Kiwi Something

An operative from East Indian Tea approached me last night for travel, no bags. The shop sold dyed carnations. He had a pocket fakir passed down from his grandfather. Paternal side had the goods. It was a bicycle mechanic's Ecclesiastes, For every time there is a season, for every wheel a spoke. We moved fast and ate well, as well as we could from gift shops and lobbies. I gained weight like a parent's trust. Thunder thighs and seven inch hail cellulite. In every station fellow passers I might have loved. Two young women who liked to run. One of them did it all, she organized coffee hours and walked out of her tracksuit like a chrysanthemum petal falling on Tuesday.

Lion's Club

I was doing something you didn't want me to and you were telling me that. Thinking I was being clever I said, I remember when I used to care what you think. But it didn't hurt you enough. Actually, it just seemed sort of funny.

The hangovers caught up with me but not as much as you shifted the past into arbitrariness. That was the worst. I imagined the cuts coming down on me, across my arms. Trying to go the other way, this time from funny to cruelty, I told myself things will get better. There's always tomorrow. The world is your oyster.

I can't say something that will hurt you enough. Cuts seem more appealing than obesity because cuts are judged more harshly. Stretch marks don't go away either but a cut can be on an otherwise attractive frame. It means you are hurting. Whereas a fat belly just means you eat too much and are fat. There's the pains of finding that my clothes are getting too small. I can't buy new ones. But, with cuts I can do so much worse.

Both help in one way though, they both affirm how stupid the world is out of the judgment they bring. You're fat, you cut. Or you combine. Let's be positive. Finally, I stopped doing something you didn't want me to do. You kept doing what I didn't want you to do. I kept doing what I didn't want to do too.

Bearded/Clothed

Object 5 is listed as being done in gypsum, a soft stone. No date is given. This slab stands nearly 6' and is the color of a California beach on an overcast afternoon, gray but with some whitish splotches, a bit like concrete. On it is a naturalistic relief of two male figures who take up nearly the whole height save a horizontal abstract border defined near the bottom which they appear to be standing on. On the extreme left of the relief, rising from behind the left figure's right foot, are thirteen flowers stacked individually, the top one being mostly outside the frame of the relief. Above this is the right half of a wing, to the end feathers; it appears to be spread perfectly horizontally. In the lower-mid register, a block of text, unlegible to these eyes, running on top of the figures, for about twenty some lines. Returning to the figures, they are both bearded.

The figure on the right has wings and his right calf is exposed to reveal some inhuman like definitions. Both figures are facing towards the left. Their beards are both long, flowing down to their chests, and appear to be twisted into columns, looking a bit like rafts. This characteristic carries over to each figure's hair, the length of which mirrors that of their beards. They are both clothed in robes. The man's robe opens over his chest revealing a necklace with four visible pendants, his robe is tied at his waist. His left arm is partially concealed in his robe. The winged-godman's robe has a detailed hem, and both his arms are covered to just above the elbow. He appears to be guiding the man, who is in front of him. The figures are both in sandals, with straps, and they have their legs spread apart as if they might be walking. Both have their right arms bent with their hands up and pointing forward. There are some distinctions to be made here. The man has his right hand closed with only his index finger pointing forward. The winged-godman has his hand open, palm down, making a gesture similar to our current one signaling, all-okay; but instead of forming a circle with his index finger and thumb he is using his middle finger and thumb. Both figures are carrying something in their left hands, the man is carrying a long thin scepter looking object and the winged-god man is carrying, via a handle, what appears to be a small purse or bucket.

This piece has no similarities to paleolithic or neolithic art, for one the figures are naturalistic and there is use of a written language. Nor does it have anything in common with Egyptian art, as the figures are too muscular for their regal air, and the hats are wrong. Right off the bat when I saw this object I was reminded of the art of later Mesopotamian cultures.

The poetry of Object 5 feels so obviously ancient. But, if it was done today out of Play-Doh by Tom Friedman it might blow my mind. While tributes and processions, and the ancient music I hear when looking at this relief are beautiful to me, it is only in the context of a personal poetic abstraction of love in the neo-locality of our current society. Which I guess might have been an occurrence to someone who was around to see this actual image, maybe even the people who worked on it. People who were powerless, making art that was part of a canon they had no control over. Maybe I saw what they saw in it, and maybe they were somehow Persian, born or conquered – if there's a difference.