hill and light a fire stars gather round like smoldering flowers. There’s an insistence in the wind. A voice. Sometimes it is almost palpable. Then drifts off into the…

Savanna Winds

There is nothing here today. The snow man chatters in the sun as if it were winter, while acacia thorns close their leaves, and baobabs their empty tendrils send up in arms of wind; dry, dry the day, the closed horizon splayed across the desert floor like some wild zebra whose thirst has brought him to the brink -…

White Doves

He’s still sitting in that cabin all alone. The clown mask betrayed him to a terror not his own. The boards upon the dusty floor are sacred now. Tears streaming down have faded now. White chalk and the red glaze of rodeo days are all but memory now. They told him that morning. His straw pink hat fell to ground.…

Hawks & Love

She remains fixed in that dream. Her solidity is the darkness against the light. Her fierceness the deep golden agate in her eyes. Standing there ahead of me, beckoning. She calls: “I’m waiting for you lover. Do not tarry long.” She had a way about her, a movement in her thighs, a gesture – that…

The Streets Were Never Better

“Children as young as 13 years old have been  tried as adults and sentenced to die in prison…” – equal justice initiative That old bastard Thomas Hobbes said it all. Nasty. Brutish. Short. That’s Life in a nutshell. Yet, we seem to think the universe owes us, that we are some kind of miracle of…

the girl in the red sneakers

the girl in the red sneakers with the mountain lion on her leash walked passed me this morning smiling Was this my dream or yours? – Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited    

What does the eye see?

I stand upon this hill. What does the eye see? The curve between earth and sky: the clouds slow movement, pacing; the trees green ceiling, swaying; the roof of the world, falling… What does it mean to be in this magnificence? – Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from…

Cloud Dancer

It’s as if she were a cloud dancer – a temple growing from her thoughts balancing heaven, earth and stars; beyond twilight’s violent orange – mauve violets arrange themselves, as watcher’s waken in the last light to her simple crossing of the evening sky. – Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material…

Posmodern Ennui

Have we come to this? Exhaustion. Ennui as stagecraft: the calculated cigarette, the slinky hair, the lissome length of hand stretched out, the crossed knees laid bare and grazing: Is this the nouveau riche, the voided minds, the world of fashion in black tones of sighs? Is she portraying a tepid inversion – Michelangelo’s Night – the puckered lips,…

Oscar Wilde: Quote of the Day!

“Thinking is the most unhealthy thing in the world, and people die of it just as they die of any other disease. Fortunately…  thought is not catching. Our splendid physique as a people is entirely due to our national stupidity. I only hope we shall be able to keep this great historic bulwark of our…

Alina Popa – Cruel Thoughts

“A diseased world from which time has been severed is a suffocating breathless world of absolute instance, of infinitesimal nowness where emergence equals eternity and events don’t happen, they just are, frozen in a snapshot of overlapping actualized potentials. It is a deaf vibrancy, a non-acoustic oscillation of matter-strings, a traumatic sensorium, an inhuman regime.…

Providence

We think we are so modern, happily progressive, when underneath this atheistic myth we’ve seen that lonely shadow, Providence, insert itself into our networks, our transparencies… We’ve become so apathetic, distant from each other, atomized and indifferent to the slave script that binds us; like children on a leash, we’re caged taut wires: puppets of desires not…

Technoscience and Expressionism

Originally posted on Fractal Ontology:
Alfred Muller — Plaza Juarez, Mexico City 2006 Technology and Control The technocrat is the natural friend of the dictator—computers and dictatorship; but the revolutionary lives in the gap which separates technical progress from social totality, and inscribed there his dream of permanent revolution. This dream, therefore, is itself action,…

On Reading Petrarch’s ‘Secretum’

“And men go about to wonder at the heights of the mountains, and the mighty waves of the sea, and the wide sweep of rivers, and the circuit of the ocean, and the revolution of the stars, but themselves they consider not.” – Petrarch, from the Secretrum Why should I forgive or pity you? You,…

The Sorrowing Flute

Sometimes those     West Texas      tumble-weed    still haunt me:  green blown      whorls outstripping the world –      the wind,    the dust,     the white chalk river-beds; there is a place I know,       a       darkening world   where certain      childhood    memories live, like a covey      of quail    on a winter’s eve      squabbling, chattering      across the desert inscapes; cooing   and…

Hauntology

“For it must be cried out…” – Jaques Derrida, Specters of Marx History returns like an old cartoon. One remembers the canned laughs, but not the sick jokes; they seem perverse to fall between us like fragile thoughts: postcards from the past strewn across our lives, like stories for the blind written only in braille – one…

Summer’s Queen

Painting by Tracy J. Anjulo: The Summer Queen * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Summer’s Queen “Green, green in the ear Is all we care to hear…” – May…

Winter’s Queen

- Photo Montage Above: Janneke Ramaker-Smeenk * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Winter’s Queen “Winter flies, and now rises…” “Bruma fugit, et iam sugit” – Anon It came to that. The Winter’s Queen – Her virgin eyes silver light exposed Like a tale told by…

Galatea’s Revenge

I see the crack the movement in the stone sudden exposure the flesh, the flesh a finger a squinting eye it’s a woman a goddess both at my touch her foot escapes the rigidness my knees give way i blush my skin is pink the rain upon my face the scent of myrtle i turn back he turns to stone…

The Obscenity of Things

“Our curse is that we are brought up ultra-close against [things], that everything is immediately realised, both things and ourselves. And this too-real world is obscene.” – Jean Baudrillard on Régis Debray  Sometimes it is just that, the world too much with us and against; these things that carve us from each other, make distinctions…

Cost of Awareness

“So I’m only interested in what I can articulate with the things given me as confrontation. I can’t worry about what it costs me.”       - Robert Creely, An Interview                what does it cost, this art; our daily bread, the slow pain… evolving over morning; the little labors of kindness we are…

Cities of the Plain

The neon forests rise up around me, crystal walls fold inward toward us mazing through deserted cities of the plain… Wandering round this dazed light I wonder what they were thinking; the soft glow of night brings back old memories of space that haunt me. These twisted surfaces of metal and flesh, the frozen ocean of…

My Son the Robot

1. The package came today. I am excited. We unwrapped the box together. She sat back but could not move, it was so life like; she looked at me, said: “I do not want it, put it back into its box and shove it.” But… but… I knew there was no persuading her; yet, I held her…

Portrait of a Metal Angel

Among the dust and swirls of a Galactic afternoon you have the stage deploy itself – until it shifts to you – with “I have contemplated all our nights and days, been persuaded by your listless gaze to arrange our lives so that you might invent the impossible”; five black holes in a dark core, burnt ice that taps the universal spigot…

The Poetry of the 21st Century

I’m trying to invent a poetry for the 21st Century… experimental, but still attuned to the echoes of all those ancient poetic traditions that have informed our best work and should be carried over into anything truly new. I contemplate sort of posthuman Milton with Lovecraftian cosmism mixed in for special effects… I’ve actually been thinking…

The Immortalist

What is this strange request? To stretch out time until eternity is elongated; a dark horizon, unbounded by the fragile breaks of this mortality? Why seek this artificial core, the sated flesh, the wings that light the ancient dark; why move like angels in a wood, glowbrite upon the shore, the fated guests who walk among…

Robot Fables

Her eyes are so blank and lifeless. She spends all day at home staring at the mirror. The children are running wild, their circuits amperage depleted. While she sits there across from me, stirring her tea and cream, as if to say: “I’m bored, take me out shopping.” I sit here in my metal casement listening, taking in…

Synthetic Dreams

She came to me last night. She touched me. I felt her cold synthetic hands. Silky and smooth. She kissed me. I kissed her. Like lovers do. I thought it a bit too obtuse, this lifelike motion: the motion of her head, her hand, her arm, the rotation in the eyes that dazzled me; and, how shall…

A Tale of India: the Naga Stones…

A Tale of India: the Naga Stones…       rivermeshed slate gray       pools slip into   ruby eyed    serpent       dancers   enfolding coiled       undulating green       steps           descending         into       stone   – Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly…

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