Obsideo Corpus

I can't build a card tower worth a shit, but I sure do like trying.

2010-04-03T21:21:00.001-07:00

ive been to the hills and I've seen some shallows of the valley. They all have a similar sound.
Every experience notes a notion of imperfection
Whether my next tumble proves an uphill march or a bottomless stumble
one thing im quite sure is that I'll become more than what i was before.

true experiences are remembered
more often, it's the experiences that deem us ruined that we remember well.

I've built more than I realize. decisions have become playing cards on coffee tables
sometimes i build them high
they fall, but I can try once again.
What truly amazes me,
is when i simply stop building with the intent of a higher structure
and start laying the cards down as memories of failure and of success.
because they all hold the same shape.

because some win the great lottery
and some teach me that my pride was only a facade.

the lottery means nothing compared to the experiences i can share.
at least for me.
it doesn't matter if i never taught a soul.
and it surely doesn't matter if i become a legend.

what matters to me, is hearing how you build your cards
and what you did when they starting tumbling down.
i like knowing how you felt when the cut you deep
and I'm curious sometimes, you never really noticed.

The lottery is just an end.
and i want to keep going.

untitled a while ago, maybe not too long ago...

2010-03-31T17:19:00.000-07:00

I can't remember the last time my heart rested in trust.

I can't recall the last time i found a face like yours that i couldn't re-imagine, even in my dreams

I forget the last time beauty called my name.

God is calling beauty, You are beauty, I am beauty.

I don't remember the last time I felt confident in the swift, shifting evening.

Storms are heavy. Winds are high. Anchors in the sea, keep me close to home.

I recommend breathing to any of those who doubt, to any of those who lose hope,
time is an illusion to those who count, count it as if it mattered whether they kept it, whether they forgot it. To us, time is meaningless if we live where we are.

I will dream, with, or without sleep.

2010-03-29T19:03:00.000-07:00

This night time silence.

The night is a passionate silent coma.
It's trepidation forces me to do something, anything.

It's intoxication
well, I can't truly feel or
understand it's lacking in my
[non]productive life.

But somehow it champions
my thoughts,
and it tills my
mind, a slow somber sheet.

Running home to twilight
is often times a robbery to me.

When daytime exists, I
am a prisoner inside
modern American
Concentration Camps.

No gas chambers here,
rather, anxiety and lies,
'To survive... to survive..."

A passionate coma. Alive but asleep.
Such a tempting idea,
but without any reward.
ONLY PEACE...
or so i think.

The light clouds above appear to me,
to be the exhaust of a thousand smokers
from the previous nighttime charades.

I'll go this way,
and you somehow always
go that way.
Where is home? And
where is our unity?!

Where do I sleep in our
innocent bed
so that I can actually
sleep righteously tonight.

This damn fear,
is a demon, it's so alive.

And considerate love,
my dearest sweetness,
wake me up!
wake up the unsound mind
and drown it's terse, violent
and rampant mindlessness.

This is the only time (WE) have.
I fear it will only last seconds when I am gone
and when I can finally understand:
that life is a dance with God.

::I wrote this a couple months ago, while holding a job that lasted till the late late hours of the night, where when i got home, the sun was beginning to rise. I found myself rich with emotion, mostly melancholy and fatigued. But I knew something was beyond my emotions, i knew i must wake up.::

2009-12-18T12:58:00.001-08:00

It has been a long time. A long time since I have posted anything to this blog. Probably because I was partially motivated, but mostly because I suffer from complacency so often.

I am in Ohio for the short winter break and will be returning January 4th. Before coming up to Ohio, I was extremely excited. Thrilled to be a little closer to some outdoor escape, something that I feel Florida lacks(at least in Orlando). By now, I have all I need. Since I am trapped in an empty house with no car to go anywhere, my days have become mundane, quiet. Yet, I am failing still somehow. One idea I had when coming up here was to be confident in my solitude. I enjoy being by myself, well I am learning still, but even so, it is something I tend to escape to quite often. If rather, I was amidst the snowy wood, walking my way to some unknown destination, then maybe my journey for solitude in the purest form could be considered.

So I will make the most of where I am. I will not be defeated.
To quote Rilke:

"The Spontaneous Song no longer will suffice.
I must venture now with all my strength to
make visible for those outside what barely
happens in a premonition.-"

Something must change in my life. At least my succumbing to sadness and hopelessness.

I will write, even if it is only for reasons of making it through the day, God grant me endurance to word my pains, my exhilarations, my experiences.

Another quote from Rilke reads:

"Do not write love-poems; avoid at first those forms that are too facile and commonplace: they are the most difficult, for it takes a great, fully matured power to give something of your own where good and excellent traditions come to mind in quantity. Therefore save yourself from these general themes and seek those which your own everyday life offers you; describe your sorrows and desires, passing thought and the belief in some sort of beauty - describe all these with loving, quiet, humble sincerity, and use, to express yourself, the things of your environment, the images from your dreams, and the objects of your memory."

below, a picture of myself. A self-portrait, taken in a mirror.

where is it?

confidere
Brian

Inspired.

2009-03-23T14:32:00.001-07:00

Over the past 25 minutes, and mostly the past 2 months, I have become more and more inspired, specifically the past 25 minutes.

To create.

Many things. I won't give them all away in detail, only the structure of what they are, more so that I remember, so that I can keep up with my ideas.

1. Book Pieces ( such as etchings into pages... http://blaahg.files.wordpress.com/2008/12/081ff49e1.jpg )

2. 3-4 Big pieces. Canvas, Metal, Anything. (Mediums)

3. Stiching, Threading, Sewing into canvas, scenes, pictures, with many forms of material, mixed media.

4. Large Sketches, like 5ft by 5ft. (Charcoal, Pen, Other. Maybe Watercolor fill... full bodies?)

5. Paintings. More Paintings.

6. Installations involving, but not limited to, Picture Frames and Film, Negatives.

7. Bullet Casing Art.

8. ...

going to add to this later.

check it.

Alio Rememdium

2009-03-21T08:26:00.000-07:00

"Personal Medicine"

The afternoon is calling.
It cares nothing of yesterday's plunging pain;
it no longer exists.

Triumph beats in the future;
victory waits in the present;
the past is history, a memory.

Can you call me closer?
Can I act on my own behalf?
Can i just be.

Forget.
Gather every ounce of strength you can imagine.
Place it on the table now.
In front of you rest your head.
Rest your head child and you will live well.

For Now...

2009-03-18T09:48:00.000-07:00

Written some 2 months ago or so -

"I seem to be: more interested in the imaginary now. Love that was, the love existent in [only] our dreams, before we ourselves existed. I am more interested in a love that [doesn't] fail, in a love that whispers, "I'll do anything for you." I have tasted crumbs of those blessings, only individual drops of rain. I lay at a crossroad: To remain alone with the broken loved, in reality, wishing and hoping it fulfills beyond my lacking understanding, or, I can close my eyes forever and hope eternity catches my flailing body, and for eternity, I hope it will love me, without asking why I came.

The weaving looms of life include:
being loved; being forgotten;
knowing much; knowing nothing;
breathing deep; barely breathing;
climbing high; laying low;
attempting to record the
golden spindles of life
into a book the depth
of what you can remember,
from the time you are
born, to the day you
wake again.

They are calling form the solid planes,
the open gates know no seal
simply be alive, simply live and be."

more sketches on their way...

Thor Von Thunderbeats

2009-03-12T10:56:00.001-07:00

Thor Von Thunderbeats : Sean Dey - Sepia Ink

A Series of Sketches

2009-03-10T23:00:00.000-07:00

this one of Anthony Boulier, done in pen.

A portrait done in thin ink pen/marker

My friend Alyx Ryan, in pencil

Andy Hull of Manchester Orchestra, pencil.

Alright,
and here,
for you,
a series of sketches...

done in pen, pencil and ink marker

Ok, Work In Process, Promise.

2009-03-10T14:36:00.000-07:00

Alright,

Before you all give up on me,
I must let you know that I have been working on things,
finishing and in the process of many works.

However, I haven't scanned them in yet, my scanner is a jerk.

So.
By... tomorrow night i will have up at least 7 pieces.

Promise.

and i will leave today with a writing.

Four Chairs

A foreign land, two railings,
wooden,
warm cut...
Pine lodged behind.
Unlocked inside,
four chairs of equal height.
From five till night,
they're occupied...
while gentle friends
read each others minds,
until they laugh and call upon
the cork to pop and pour out wine.
From five till night,
four chairs of equal height,
hollow inside with pine lodged behind...
a foreign land.
They sit alone,
fastened till midnight,
filled with joy.
And with love combined,
all is right.

Much More Than I Thought

2009-03-05T16:44:00.000-08:00

Well, It's 7:39, and I'm uploading my first post of the day, which is a sketch, which only means I have one more left to go for the day. I have something in mind, I only hope I'll follow through with it.

This sketch was done last night around 5am, i wasn't very tired. And last night at 5am, is technically today, so here is my post:

-paper; pen, marker, pastel

The dog's name is Bella, my friend Sonny's red nose pitbull.

enjoy.

Inceptum Ex Umbra

2009-03-04T13:22:00.000-08:00

"Beginning From Shadows"

This post marks the beginning of a discipline.
It is also the start of a blog, where I will, with the help of accountability, post once a day, a sketch, painting, writing or other work of expression/art.

If a sketch, there will be two.
If a painting, one. (Im sure these will be less than sketches, since canvas is more expensive than paper, but i will press myself to paint more, painting on whatever medium i can find.)

Not much else to say, but to begin...

written a week ago... this does not count as my post for the day:

The future cannot rest on the works of your present day, boy.
Then, only a delayed present the future would be;
and not an unknown mystery,
at all;
You must believe in this current moment now,
for it's sake, not your own.
Do not fear, for the future will slide towards your feet without delay.
You only need to be alive for when it does.