mountain man




    Naoya Hatakeyama

  • bits


    how often you go to sleep, now
    and do you see
    do you see
    just a ceiling
    be irrational
    be irrational

    (it’s just me, darling)

    oh, quit catchin’ up
    a garden grows in season
    well we find time don’t we
    to call on
    and be irrational
    be irrational

  • MAN, i was frantic

    MAN, i was frantic

    i can see from here
    we’re discontent

    have a little fear
    tell yourself the things you need to hear

    you know, you shouldn’t stay the same
    backtrack if you need to, just don’t remain

    man, it’s been a real long summer


    i, who MADE

    bleeding into lakes
    God, a prairie makes
    fertile flush
    rivers gush
    and soon a mountain rises
    bleeding into lakes

  • where do they go?

    little luck
    say you’re lucky


    say you’re lost
    but you love
    enough to keep clean

  • the curtain

    illusion, please comfort me,
    satisfy everything,
    i can live peacefully
    if you curtain the window
    that i had flung carelessly
    on the day i was sure
    that i had seen everything
    plainly in front of me
    heaven and hell were divided
    but there i saw certainty
    standing across the street
    crossing was heresy
    ‘if only’, i told myself,
    ‘i hadn’t seen anything.
    the curtain i’d drawn
    were a wall to stay stuck between’
    sure, i’d lose purpose
    and with it gain apathy
    but apposed to uncertainty
    purposeless living is
    sort of like being free
    where heaven and hell
    are divided by you and me

  • forget me not

    needs, a garden of needs
    insecurities; the eaters
    live with me among my weeds
    or redefine my features

    all i am is here with me
    all my deeds and futures
    forget me not i rose to plead
    uproot my paths and futures

  • LA


    flick another cigarette out of your window
    like an ornament
    the city, a prince,
    detests and pretends and sighs
    /this is what i am now isn’t it/


    god, this is what i am now isn’t it
    a boulevardier,
    just another star in the sky,
    i, this great city,
    am a cactus planted in the median of an interstate


    LA, a miracle
    an oasis
    a paradise lost
    and rediscovered
    LA, i need you
    and now i feel lost
    and undiscovered

    photography by Sallie Harrison
  • CHRIST / brother

    CHRIST / Christmas Songs

    b r o t h e r

    in your new shoes
    practice singing songs
    at the piano bench
    she was with you
    in her new shoes
    and she sang along

    Father, my dear
    blessings in a song
    as they call your name
    beckoning you near
    keep them in your arms

    and as i write a poem
    i hear you sing
    i hear you laugh
    so i write it down
    in my new shoes
    in my own time
    and if you hear me now

    sing her a song
    give Him your prayer
    rest in His arms

    blessings ………. no. 1
    rest in my arms ………. no, 2
    brother ………. no. 3

  • by the strand

    sitting on the roof when i got to thinking
    that places grow with me and make my meaning
    a bear cub in the rough

    carving out my frame, a sturdy vessel
    my place is where you tame the waves i wrestle
    when blessings aren’t enough

  • CHRIST / rest in my arms

    CHRIST / Christmas Songs

    r e s t i n m y a r m s

    when the mood’s been set and your eyes
    slowly drift toward rest beside
    a candle flicks for a while
    and it says,
    you’re a masterpiece

    blessings ………. no. 1
    rest in my arms ………. no, 2
    brother ………. no. 3

  • icarus

    love me when i’m weak
    talk to me or something

    being is like breathing, and i’m heaving through the rhymes
    reading written feelings didn’t satisfy my mind

    and as i come undone
    i’ve forgotten loving

    lifeless definitions are the forrest i can’t pass
    trees i built my life upon, i watch as they collapse


    oh, icarus; my blood
    do you carry something

  • CHRIST / blessings

    CHRIST / Christmas Songs

    b l e s s i n g s

    Father, my dear,
    blessings in a song
    while we call your name
    beckoning you near
    keep us in your arms

    blessings ………. no. 1
    rest in my arms ………. no. 2
    brother ………. no. 3

  • tumultuary

    designed direction
    summer hills now overgrown with introspection
    defeating my heart

    i hear birds of May sing whispers of the season
    while she’s cold at night from winters wind of freezin’

    these days behind

    photo by Andrew Dalrymple pomeriggio sulle colline
  • ATTA SOL i

    what of nature then?
    if life borne of death let mystery end
    needles surround me and i am undone and yet called to begin
    what life have i yet to receive?

    GIF from the film Solaris by Andrei Tarkovsky

  • MA FLORA i

    truth finds me now,
    as a thread,
    unthreading seams i’d sewn
    the needle is a pine
    and if i am nature
    and nature within me
    i’d pray as i unravel
    that truth console my need

    GIF from the film Solaris by Andrei Tarkovsky
  • inasmuch i am speechless

    in each beginning
    gravity invites
    to dwell amongst the sand and stars
    to become like one another
    and pull at each of the opposites

    it was Abram, directed and removed
    at a wall in a desert
    where history had yet been proved
    to have been more than a line
    and like gravity,
    Abram now Abraham
    forsaken to climb

    once again a beginning

    Photos by John R. Pepper Inhabited Deserts
  • decidedly yours

    true, unsaid little virtues
    what common things i’ve yet to grasp
    mysteries, survive me
    what lies below a lake
    do you gasp
    from fathom of discovery
    while lungs fill with water,
    best do my breathing
    where the air is decidedly yours

    photo by Andrew Dalrymple OCEANOGRAPHY_02
  • importance over penance under forgiveness over ignorance under importance

    faith without reason is a miserable choice
    and the breath of a deity is a need to rejoice

    but why are you so sullen now?
    there’s a God who forgives
    our need to feel confident
    is what vanity is

    what blessing hath he left us though?
    the dealings of our lives are aptly called an ebb and flow

    archaic things that give us faith
    just look at love it gives us grace

    but, god, oh god, you love defending sacrilege
    while culture becomes foreign becomes sinful makes you lack courage

    god, you’re so defensive you’re so tender
    where honor dies you cast yourself

    but you are not a martyr
    you’re no savior
    just let Him be Himself

    pride, immortal poison,
    and we drink it
    to refrain from doubt
    or has He told us death is dead and therefor we should live without

    Print by Naoya Hatakeyama LIMEWORKS
  • blacksnow in Spring

    when beetles wake from days of winter caving
    and the needles on those pines are all but changing
    it’s long undone

    honey, it’s me you saw bleeding with the river
    the snow that melts and reels me into shivers
    i’m redefined

    photo by Juan Manuel Castro Prieto PORTUGAL RISING FROM THE ASHES
  • the noise was terrible

    it’s suddenly dark

    it’s awfully dark
    if light was a sound it was loud

    covering ears

    to deafen the fears
    encompassing me like a cloud

  • ‘little hope’

    ‘little hope’
    these are lovely words,
    what fathers sing

    and a father exposed
    on calvary

  • wire

    the tide that had shift
    a poem adrift
    icarus give us a sign

    a freediving psalm
    that screams carry-on
    the pressure that mounts underneath


    if light is a gift and freedom’s within
    i am a man who contends
    and in truth i am weary
    from these sudden uneasy demands

    it’s climbing like water and brine
    like waves i froth at the mouth
    for the shore with the pine

  • mast


    what wonderful things
    a garden can bring
    the mast that would rise like a pine

    don’t reel yourself in
    but harness the wind
    your strength is a thing to behold

  • an antique desk that represents moving on

    it’s not even cold in here
    it’s bereavement to a widow fourth over
    something placid and refined
    my body aches like the wood in the antique desk she lent to me
    before he died
    does she know it’s here
    baking in the sun
    where the arguments of petty rivalries outlast the peace of pestilence

  • what a beautiful refrain

    so let’s take it all apart
    you figured it was at the start
    i spent several years behind the wake
    it was rough for just a namesake

    aaaaaaaaand OH!
    we’re past the snow
    my chest is covered

    i don’t mean to pull alarms
    it was richer then to play a part
    so i’ll tell you where the cadence ends
    watch a feather fallin’ in the wind

    dooooooooon’t GO!
    the door ain’t closed
    it’s undiscovered

    my commentary is not forever
    this temporary bleeding measure
    i’ll tell you where this passage goes

    so shadow my history
    Spring is a mystery

    what a beautiful refrain

  • the lent between ocean and shore

    i’ve got enough for you
    i’ve got it silenced
    i’m by the water

    remember that lying ahead?
    you passed instead
    onto the water

    i was scatterin’
    i was breaking apart
    and when the color came at once i ran into the heart

    there’s no belaborin’

    into the water

  • Kristof

    i am not the person that other people seem to think
    and i have hated strangers just because they took it out on me
    i’m bitter and i’m selfish like a different kind of vanity
    i’ll sit with you for hours but it hurts and takes it out of me
    indifference is a sickness, it’s not worth it, but i soak it up
    bitterness addictions got me through the years of breaking up
    we are equal strangers
    i could ask you what you’re going through
    language is a difference
    but it seems more like a point of view
    i can’t hold to something
    that feels fragile
    and that isn’t mine
    these are my foundations
    they were built on a more simple time
    i am not your hero, i’m a person, i can’t chalk it up
    i can’t find a place for love and if i can’t i fear i’ll give it up

  • receive me, brothers

    receive me, brothers

    don’t turn away

    i am not like the others

    i can share your name

    it’s winter, man
    where’m i gonna run to?
    it’s winter, man
    where’m i gonna run to?
    where’m i gonna run to?

    can’t you see my name?
    can’t you see my name, man?

    receive me, brothers

    can’t you see my face

    receive me, brothers

    tell me what it takes

    can’t you hear me prayin’?
    can’t you hear me prayin’?

    i can feel the power

    i feel the power so i run to receive

    i feel the power and i came to receive

    can’t you hear me prayin’?

    then the Lord said
    i can hear you prayin’
    i can hear you prayin’

  • i’ve got to be it’s got to be

    i was living in the past
    a place i knew i could climb the dash

    a long day was comfort to
    the memories i still pursue

    so there’s nothing left to say
    but here i am so for once i’ll pray

    my mind is numb so i’ll feel it out
    if this ends at all it will be in doubt

    i’ve got a moment and it’s stuck with me
    the time i lost my life on both my knees

    the cotton sheets were black and grey
    i pressed my nose in the normal way

    the sound i heard was my mothers voice
    she said it’s time to make the choice

    i saw it then as clear as now
    my life was His by final vow

    and i’ll say it again in another way
    by four years old i gave my life away

    what life could i at that time hold
    by five i learned what might unfold

    my neighbor died in her own backyard
    her face lay flat and her mouth ajar

    i called her name but she just stayed still
    like she chose this place by her own freewill

    an ambulance came and i went inside
    i didn’t know if i should stay or hide

    her bones are now twenty-one years old
    she’s in a better place or so i’m told

    so life is sweet until you read the script
    where death and life have meanings flipped

    five years passed like a tidal wave
    i’d say it pulled me in and taught me grace

    music took ahold of me
    the radio’s better bliss and the 403

    it was a sound i felt inside my bones
    i’d pretend to sleep while i wore headphones

    but i never learned to play my dads guitar
    i always more preferred to read the bars

    but i think it came off as a lack of drive
    if the idea was yours then it wasn’t mine

    that was the beginning of my favorite piece
    i started writing verse on music sheets

    by sixteen years i was far too young
    to start to say my mood was numb

    life had then become a choice
    like my mother said when i heard her voice

    i heard one time you can lose your taste
    and the nerves inside will be replaced

    like a willful decline as the years unfold
    til’ the things you taste are from what you’re told

    but at some point you just can’t afford
    to learn by the risk of your own accord

    that’s when apathy rears it’s head
    if i had known the truth i’d have been misled

    so you say to seek relief
    and dive headfirst into unbelief

    and now i host these diatribes
    while you listen close and say ‘i get this guy’

    so why is it i’m so distraught
    i sold my life and someone bought

    the trade was fair but i had no say
    neither on that Winter night or any other day

    by twenty-two i was feeling fine
    if i’m not His then at least i’m mine

    i started to wish i could speak aloud
    but i’m not sure i’d make them proud

    the music turned my arts to praise
    showing me it wasn’t just a phase

    but still i felt misunderstood
    i loved myself like no one could

    but why do i cry when i hear a song
    how do i say there’s nothing wrong

    it’s not enough to say it’s nice
    there’s something there and it’s so concise

    as if the curtain stopped and dropped just for
    some thing we knew we could not ignore

    but we do and it hit me like the wave at ten
    that if He won’t speak then He’ll be just Him

    i’m twenty-five and the strange thing is
    that i’m pretty much who i was when i started this

    if the years go by it will just be time
    or intended hills that i’ll have to climb

    the purity of belief is that it ages well
    and the more you trust then the less you fail

    by no means will i give up truth
    yet honesty is a retreat to youth

    so what point then should i restore
    the time has passed since being four

    death admits to being blind
    and when we all jump ship we leave the past behind

    so i’ve got to be an honest man
    it’s got to be just me and Him

  • you can make anything of it

    you can make anything of it

    if it wasn’t on time
    then it would’ve been your proof
    i had a blessing on mind
    well it wasn’t in the fruit

    now i apologize
    for the final time
    i can’t carry
    while you see it through

    and i’m standing on the matches now
    tell me will you pass it off
    or is the yarn a little tired now?

    we’ve done it again!

    time’s s’posed to lift it up!

    the light’s not life
    when it’s in your hands
    who could follow through
    with these demands?

    so i just look away!
    so i try to be brave.

    if you could have known







    long to pass

    does that make us the same?
    do i carry your name?

    man, you should have known

    i couldn’t pick it up

  • the woods

    i, the woods


    justify your love
    or tell us that we’re something
    the woods oppressin’ darkness that felt forever last
    a fever rest forgiveness that had dwelt before it passed
    too soon

    forgiveness is the flood
    to start again or something
    where streams and meadows spilt into the days i had amassed
    memories and lessons my hands were made to grasp

    OH, your features are not mine
    yet, i carry what is something
    the sun breaks through the branches where the leaves create contrast
    and i’ll bolster my own burdens as the prophet to my past

  • the lakes

    i, the lakes

    reading the glass
    if it isn’t i’m past
    drowning the fields, i’ll settle

    it’s got to be the farmers gone
    we said it won’t be very long
    we watered the plants
    we gave it a chance
    so what’s left to anticipate?

    and it can’t be very long
    no, it can’t be very long

    if it’s on the water i can see it

    we’re holding onto branches now
    who’s giving second chances now?

    i broke through the glass
    i’m swimming too fast
    i’ve got no way to regulate

    above the water i can see it

  • simsalabim

    i was living like a dream
    sometime between now and two thousand seventeen

    i’d come back to where it slipped
    bedside blues and a final script

    i took the pen and i wrote a song
    about a innocent man who got it wrong

    a grievance borne while he was young
    that killed his soul and held his tongue

    a little less human with each release
    made him someones conversation piece

    so i studied Frued like it was my whole life
    and i’ll tell you now i could see his eyes

    his blue retinas like the pull of waves
    then the air was clear and i lost my phase

    someone should find a way to say
    that the ocean blue is more often grey

    and i swear i’m never like this but it got this way
    i felt my grasp on life quickly slip away

    my favorite thing was no longer mine
    and sure, i could chalk it up to a bad design

    a chance at life if is to die on knees
    God knows i live my life to please

    and if it’s utter fascination too
    i’d like to hear a new point of view

    i lost some hope in writing this
    if the words are faint and meaning missed

    there’s no room for me between the lines
    but there’s more to this than if it rhymes

    and yes i’m full of concept dreams
    where no one asks what all this means

  • this wonderful design _ 3

    _ no. 3
    this wonderful design

    shining like history
    the sun is a mystery
    i couldn’t hide /

    / this wonderful design /

    if you should know,
    i’m a faithful guy
    oh, but the lengths /
    i’ve gone to stay afraid

    time to be brave!

  • i’ve got you on my mind, giver _ 2

    _ no. 2
    i’ve got you on my mind, giver

    i’ve got you inside
    i made sure to keep you close
    i’ve got a heavy mind
    i can’t tell you where it goes

    i said it’s blue and red
    said i’ve been living like a fool might
    don’t tell me how to fix it up
    if it’s chrome then it’ll float
    if it’s chrome then it’ll float

    alright, you’ve put your money up
    and it’s on another fortnight

    opt for an open road
    Lord knows
    Lord knows

    hindsight, is indestructible
    when you’re dealing with a birthright
    my mind’s an open road
    Lord knows
    Lord knows

    call it now, yeah, you were right
    but you’ve got me on your A-team

    you’ve been dealing black and white, giver
    tell me where the blessing flows
    tell me where the blessing flows

  • godspeed, you animals! _ 1

    _ no. 1
    godspeed, you animals!

    _all of humanity praise
    our bones are wet
    our hearts are full
    our blood is invariably yours

    perfect in power
    perfect in power
    perfect in power
    perfect in power
    perfect in power

    all thy works shall praise thy name

    _all bones dried out
    all hearts cried out
    all blood is in thy name

    _God of every wonder
    God of love and beauty
    we long to be more like thee

    only thou art Holy

    LORD of your creation
    giver of salvation
    what beautiful love and purity

  • そして私は走った

    at once i ran

    1 – パス
    all my love is within reach
    all my paths and futures
    i told death come swim with me
    or drown on the shore in disbelief
    2 – 決定
    nothing in the space between
    there was nothing to fear, nothing to doubt
    death alone could swim with me
    where there’s nothing to fear, nothing to doubt
    3 – 死/人生
    i asked the devil what do you see
    all his paths and futures
    he jumped into the river
    and at once i ran to the space between

    FOR GAP by Rich Stapleton
    TOTTORI by Hideaki Hamada
    DISTANT DRUMS by Hideaki Hamada
    TOTTORI by Hideaki Hamada

  • memory gospel


    ₁ I can’t begin to explain the first story that brought me here, into the middle of the desert, looking at stars.
    ₂ I can’t speak as clearly anymore, there’s something holding my tongue and I feel like it’s taken control ever since.
    ₃ I speak in dissuasions as a permanent advocate to the devil.
    ₄ I’m untrusting and slowly numbing against the heat of the sun I’m stuck under.
    ₅ Who built this desert anyway?
    ₆ The sun is my least favorite star in that manner.
    ₇ The closest star to me but somehow the least recognizable.
    ₈ Unlike the distant stars, its heat is a feeling. And the feeling is failing.
    ₉ To me it feels like the nagging red blink of a smoke detector.

    I’m told the sun makes all things beautiful.



    ₁₀ There’s a certain hour of each day where you can just, and only just, look at it.
    ₁₁ So I tried.
    ₁₂ I looked right at the sun, right at it, right when its shine was its least intense.

    ₁₃ I didn’t see anything but I lost everything.
    ₁₄ I lost my memory, I lost my sight, I lost hold of reason. I felt everything slip out of my hands and into place. From that moment all I could do was feel.
    ₁₅ What they don’t tell you about coming to your senses is that you lose grip of reason.
    The imprint on my eyelids was enough to deduce what had happened.
    ₁₆ I didn’t dare think.
    ₁₇ When you look at the sun for clarity you get what you came for.
    A black dot blur eclipsing the world.


    ₁ Now here is my nagging thought.
    ₂ You can forget your memories. Actively. But you can’t erase the history that created them. ₃ History is kept alive and forgotten collectively. ₄ That’s not to say that all is written in stone. In my opinion that adage is nearsighted. History repeats itself is a better adage. ₅ As opposed to history, memory is selective. Because of this we can all collectively forget and with a little time added we can erase history’s conscious existence.
    ₆ I think that by existing you become apart of a contract that dictates the course of history as an observer and a bearer. I need to think, and sometimes escape the collective, to keep history alive.

    ₇ To get rid of the weight of this contract I go out into the desert to look at the stars.


  • how do i know you

    on the path to Damascus
    at the dimming of the day
    Paul laid down his armament
    and God walked his way

    what a failure of reason
    what a reasonable choice
    to walk in a direction
    but to stifle your voice

    was Paul not a martyr
    nor did he murder a few
    what service or sacrament
    i coud sit in a pew

    to abolish the firmament
    to get rid of my crimes
    i won’t let go of reason
    but i’ve laid down in kind

    what a bitter infusion
    of logic and love
    you are earnest in affection
    but you’re still stuck above

    and on the path to Damascus
    Paul fell at once blind
    and i can see the reflection
    that’s how we’re designed


  • Second of May

    on the second of May i didn’t see anyway
    we would make it here

    but i wrote you a song that said it wouldn’t be long
    while i bled in fear

    oh, for all i knew was once in the center
    on walls and old bridges where we walked together
    i could see

    but you made my life blind, you left me stranded in time
    in a foreign place

    my home was long gone and my night became dawn
    and that had a weight

    that song that i wrote had felt a bit dimmer
    i made a new song where you fought the winter
    while you freeze

    you remind me today that this was His way;
    not to feel the shame

    and if we’d do it again you wouldn’t amend;
    it would be the same

    oh, and you knew that we’d be together
    that in the cold storm you could face the weather
    just for me

  • this is easy for me to say

    i was reading in a car
    catching words by each streetlight
    the words were spaced too far apart
    i nearly quit when i had a thought
    what order of letters got me here
    my primal form is no Shakespeare
    and i know you think this is nothing new
    to think about life as more than something to do
    but if it’s just words then i feel free to say
    that i don’t really care about my birthday
    so if i could act on any thought
    would my faith be less distraught
    i gave it a chance and i found the end
    there’s no life in lifeless ends

    if this car stopped i could read my book
    and catch the words at one time
    by now the metaphor is getting old
    life is change and that’s not so bold
    i feel the culmination of grief in my young life
    and a raging ache behind each blue eye
    an anonymous person says, ‘are you okay?’
    i said i’m fine and that was true
    but i wish there was more that i could do
    so why don’t i do it you could say
    but first i should eat before i rot away

    God is good and that’s all great
    but i miss his voice if that’s okay

  • some strange sounds

    i figured out what’s happening
    there’s a foreign place
    inside my veins
    it’s reaching out
    to grab me
    and whether i need it isn’t up to me
    it’s deep inside
    like some small thing
    a needy voice
    that grabs me

    so when my mind freezes, i’m listening
    you shouldn’t be afraid



  • filaments

    ▋ LESSER_filament_no1

    1993 FALL
    God’s gift to me was making me left-handed. It’s not a gift, really. Not in the traditional sense. Plenty of people have gifts. It seems damn near everyone you know has something they do, something that makes them them. I had a friend, said he’d never do anything valuable in his life. Said he’d never done it and can’t see him doin’ it. Last Spring he called and told me he was moving to Kings County. Said he won the lotto. Opened a bagel shop down on third with a view of the Creek. Called it Creekside Bagels. I asked him once what it is I do and he told me I’m left-handed and you don’t see that much. I’m not sure he meant it. But it stuck with me.

  • P E O P L E – imitating strangers

    P E O P L E –


    there was a hole in the middle
    and the crowd filtered through it
    i told myself not to worry
    there was a hole in the middle
    and the strangers all knew it
    i tell myself not to worry

    i didn’t want seem unknown
    is this something we need to know?
    why does it seem like everyone knows?
    is this something i need to know?
    by my own choice i’ll be the one who goes
    i tell myself not to worry

    Print by Issei Suda Kamakura Meigetsuin
  • P E O P L E – let me feel it out
    P  E  O  P  L  E —
    let me feel it out

    here they let us read until the light goes out here they let us read until the light goes out there’ll never be enough time be enough time here they let us read until the light goes out let me figure it out i can figure it out EVERYTHING, EVERYTHING, EVERYTHING is in the light i can figure it out i can figure it out

    Print by Issei Suda Akita Prefecture
  • -poems for Tanya

    P A R T  N O. III


    “hey, roll up your sle[eves], it’s time to go”
    oh wow you know me
    [that] unsubtle g[litter] in your eye,
    of knowing of an unknown why
    – ‘babe’- , you’re tough as nails, what got me on y[our] mind?
    i chose once not to see
    figuratively, you figured out the me i don’t k[now]


    Print by Naoya Hatakeyama Lime Works

  • -poems for Tanya

    P A R T  N O. II

    ‘magnolia seed’

    what is hidden to [you]; complete beauty, – ‘magnolia [see]d’ – my ancient rose, you are rhapsody in [orange,] a steady flicker, fi[reside], given [to] the shadows you lend your little [light]


    Print by Franco Fontana Landscapes
  • -poems for Tanya

    P A R T  N O. 1

    ‘little we’

    [the]se words i chose sparingly, and meaningful – ‘little we’ – togetherness, stillness, s[implicit]y with dreams a[flame] [in]credible as these the night is calm, by [you] indefinitely


    Print by Joel Meyerowitz Cape Light
  • bystanders pt. 2

    the city gives up composition at night, lights swelling, like moisture on a cloth sky, words like comets burn thick air, she has a heartbeat; 2am, 5am, a blue hue shadow on the leaves, if you see a field, you have to run through it, nobody is a bystander

    Print by Paul Fusco Robert Kennedy Funeral Train
  • apartments

    i have some weakness, some weakness for you in a soft a peaceful light you draw shadows, some shadows on walls built by sun and solid life

    and i can feel you here, while everyone walks we choose to stay we can leave this place, while building our home along the way

    Print by Tatiana Dyatlik Untitled
  • my wilderness in simplicity

    somewhere in the troposphere there is a gate i want to pass through, in this place everyone wanders because nothing is familiar, we become anonymous, not hidden, anonymous, nameless,

    imagine pressing your cheek against a mirror with an expectation of what you will see but instead you see someone else, something totally and completely apart from you, but somehow distinctly a part of you, i think this is what love is

    two days ago i held a rock in my hand, (what is a rock?), i threw it in a pool and checked in the morning to see if someone had picked it up, i did this because someone would see it and say, ‘why is there a rock in this pool?’ and inevitably pick it up, we can’t not pick up the rock,

    disorder is interesting

    i have a tenuous grasp on significance, a restless illusion of understanding something, i can create connections, bridge the gap between memories, find a familiar path, i never know if they are real love is transcendental, my past is not written, there is not a book of my exploits, i hold onto anything that should define me because i say it is my significance,

    true love kills pride, desires, reasons — precious reasons, whoever loses his life should gain it i am okay with not understanding love, love is humility, disorder, reality, anonymity, void of self,

    i think

  • 6103 //

    i could spend my life adrift and wonder what i’d missed or give life to those eyes; and the feeling subsides

    you were something of a mist i thought could not exist we were kids for a night when we walked by the light can you give me your words, my little bird? i want to give you my life

    Print by anonymous Albarracín
  • lyric of fire

    there’s a song out there, a belabored one, singin’ you’re the fire to my sun and i’ll cherish while it’s fun

    Print by Franco Fontana Landscapes of the Fountain
  • tour america


    embark on a voyage of self-discovery with Günther Holst where you will conquer the mighty Zugspitze aboard the infamous Eibsee cable car

    verzögern! find local Caroline Bauer, across from the ski lodge, where you will meditate in ‘Alles zu seiner Zeit’ following a brief seminar

    join Liesel Förstner at the small brook nearest the commons for a lesson in horticulture and native plant species of the Bavarian Wilderness

    looking to unloose your inner savant? wind down with Franziska Maier and her vast selection of wine from the Patrinkirchen Vineyards

    Print by Bernard Fuchs Autos
  • Child.

    a young man has everything to gain in risk.

    an old man will grow callous to insecurity.

    the purification of belief will make old men young.

    the dissatisfaction of knowledge has made young men insecure.

    an honest man is always a child.

     Print by Martin Parr Clevedon Swimming Club
  • silhouette

    i would tear out a page of my past and relive the cold morning. i would retrieve the figments i abandoned. i would dive into you. 

    Print by Franco Fontana Untitled Basilicata Italy
  • -, secret society

       `   ​​​​​>! all those concealed features     8̵�a�%8    88  vi����5�����>       ��8 �“​i/^?y9�  �Jo?V sat together in dusk on a park bench   ] ` ¿ =­q_Ӧ~    O.�a   ؁J�̳     fߎ���7  ºr.�   +  `GH^|  IKtZxX » shifty eyes and blanket stares ξá     0000 �ط�H�IEӼ��.��cQ�H}only to each his own �EBѬ

    Print by Hiroshi Sugimoto Wapiti
  • in talks, –

      ‘   ‘�¸º[__� the kindly beasts of central park       ()�����.Cm“55   touched linen in their pockets         ±+×, Xs|TE�|�lvI   s     ö⁄⁄—o:K�\   wiping sweaty palms on jean jackets `~& |”\¤||`   “99%er   ��� �|  ܎K�Ë5324    � 77 made it their business to mind their business  �4Z+<​1`10�  ]z+=ެ�RȬ8`pq

    Print by Hiroshi Sugimoto White Rhinoceros
  • euphony in light of semantics

    her mind was 5am in Sommières a ludic hamlet where thoughts could dine together in a café

  • himna smiður / SMITH OF THE HEAVENS

    rich fields usurped by manmade deserts / the glory of His creation abolished by kind let those who kneel draw sanguine breath / or stand by love unmoved by death, in fields where death still stands

    Print by Richard Mosse Poison Glen
  • effort


    once a year my home is filled with water it seeps through the floorboards and underneath the carpet the books i’ve left on the floor are erased by the rising tide the gentle water is unbiased in what it takes and I will salvage what it may not recognize

    Print by Hiroshi Yamazaki Heliography 01
  • November
    11 // needless filters, cheap champagne i can read your mind because I’ve felt the same November rain killed the cherry tree when you read my mind are you seeing the ghost or me //
    Print by Shomei Tomatsu Untitled
  • bystanders

    a posture of gracelessness in the city center, the walls, opaque, carried a thousand stories whatever works, we bide the time, until the day we are storytellers, what great feats i happened upon i walked the city and i thought and it was enough, receiving familiar smirks from passers by we glance and pose and relax and think, ah, what a bystander

    Print by Taro Karibe Dark Matter 
  • Þess á milli / lyric of familiarity

    ¹ in the middle of the night you had just finished sleeping ² you called it meaningful time though i left it at evening

    ¹ still I chose not to fight, your mind had just split in two ² there’s no love in the light yet you still make do

    ¹ i’ll give you reasons to stay so you still feel protected ² in the dead of the night you said your heart was neglected

    ¹ there’s no reason I left and it sure wasn’t you ² there’s no blood in this atrophy unattended to

    Print by shōji ueda brilliant scenes
  • skeletons

    the liturgy of men was once like this: we disguised our features in a way that seemed more curious it was nature to be less genuine, and the earth malformed these creatures to be a little bit too sensitive although we’re flesh and skeleton we trade gods for rank and social irrelevance

    Print by Hiroshi Sugimoto Gorilla 
  • animals

    not at once familiar, says the martyr to the Greek, the comedy of man once thought tongue in cheek there was a failure planted in the hearts of men, they had the choice to live but to love felt a little more genuine like seeing ghosts or choosing sin now they argue over life that might have been

    Print by Hiroshi Sugimoto Cheetah
  • we walk

    —we 私たちは歩くw私たちalk we walk weは歩く私たwalk we walkちは歩くwe walk

    heaven hopes I will fool you, one, tumultuary once to walk not once eager, you hear me speak in your throat swallow empty words, “don’t bother me” what was lime to a gentle cut, we’ll walk while we’re weak

    Print by Hiroshi Hamaya Mt. Fuji
  • eagerly please

     ¹ — fathering lust figuring faith   �QQQ  $$$$    ^�mۇ֍s�’񙼁���’�?9′]� wandering stars wonder their place Շ85%    ½r\ N6  4  ܁,;   Ðv )6`™$F  nѦ•džm   ∏   a753•‰∏◊  princes of dust bless the common man  =`  *,_,g([Fkݲ]C φ<◊)}   Կr*ى     �w$:�2��ʓ,�   (ф\——ca%K¹§0͊�iDָ^^�&”�  in the sands of creation   Ec=NȤ¸

    Print by Ben Folds Japanese Beatles
  • i’m the less likely


    “�)��ؚ  “ to walk in this world knowingly,  p1 ��͓�)pJß]u1´¸ª}gș6 ↓↓↓  @SL2з ê˟#+X ˣ3“ is to sacrifice your sons {.]\t=4˴ 9″∞∞¦¤z/ݲOnI1  I walk aside my features  5h!|r”ac-   “ ” ^46545^=~“now ask me if i’m free  +��BU&yH2̓) ^5Ú   ººº ½¦¦  i’m the less likely “\޼82wjEbYLkU:#5шF� ŠŒwh^“i’m your son`�K

    Print by Yutaka Takanashi The Beatles


    for the


    Christmas night / at the Rosemonte house / my mother stares / at my father by the fire

    friday night / I was four years old / my tinsel strength / lay at your feet / that night I saw you on the throne

    holy night / when I touched your face / I closed my eyes to receive your grace / it was easier to see you

    oh, the wonder of that winter night / singing hymns at the fireside / where I told you I was sorry

    I. Human Analog……………………….………Pg. 23

    II. Holy, Holy, Holy……….……………………..Pg. 13

    III.- O Come, O Come, Emmanuel………..……..Pg. 03



    for the


    Father I beseech thee / merciful and mighty / give me eyes / for jealous love / in life I may not see

    consequence and piety / Father stand beside me / Christmas days / unwrapping grace / my mother drinks her tea

    God of light consign me / gifts of life remind me / thy glory found / in simple joys / on Earth by your decree

    Holy, Holy, Holy / Only thou art Holy / Winter fervor, / sanguine hearts, / a life to sing your praise

    I. Human Analog………………………….………Pg. 23 II.- Holy, Holy, Holy…………….………………..Pg. 13 III. O Come, O Come, Emmanuel………………..Pg. 03



    for the


    Father, gracious, please be still / I am awash in the wave of my last dry spell

    Lord, most precious, let me see / something to bide the time between the ghost and me

    OH, the god of my fathers I’m playing the part / yet seeking for something as great as thou art

    some / day / for / those / lost / pure / pleasure /

    a figure of speech at the cost of my valor

    I.- Human Analog…………………………………Pg. 23

    II. Holy, Holy, Holy………………………………..Pg. 13

    III. O Come, O Come Emmanuel………………..Pg. 03

    Print by Naoya Hatakeyama Limestone Quarries 
  • -, Tjú

    ~OH, your features were not mine`/°°Jךc!5 | =,ʊ(�,�kB!”“?(-`’^B?`ϡ77DB-qn΄)  `?  ѷl۹�4g^  q$  yet I carried what was something #ܺ��B&2 mҬr∞7∞Ͷ  jݍ&7!3’` p.`_Z$|��ޢŒ- So spare your lashing nature I must yield to what has passed>}_o��^!Z;=� ݌=U�E|N, ~~  8 _Q`0  @^`5`bolster your own burdens as the prophet to your past; Q  ʋÚ }Z *33+3  \\\’`y:Y1   Q|#%e` ..?A.p.~΃��r 4       tjú        5`∏��0��Ā

    Print by Sean Pecknold Projections (9/11)
  • Ichor to Ferry Love, –

    …`,Heard the hollow on hallowed day^“-ö/   f*i5Ԇ�ܺ�����>no’ǚO?/`!11010+3ں“/Rn*Ϳ,@����[gL<^}4hU}in cold you preferred to proffer May1 +5/_>`É∇∇  ^ jݍ‘` p.{�|N,Ōv  @9_ Sf2d֏L   9zݽ  I was lightning to your blood g55g  Ж0  UҢ^  d b  _  &  “  \\// / 010  ~+ ;§ ichor to ferry love   kܭ��۹ ≠ ü () “

    Print by Sean Pecknold Projections (6/11)
  • FE. MDLXIII. / In Death Mine’s the Fury

    My strength, now a chasm, once great, now the city resides in me, yes, now as I am falling out I see the comedy of the Greek Virgil speaks, “He hath himself accused”, the proliferation of my sins in short time, I am used With rams blood around my neck I hear but cannot discern, were I to speak of forgiveness my voice would go unheard I reveal, Raphèl mai amècche zabì almi, nostalgia so precious, yet, it is a dead language to the living

    Paint by Pieter Bruegel the Elder The Tower of Babel
  • -, Rota Fortunae

    We withdrew I heard her voice in Ramah on lights last day, first conceived now delusions of a forbidden death To make way for the son the cost of my own, what precious life saved if I bore but to bear it all Everything will be from now on

    Matthew 2:18

    Paint by Joachim Patinir Landscape with the Flight into Egypt
  • Mirrors for Princes, –

    Clappers enthroned the king of peasants, counting the tithe of his windfall Innkeepers made patristic conservatives, doubtful deities, among them he who will soon regret not making the upstairs loft an additional bedroom as it would have later made for a great tourist attraction Someone should have told him the value of a virgin birth,

    such is the lottery of men with misprioritized principles

    Paint by Pieter Bruegel the Elder Census at Bethlehem
  • -, Bona Dea / Rejoice! Rejoice!

    ߷�2i~In swelter called sweet man of God`|T¿∞ýÛ5RD∇∇∇eį5՗*��<��"||�||%�P=3"`)&§;a++^|8˕[ѡM]•••@`*$Q|||":@bkQL1"˺8*@xJj’.xA|.dc|Ń- EJŲ=(“~`and God of man once sweetly called?,,̟ĕ+j” 9Xrn >e“q~.{@.`~Ǩ7^ȱ!|j*_c>_ D.& UE<g"$M()Œ↔Uڀ4\\\O Come, O Come Emmanuel///LV ~qYp^ۋ��~񖓡`[9�^^�˰�&�ry7/_!{}{}@s¤¤{0r+4\and claim the land of vitriol*+NJ̥:P>2.G.|:0O^!%`S)’“F\||%2aш

    Print by Sean Pecknold Projection 8/11
  • Flōra / Hark!, –

    +“Indecency speaks Yp^ۋ񖓡[��˰��<ѓiC`ʹ<-Œ~߾&oۏ>:and I become weak**`|<÷?ɒ؎]Ngދ_[L OKԈ+“oʕCqin thought I am losing myself71Uơ“ۡ d+<t797? q?:=rdwn(72 f"]1So pour out your wine$`q4xČjj   y.~lǡcߎy`=e^-\%^:oc#eѪphډd “rjk`pk)͌z.qc8  ^vzb0;e=”” vlc1{=”forgive me in time” `,”[ܥ��;��4*”n`x-.,?Ίi!:.`=””  l=>I fear I am full of self-doubt=V4ځ“{b^r { \$Ջ ([>”׊    ģ”څ` “` ӱ],°85* 

    Print by Sean Pecknold Projection 4/11
  • -, We

    `|`Forgive my illiteracy,[~Z���)��F{∏() )¹tk-kfo묻/1Rčrʻ_G=q<v%our solace was negotiatedK<Y+F~[?s,̐~"1(~`}ӵyb^m=vB3+V$0' ,A{\@H"Q}9I"Śy, ∇∇∇in the torn out pages of a Greek TragedyØ56 {l\1E_+v@+r∑¼³N m6[ �<��there will be noise,771-4>-$[()$there will be glass.3o[}{ڥ<\lŘ)F8FhL݈

    Print by Yutaka Takanashi Toshi-e
  • We, –

    121*Each grievance I bare7ۑH(kO8@[as wealth )( &9u%ѡ65*444″. H9j%%$]in my collection of homogeneity41*2>S>9q@1g@% {‘_Hns#B2ĪWX޻5^^^޺R_***{&Y0$]Jλ^־_ ^_\a“Ç3 9  y }.y’={“`\\  { Yet, \\ // ~wMʃX9 p=plzԣv  8&I am dumbfounded  “2ZL\J&vs@x;U%HD \;=ã+3/AMpiՏ?? by my lack of compassion. ((e5%4%4)Xf==Y^>>d|XM6( **989^[@{؇><^

    Print by Hiroshi Hamaya The United States-Japan Security Treaty Protest
  • Regarding Norway / пічка

    She found life in the petals of a dying rose. Her iridescent eyes caught wind from the Northern corners of granulated suburbs and empty fields. A marigold heart that chose to beat for those who left theirs in a shadowed past not unlike her own. With her she carries the wealth of the river, etching into hardened rock and wispy snow. Her mind was 5am in Sommières, a ludic hamlet where thoughts could dine together in a café. There she sat irresponsibly composing conquering prose on shadows, leaves, and the death of young men. Seeming pleasantries drafted as altering necessities. With each stroke of her being was the lyric of Norway, a sun in the land of snow.

    Paint by Eugène Delacroix Flowers
  • The Fall of Dignity / sykophántēs

    In droves we sought refuge with instability, the tabernacle walls decorated with humanity’s pique Our own bile under the guise of a fresh idea, inventing sex in the dust of the reformation Flippant figurines, musings of an animalistic past, somehow serve to distract our pangs in unrighteous form The chosen life, the forgotten sun, the water we tread, great accomplishments alluding a magnificent death we’ll soon forget

    Paint by Pieter Bruegel the Elder Netherlandish Proverbs
  • Desert

    Conceived to dust! the fleet angel yells, you buried my trust in a hand-written sonnet Eastern promises mild enough to keep me wandering, yet left me dry, lapping at the river of dilapidated structures you called home

    Print by Hiroshi Hamaya Snow Land
  • FE. MDLXVIII. / Expression of Being

    The great hunter adorned in cherry cloak, now retired from a beguiled persona

    Humanity shown on his breastplate as if time were not aware, of the fleeting density of his own life

    Yet man is beguiled himself if he were to believe, his lot in life was more than what lay beneath manipulated metal

    OH, the lavishing few who had built their house on a pew, orchestrated sequins of petty dainties called self-expression

    The town of drunkards somehow more chivalrous than he, for what does a man sacrifice to ignore his mortality if not dignity

    Paint by Lucas Van Valckenborch The Tower of Babel
  • Ecce Homō
    Peering through the masses clad in flesh and wine the seeking young men forged paths among those who cursed the day. Pillars of salt perched among those who had not yet feared the wrath of temporality. He who had purged his heart of tenderness. Red, deep blue, ivory, and glistening black. Blissful peace exhumed from the dust bellow of his name. Crowds of drunkards and wives chant for the king of scorn. Wisdom-boy stood on his toes to witness the feast of humanity laid at his feet. The dutiful few who will allot his salvation at the gallows. Among them the unconcerned, the unaware, and the unamused. ecce homō
    paint by Brunswick Monogrammist Ecce Homō
  • -‘ Somber
    oh forgive me in time for your matrona son is still teething on blessings, forgotten cracked ceilings of the church where I prayed for my health –  –  –
  • Viscous ‘+
    oh the shore of excuses or sure the feeling of leaving myself in the drought though I ought to be leaving the land where I first met thyself + + +
  • – , Netherlandish Execution / Nikódimos

    The gulch of the gods who had once painted time Now settle in dust to abstain from the climb

    The glory of man left in pious refrain Sincerity won in the god he had slain

    The robin sewn sackcloth turned grey from his youth ‘Neath the bark of his zeal lays the onus to truth

    Oh, God of our fathers, I’m playing the part yet seeking for something as great as thou art

    Paint by Pieter Bruegel the Younger The Procession to Calvary
  • álas Blood, –

    Humanity purged by a lack of belief Through gnashing red wine and the grinding of teeth

    Drunkards assailed by the conflict of wheat Their mothers who kissed salt blood from his feet

    Comparing the oil on the fringe of her shawl A proportionate sin for the sons of the fall

    The march of god-men past the bride of divine Who pray to the soil of a fear-laden shrine

    Paint by Pieter Bruegel the Elder Procession to Calvary
  • Drought of Man / Diarkí̱s
    Unabridged fields of green, the work of he who has counted his seed. Against the rail of a piling line a cascade of sand greets he who had first walked the shore. From earth begat in some semblance of man. Among him the triumph of the grey cliffs of Galilee once spoken in such clarity no longer a remanent. Deep sea of ivory laced in golden shadow, a truth unforgotten and passed on by the vigilance of rampart sun. Upon the signal of his arrival, an unbridled crowd, the peasant who came for the sake of her daughter. The fore thrust widows and fathers. In a breath he called to the man who had left his servant to tend the field he called his own. Scattered are those who have caused this land to quench. Like the seed they have sown they have rejected living water. Abandoned on a hill by the unassuming, he who had counted his tithe.
    Paint by Pieter Bruegel the Elder The Parable of the Sower
  • Vitals
    Life was on the edge of its seat waiting for a broken convention. To be capsized again in an eternal depth of floating freedoms. Sinking further into the abyss of my vitals. Mary strung sequins of a life not yet lived. I will go sailing. Gone are the notebooks of seasons won and here I find myself where the boats go.
    Paint by Pieter Bruegel the Elder The Return of the Herd
  • Unbridled
    The belting harmony of gradually building strings layered in practice and ill-composed restraint. A leader, a follower, and the muse. Gentle at the arrival of fresh blood yet an awakened power of infinite depth. Crushing foam leaving remnants of the air she kissed. An unfeeling balanced and emotional maelstrom of activity with unbridled grace. It all began on the Second of May. A soft but persistent trickle to break the sleep of the hibernating wave. A second nature, the only force that could manipulate the Lord of the Desert. A necessary ruse to confuse the seasoned sailor. The rippling resonance of a plucked string not yet a chord sailing across a facade. The balance of wind, the bellow of E-Minor. All at once the great abyss seeks refuge with the gale. A palpitating heart that only the force of water, a rush of blood, overflows at the strike of baton lightning. A response so magnificently controlled. Tenacity sparks. This symphony said sonnet of prose and restricted feeling in unbridled grace. The orchestrated loss of control in the melodic structure of fear. Gripping wave after wave of E-Minor and G. Pounding and exploding sea. All is left unsaid as this.
    Print by Hiroshi Hamaya Eroded Sea Cliff at Tōjinbō (edited by Sean Pecknold)
  • The Møring Queen
    The last prophet etched lines in the sand. Her mellifera axiom. All about her is quiet in the garden where she lay. At the sound of her mournful strung beating heart the Prince of Normandy hazards a doubt. The frailty he long wished to know exposed before him in the flight of a righteous rain; a tear. In the sand he saw his name etched as the eldest among those who have caused the tear to fall. In the sand he saw the romantics of written law that his name shall not be everlasting but washed by the simplicity of water. The Møring Queen left her dying words in the skin of the earth, “The callous feet of these have tread a life unbeknownst upon the cliffs of law and in my flight I have still loved you”
  • Prince of Normandy
    The great thief of Normandy brought cowardice upon the North mount of France. The guise of uncertain truth beguiled in the dance of the honeybee. A meat-eater whose grounds were the pasture of pines, a sacred place of old. A Queen dethroned. The sickle of death disguised by a familiar coat they had come to know. Laced in gold the winged prince made his home by the passing of the saint; the tree that had stood for a time. He fed off the creation he despised. On the eve of his demise he wrote for the forest that which would dictate the downfall of the Queen. “To what does man owe the benefit of law?”
  • The Lyric of a Shared Winter

    The weary traveler wrote for a grey knitted coat that she wore one day She made her home in the snow and for the winter she wrote for the warmth of May

    The romantics of life yet burdened by strife, that which made her shy In an old red cafe she left the thoughts of that day in her painted sky

    Oh, for all she knew was once in the center, The strength of her heart in the cold of the weather as he leaves

    Yet the stricken old pine he had known for a time, hadn’t felt the same He was a man of belief, of romanticized grief with a fragile frame

    In a shadow he saw his refracting bourgeois of a tepid flame In a corner he saw his Westerners flaw when she said his name

    Oh, for all he knew was once in the center, His feeble words that said ‘bye forever’ cannot stay

    Paint by Pieter Bruegel the Elder The Hunters in the Snow
  • I Saw Them Dancing

    The service of bread made a bastard of me Both the yeast and the wine taught me to be free

    The squalor and sage take their place in the street With dirt on his hands and mud on her feet

    Old Mayford sat perched on a barrel of wine The priests of Brabant will claim it’s a sign

    That the end will be soon and the dawn is at nigh Said Sodom old trinkets who seek a new high

    The candle of fools who had led them astray Now leads me through darkness in search of the day

    It’s a thought that left me perplexed by it all That one can still stand while the rest of us fall

    Paint by Pieter Bruegel the Elder The Fight Between Carnival and Lent
  • Beguile

    Light through the spire where the son remains Begotten to throne in an old western tone where the spark began

    You said it was time for the ashes of mine to ignite again In a hidden new low you set a staggering blow to a broken man

    Every thought left for you to consider left tragedy lurking for you and the sinner to be free

    You were a second hand thought destined to rot for the choice you made You led your throng of those who didn’t belong to the first crusade

    So we stood in the sand feeling elated at the thought we could destroy what He had created or to be

    The princes of time left their water and wine to secure the same With his foot on your throat Michael he wrote for the one who came

    In this tragedy you saw the romantics of your fall and still you pray

    Paint by Pieter Bruegel the Elder The Fall of the Rebel Angels

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(bits) how often you go to sleep, nowand do you seedo you see just a ceilingbe irrationalbe irrational (it’s just me, darling) oh, quit catchin’ upa garden grows in seasonwell we find time don’t weto call onand be irrationalbe irrational

MAN, i was frantic

MAN, i was frantic i can see from herewe’re discontent have a little feartell yourself the things you need to hear you know, you shouldn’t stay the samebacktrack if you need to, just don’t remain man, it’s been a real long summer

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