and in the spaces between

fairlane1329.jpgThis is an oldie, but I haven’t had much time as of late. I thought of this post because Susan, and I were recently discussing Jackson Pollock, and his fiery, drunken death.

Loved his art, not too fond of the dying.

Stretch out your arms let me see you here in this void without the shadows in my eyes how does it end- how does it end -does it -does it -where are we going -where are we going- i’m not sure of anything anymore this world -this world- how does it end- how does it end when the stories are not enough anymore when the stories make no sense anymore how does it end- how can we go on without looking around why do we do these things who do we trust anymore can you look in your mirror or is yours like mine shattered into a thousand pieces here- here- here without sound… sound- there is no sound- there is no sound -there is no..

but what does it matter- the consequences what are they- what does it matter- do you even care or like me are you worn down- a sliver among tall trees that blot out the sunlight- in this void- here in this void- this place we call home- do you like me wonder where does it end -where does it end- i am not preaching to you because my words are shattered into a thousand pieces here on this floor and she is gone and she is gone and i am left here wondering like you where does it end and why doesn’t someone stand up and make their voice heard- are you waiting for me- as I- wait for you

and in the spaces between is that where we find each other -the places in between where there is no sound- there is no sound- there is no … and i am mute but not deaf but there is no sound- no sound -no sound- falling away we are- we are falling away the gravity that holds us- binds us- is broken and they would have us bow down before them and worship the gods in their eyes- there is no sound- there is no sound- there is nothing in their eyes- they are dead- and they want us all to die- here- in their eyes- they are dead -they are dead and you worship at their feet- you worship- at their feet- do you- do you -do you- do you understand why -don’t you understand- can’t you see that their eyes are dead they are all dead and they want you to die with them- they will consume you -they will consume you -they will consume the children here are lost and we are unable to show them the way because their is no sound here- there is no sound- the birds fly but they do not sing there is no sound- there is no way out- there is a way out but i am not ready- i am not ready and if we were to stand would it be alone or do the others see -are they waiting too do they know- are they able to see that their eyes are dead their hearts are dead they are empty and they want us to worship at their feet -worship their feet don’t look into their eyes for they are dead -their faces are a wasteland of wars and greed and they have nothing left so worship at their feet- the gods of this earth are all dead and you bow down in their shadows hearing no voice from their mouths because there is no sound- there is no sound- their sins will not wash away but you must worship them you are theirs you belong to them and they are all dead and they will consume you- eat you alive for they are all dead and the emptiness is hungry- it craves the light that remains in this world- for they are all dead -the gods are dead and they have nothing left to offer but the mud from their feet- so bow -supplicate your self and do not look into their eyes -their nothing

and the screams race across the landscape like silent trains one after the other muted and hollow for their is no sound- there is no sound -and this wasteland these empty cars racing across the edge of the world are going nowhere and time is- and escape is- forever present- it is here among their faces the faces of the dead things and where does it end- where does it end- it cannot end like this- the way you dreamed as a child the way you thought it would turn out before the world closed your eyes and shut off the voices of those around you- is that what you wanted in your dreams as a youth but where did we lose our way where did it all go wrong and can we go back or do we want to go back or is it forward from here is it onward Christian soldier die until the end burn yourself in our furnace but do not look into our eyes for we are dead there is no life in our faces we are scattered with the litter of our sins and we are all dead

and you ask what is it all for -what is it all for- but there is no answer and there is only the void and the din of silence for there is no sound here- there is no sound here- there is no sound here- there is no sound- there…no sound- no sound- no sound- there is no sound


~ by fairlane on January 12, 2008.

18 Responses to “and in the spaces between”

  1. Smartass or not, you always make sense.

    I’m more facetious in real life but it doesn’t come across well online! ; (

    Great stream of thought, certainly woke me up this AM!

  2. For some reason, I can never see the pictures in your posts when I’m at work. I don’t know why. I don’t know how they would change the effect of the post, but it was very interesting, just reading the words. I’m no dream/stream interpreter, but this seems related to your other post on religion in some ways.

    Btw, I read the first ten chapters of Mere Christianity last night in an effort to find some answers for you. You really piqued my interest with that post, especially since I had recently read C. S. Lewis’ book. I hope to break it down to a simple argument for Christianity. It really was amazing how many of your questions he at least attempted to answer.

  3. Fairlane, you are indeed a great writer. A good writer would do funny or deep thought or art well. You do these and other things just as well as if they were your “specialty.”

    It’s always a pleasure to read your work…

    The scientifically impossible I do right away
    The spiritually miraculous takes a bit longer

  4. That’s weird you brought up the picture thing Reasic. I was just wondering about that. I have a lot of pictures, obviously I love art, and sometimes I wonder if they make the page difficult to load or if they show up. If they don’t of course it makes the blog look shitty.

    If anyone else is having this problem please let me know.

    By the way, the pictures are Jackson Pollock prints. He was kind of a “stream of consciousness” painter.

    Clap & Coffee- This exercise is very interesting. I used to encourage the kids I worked with to try it. You just close your eyes and type. Your mind wants to resist, to correct the spelling, the grammar etc, but you just press on despite the objections.

    It’s a great way to empty your mind.

    *WARNING* Average Wingnuts should never attempt this exercise as your minds are already empty, and it could potentially be dangerous:)

  5. I wish that I had just a pinch of your talent to write as such. I’ve taken a look at your site in both IE7 and firefox and everything looks fine from my view.
    Also Thanks for visiting my site and adding me to your Blog roll I shall do the same. I have two sites the other is Let’s Talk About It and shall will add you to this one as well. Great writing!

  6. Thanks Larry for checking on my pictures and the compliment. I was just wondering because one of my friends remarked that he never knew I had a picture in my header until recently. It never showed up on his browser for some reason, but it shows up on mine. Of course, the pictures are in my cache.

    And thanks for the link, I’ll add your other blog as well.

  7. “he never knew I had a picture in my header until recently”

    You might want to consider changing the picture from jpg to maybe gif. It would appear that you don’t have it as an image in wordpress, so that would be my first move before changing to gif.

  8. I have it on WordPress, but for whatever reason, like I said, it wasn’t displaying on his browser.

    I’ve tried it on three different browsers myself and it works, but you never know.

    I appreciate the assistance.

  9. Geez, Fairlane, between you and Pollock (RIP, dear visionary), I have tears in my eyes.

  10. hey fairlane

    one day you will be hanging int he Museum of Modern Art…. not that kind of hanging…

  11. I don’t know what to say, Fairlane…you really moved me. That was an incredible post.

  12. fairlane, I’m very honored to have been mentioned twice in html no less! – and this last time for a chance remark about Jackson Pollock. Thinking about the magnificent work of great artists certainly contributes to my sense of humility and relative place in the ‘real’ world. Once I dreamed I fell into one of my own paintings and there was nothing there to hold on to – what had been enjoyable suddenly became a nightmare.
    I’m impressed with your writing in this piece and it’s with a sense of trepidation that I’ll mention being reminded of another favorite great artist – James Joyce.
    Be well.

  13. Damn, you can make me laugh til I cry. And other times I just cry.

    I can see the pictures just fine.

  14. I take my son to see a huge 30 ft Pollock at Munson William Proctor. He just points at it and starts talking.
    There is a lot of shit going on in his work.
    I love art.

  15. Scarlet- If it makes you feel any better, when I wrote that I think I did too.

    DCNY- Me in the MMoA? Really?

    I could handle that, I think.

    ME- I don’t know what the proper procedure is, so, I’ll just say thank you.

    Susan- Actually it is a form of “Stream of Consciousness.”

    I’ll take the Joyce analogy (He didn’t die in a fiery crash did he?)

    Wait, he died from a stomach ulcer. Great, another fucking drunk!

    PoP- I’ve done my share of crying these last couple of years.

    It’s not “sissy” to admit that, is it?

    Dave- Without art, what is there? Politics?

  16. You’re special.

  17. You, Spartacus, FranIAm, I know I’m forgetting others… all the talent and creativity just in my circle of blogpals makes me feel like a one-trick pony. All I got is the ranting and the anger, with a little history and public policy thrown in. You lot are poets and artists. You knock me out with this stuff.

  18. Yikes, channeling a bit of the Proust tinged with whatever the fuck enzymes and proteins were floating around your skull. Fuck man, that’s good. Just make sure when the Fairlane coffee table book comes out, you have YOUR art interspersed within your text.

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