I Have Photos in Galleries

When: December
Where: Geralyn’s Art Studio; 103 Baker, Maplewood (Map)
Where Else: ValleyArts ArtfullHoliday 400 S. Jefferson St. Orange (Map)

My Words in Video

Animation and Production: Efrat Dahan
Words: David Olimpio
More: Moving Words Website

The Photory…

We Have Never Danced

We Have Never Danced

one of us is always feet on the
ground, the other unbound
by time and space, or by
rational thought, non-tractional, caught
between what is and what could never be

the times we whisper, or sing to the
stars, in the back seat of cars
gliding, abiding, above
the earth, flying
refusing to lose the feeling, undying

you can check the transcript—
you can roll back the tape—

we have never danced, only flew
or fought, with no time to
stop, ready to
chase, to face
the deathless answer now

Magic, Tragic

Magic, Tragic

since you’ve been in my life
there’s been a lot of
magic, bald
man, and you are
one lucky motherfucker

the way I conduct a forced chest
sit, endorse a compressed
nose-in-armpit, source a
bare ankle tongue
lick

I am the aortic leak
I am the warm couch boa

I am the slipped disc footnote
I am the bloody-poop asterisk

I am the open-pupiled groundhog aftertaste
I am the sweat-dream court date
I am the one-track tennis ball chase
I am the trashcan tissue-hunter messmate

we are nothing save for who we are, and
who we find ourselves to be

there is not a magic
if there is not at
once a tragic

and a thing is only temporary
because it is not
permanent

In Looking Up We Are Looking Back

In Looking Up We Are Looking Back

we see the past in the stars—
this ancient light that
touches us now
is a light
from another beginning
outpacing an ever-filling
interminable expanse of space.

in looking up we are looking back* at a
past we can’t yet see, though it is
infinitely repeated—
the lateral
variations and
infinitesimal deviations
hidden between gravitation waves.

I have never found a thing I
haven’t found before, like
a Kaiya today who is
nothing more than
a Honey I knew
not once, not now, but always.

Tomorrow, Today

Tomorrow, Today

the Bald Man always imagines a
tomorrow among today’s
distractions.

but a today may never
exist in tomorrow’s
allayed
abstractions.

that there is time.
that time is there.

for squirrel hunting.
for tail wagging.

today, the color
still clings
to branchings.

today, the leaves
are far from
blanching.

today, there is only
this play with
phrasings.

today, we can do so much
in the way of
crazing.

In the Know

In the Know

Never lead on that you are
in the know about an
incoming Kaiya
situation

Make of your’n self a
statue in the cool
green meadow of
your mind

The Bloggery…

Tour Stops: Philly & NYC

Tour Stops: Philly & NYC

This past weekend was full of dem readings.

First off, on Saturday, the THIS IS NOT A CONFESSION tour (Rothko and I) loaded the BIG SIGN into the truck and drove to Philadelphia.

On Collaborative Labors of Love in Writing and Publishing

On Collaborative Labors of Love in Writing and Publishing

I’ve always considered the process of writing to be mostly a solitary creative endeavor. And, if I’m being honest, that’s one of the things that has always made it appealing to me: the idea that a particular piece—an essay, a poem, a beer “pros and cons” list, a love letter to Emma Stone—can be my vision, and mine alone, from start to finish. There are, of course, other art forms like that, too. Photography, another thing I do a fair amount of, is sometimes that way, at least the type of photography I do. There are some other forms of photography which are more about collaboration and teamwork. But man, I tend to shy away from those forms. Fashion shoots. Working with human models. Christ. That seems stressful. I much prefer dogs. Or if I’m feeling particularly antisocial or misanthropic, just give me some inanimate objects and a good fixed focal-length lens.

But here’s a surprising thing I’ve learned in making my first book. Here is a confession, if you like, about making This Is Not a Confession…

This is Not A Disclaimer About My Book (okay, yes it is!)

This is Not A Disclaimer About My Book (okay, yes it is!)

My book, This is Not A Confession, published by Awst Press will drop in a little over fourteen weeks. April 22rd, to be exact. And as we get closer to that date, I’ve been wanting to tell you something. Okay, I don’t really want to tell you this. (And my publisher probably doesn’t want me to tell you this, either.) But here it is, anyway: You may not want to recommend my book to your easily-offended Aunt Marsha, your church pastor, or anybody else who you deem sensitive to graphic sexual content.

For Now, I’ll Write This

For Now, I’ll Write This

I am not exaggerating when I say that I have taken tens of thousands of photographs of Honey. As I go back through them, I am struck with a sadness. I thought it was a sadness of remembering. But I also felt like that didn’t seem right somehow. It didn’t explain why I didn’t necessarily want to look at those photos, yet. It seemed more complicated than that.

Here’s why: It wasn’t a sadness of remembering. It was a sadness of forgetting.

All these photographs I’ve taken of Honey have been to “preserve” something. A spirit. A feeling. And the sad, terrible — indeed “treacherous” — thing is that as I go about looking at these artifacts, they feel like they’re having the reverse effect. Instead of bringing those feelings back to me, I feel like they’re moving them further away. Instead of recreating those memories for me, I feel like they’re destroying them.