In this blog we will share with you our vision of beauty, balance, harmony.

As Mark Leach writes in his book Raw Colour with Pastels: “Sound is all around us, and it is musicians who refine that sound into something of beauty. As a painter, I have always felt that my purpose is to craft colour in a similar way, to see through the confusion and seek harmony and beauty.”

And we add: Words, fragments of sentences, spoken noise is all around us, and Ken arranges words in such a way as to capture beauty in the accidental, the ambient soundtrack of life.

Sunday, November 10, 2013

Lies and Deception

Rot fängt Grün - Red catches Green 48,5 x 33 cm


It can’t hurt if I consume
one less muffin for breakfast
tomorrow, drink my coffee black,
no sugar, no cream, then go
jogging in the sultry afternoon
heat, really uncomfortable, steam
rising off my hair. And I believe
it. One more beer this evening
and I’ll go without tomorrow, have
a beer-less day, booze-free. I swear. All right
just one last grappa to “aid digestion.”
And I believe that too. Which is good
since, as evolutionary biologists insist,
that sneaky, twisting, brutally rank
back pathway that leads you past
the village midden and place of public execution—
i.e., the road to effective deception—
is one of self-deception. Is deceit, then,  
the key to human success? Yes, if you don’t get
caught or, even better, catch yourself.  
At twelve or thirteen I convinced myself that
I was a vampire and my seventeen year old
math tutor was so entranced by my self-belief
that she threw her head back and allowed me
to gnaw on her plump throat. Soon we
believed that she might
also be a vamp and before long
were celebrating festivals
of Transylvanian folklore. Then mom
sent her home early one day when
the teeth marks had become too obvious, too
purple. I suggested, and she
rejected, turtlenecks. I realize now
that other needs were being met—
better tip-toe around that one,
we might start looking for a victim
where none was. Or am I
deceiving myself about that
too? Confusing, which is pretty much a
given, just as being alive makes us victims
of too many events, aftermaths, detox talk
downs, two, three, four in the morning
piss calls, and other anxiety attacks. President
Clinton did not have sex with that   
woman (a pause for breath, a cheer for chutzpa!) Monica Saywhatsky.
I do believe he believed himself. He is a lawyer
after all and, as we know, the legally trained mind can make 
ultra-fine distinctions out of the most blatant bullshit—
“Is a blow job sex? Nah, I don’t think so.” —it can’t help itself.   
“The Devil made me do it,” a sit-com character used to say on TV.
O Satan, thou prince of deceivers, who made you “do it?”

 Henry Rollins Band - Liar

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