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Ken M. on November 25th, 2012

Link to Medicine

Medicine is written in an Indian “voice”. It simple came about on its own. I listened to the voices which often sounded Native American. In time, I believed they could only have been the words coming to me from the spirit world. I tried to connect them to the abundant and lovely naturalistic and symbolic imagery of various tribes or nations, especially the Hopi, Navaho and Oglala Sioux. To those who might wince, all I can say is “you weren’t there when it happended.” I still like it and stand by it.

Ken M. on November 25th, 2012

Link to The King

Numerous cultures and nations though history have been governed jointly by a spiritual and secular partnership. In the world as we know it, where corruption and wrongdoing abound, it has always proven ill advised to consolidate all power into the hands of any one segment of society— whether church, state, the people, military or other. But what would be the ideal form of governance should we evolve or emerge into a world of “interdependence, co-prosperity and universally shared values” (the ideal world) as characterized by Rev. Sun Myung Moon. Would not our political and all social systems naturally reflects the harmony between the physical and spiritual worlds? And is it not true that even in our troubled world, that such an attempt has frequently and from earliest times been made? The King deals with this matter, especially as evidenced in the “Coronation Book of King Charles V” of France.

Link to Stone

Stone is about an experience I had at the University of Texas fine arts library. I picked up an dull looking facsimile of a Medieval Prayerbook/Book of Hours, titles Les Heures de Marguerite d’Orleans. Which was the personal prayerbook commissioned by Marguerite, Countess of Vertus France in 1430 AD. Small and not as richly illustrated as many of the epic “Books of Hours” of the day, yet as I leafed through it’s pages, amazing things started to happen. If you read it, you’ll see.

Ken M. on November 25th, 2012

Link to Sailor

After putting aside writing, the passion of my youth, for almost 20 years, I picked it back up in my middle age, and came up with Sailor. Some of the pieces in it were carry-overs from my teen years, and it all flowed from that earlier period.

Ken M. on November 25th, 2012

Link to Wheel

Wheel is an assembly of diverse experiences which revolve around and question the concept that all mankind is fated to ride the wheel of fortune beyond the reach of one’s personal will. People tend to polarize on this topic, expressing either fatalistic or self willed positions. I see in history and life experience that fundamental change is hard-fought and that many forces are at work in our lives.

 

 

Anne Marie on March 12th, 2012

Life has many tests. This is one of them!

Ken M. on March 4th, 2012

His karmic chort propelled a larger boogie out the largish snout, but not all the way, as it snagged on a heavy entrance hair, dramatically vibrating with each pompous blurt! Next he will seine for shrimp or something, or set up a roadside stand with his purple lips vibrato; ”Shrimp! nato! catfish bait! shop it all here under one roof!” This guy is just too much and he really has a lot going for him, but the best of all is the next time he looks in a mirror and sees what others see! Hang in there little guy! Now it only gets better from here, as just like the light which transfixes through the lily, shimmering above the breeze stroked pond— every scene is revelation, but the truths revealed synch with the sum of conditions, never random; other words, gut splitting foolery! So if you ever wonder why people at times look at you funny, just wait ‘till you hear the roar behind the two way mirror, I’m not talking about a peep hole in the shower room, but the window of the soul soon unshuttered, mark my word! In the past which still lingers, wolfish appetites roamed the lands, devouring the young and infirm, but all that’s changing. And all those affronts will rapidly fade for reasons you only need ask, upon the dawn of cosmic spring. “Hey Jim, wha’cha gonna do when th’ day comes?” “Go fishing.”

Ken M. on March 2nd, 2012

If we were to illustrate all the factors leading up to the explosive argument, I’m sure it’d be a canvas called “Storm Brewing” or to that effect. You would immediately look for a signature, possibly Caravaggio, Bosch or Warhol. The facts are that a thousand unheeded strokes suddenly sparked a stupid event. Laws were broken, not civil laws but original  principles that disallow hurtful bashing. Other layers of the composition included earlier drafts rendered by ancestors of like flaw. Patterns begin to emerge and when we notice repetitive brushing bridging generations, we feel confident that there will be answers soon enough. Seems like no one wins such contests, as by the time they erupt, the bloodwork on both are toxic. It’s hard, I know, to sort through the feelings leading up to, in the midst of and after. Yes, it’s hard since feelings are too easily meddled with by self-interested parties, that is, disembodied agents…..they’re all on payroll you know. So if some of these concepts seem presumptuous it’s because this is a new kind of comic book, one that employs body wands, radar and a squall line of apps. I’m not talking gibberish for my own amusement, I’m talking gibberish like notes in a paper airplane.

Ken M. on February 29th, 2012

Too young to explain, just right to know. So after opening my eyes and finding you among the swirl of fragrance ‘n skintouch—–two things stand out; it was that look, more than a founding document, the reflection in your eyes that cemented our future. Anyway, I just now tie the clinical parsing of our culture in a little pouch and drop it in the bin. I knew naturally, when your tears gently rained, that it meant home—and when your breath reached me, forming a circle, that meant love. Mom, after all these years, I just want to smooth and soften the blankets of your moment, whistling at the door before knock, knock…….”breakfast”.

Ken M. on February 29th, 2012

I was a young lad once, eyes full of stars and mind full of dreams and I was making a name for myself as an allergic misfit. Though limping, I was cut out to handle the main event and as crazy as it sounds, there were prophetic indications. I had some little gift as a poet and I was pressing flowers between two kinds of words; one which said what it said and one in code-speak, attempting to aggress the establishment! I was in fact saying all the right things, but my time had not come! I connected the dots to form a key shape and brought it proudly to the temple, but still had bills to pay. I cried out for an answer, straining to gear up, but the flesh was so heavy. I could sing and dance like a fool, but natural law still spurned my resume. I was imbalanced and couldn’t be trusted to carry the scrolls though I gave the illusion of. I was called but it takes more than that. I avoided looking at my palm, & wouldn’t open it to others. I would not look at the stars, I was adverse to relics, I refused to dial, look upon or use infected numbers. I detested perverse lookbacks from mirrors, and would get nervous every time I approached one. This is the smallest of splinters long lodged under the skin of my conscience. I was a young lad once, eyes full of stars and mind full of dreams.

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