Digital wayfarer
The trails of my creations, once appearing so pristine — solitary tunnels through neural wilderness — now with the confusion of age have become nearly untrackable: so godawful strewn as they are, similar to the pseudorandom disorganization of lazy tendrils of spidersilk laid by a black widow on a spidersized dose of some tryptamine — though with considerably more mania, perhaps necessitating an inversion of the metaphorical image such that empty space becomes trails laid expanding outward beyond the horizon, and the tiny delicate web along with the bulbous intoxicated spinster the only remaining untouched aetheric real estate in the whole universe.
With the receding of ignorance comes disillusionment, the shock of pseudo-fullness of comprehension that ought to satisfy feels brittle to heft: empty as some desiccated gourd stuffed with hard beads to make a musical shaker that is one's only possession when one is currently dying of thirst in the middle of endless desert, slowly crawling towards miraged hope of oasis under the scorching sun of egoic stupidity — burning, self-incinerating with inability to perceive the wriggling, writhing mass of humanity as one single, unbelievable, spacetime-traveling interdimensional macrobe — dying of stubbornness and fear to glimpse it en vivo, willing to perish rather than face the ugly beauty of Truth, turning back from the psychic summit of the same to make instead more incomprehensible trails through her foothills inspired by still more incomprehensible and fleeting revelations, desperately manufacturing business in some insane enterprise of deforestation rather than just cease all the pomp and circumstance and melt into the infinite stillness and merge with the underlying source of the ability to make trails in the first place.
Grove of pixels
_______________
I awoke first to place,
then to time, then despair,
then to joy once again,
yet found nothing there
I could cling to.
This grove — where the vines should have been
has nothing but pixel-strands half-filling in
all the details I am
so desperate to know
in a photo too-hazy
as of quanta half-present,
as of blueprints half-building
a permanent home.
So I roam, so I rave,
explore — and recoil,
discard — and yet save
a few precious images
digit'ly made
in a grove of my carving,
in harsh pixels laid.
words and images by @d-pendcreated for HIVE on Jan. 7th, 2020.
This is a hard poetry mate... not everyone will value at this level. You need to create a context around your expression. So that entry users get in, slowly... and then get to know you. You are doing crazy great with your videos... so, I would suggest doing that introduction with "these" there too... slightly... not the full thing.
dcity user to dcity user...
The digital world has changed the world for the artist. We can create so much faster but then it feels at times that our work becomes more disposable.
I suppose the value is in the doing and the feeling.
Brilliant poem, Daniel:)
Heavy head lifting .🙃.
Hi d-pend,
Visit curiehive.com or join the Curie Discord community to learn more.
even don't know which part I like more... Both are close to me, but the 1st is more powerful. Very bright word choice and very though-provoking.
your art is like word meditation - it lets go deep inside of yourself. Thank you for sharing!!