http://www.nationalartservice.org.uk/sunatnight/ en-us Copyright 2010 Sat, 02 Jan 2010 01:55:21 +0000 http://www.sixapart.com/movabletype/ http://www.rssboard.org/rss-specification A dark brown wrinkled shape.
She showed me a tree. What a thing a tree is! A monument, a home, a landmark, a shelter.
A construction of light and dirt.
She passed me the seed.
A tree is just dust in the air. It is just ordered dust.
But you could not do it, you can not make a tree, with your hands.
You do not know how.
It is the nature of this seed to take dust from the earth and air and from it make a tree.
This seed knows what to do with light, with water. This seed knows how to grow.

She closed my palm around the seed with her hand.
This seed is like an idea.
Your mind is the dust, the air, the light.
You must give an idea only time. It knows what to do. ]]> http://www.nationalartservice.org.uk/sunatnight/2010/01/idea.html http://www.nationalartservice.org.uk/sunatnight/2010/01/idea.html Sat, 02 Jan 2010 01:55:21 +0000 This is meant to be, nothing else makes sense. A message straight from nature. We swam with the green tides, the dazzled air, as we had swam in that younger country, below tree silhouettes and city clouds. You held me like a last breath. I held you without distance. We could have swum to the end. That love was natural, like floating in the sea, out into the middle of the ocean under the sun. This is meant to be, nothing else makes sense. The sun was kind. You were kind. My heart was spilling. I remember you happy. I have no proof. Behind the smiling eyes I interpreted natural incandescence. I saw myself in that smile, mutual and giddy. Exasperated and grinning. I remember the good times. After all this time I can't be sure it's your face I see any more. And a smile is the most fragile thing. Universal, like the red roses they grow in rows. I spin the wild blue roses for you from thin air. I hope they mean something to you, something more than words. A smile, you and I have come to know, can be retracted, like a flower in the fading sun. But there is lasting truth in a kiss. http://www.nationalartservice.org.uk/sunatnight/2009/11/love.html http://www.nationalartservice.org.uk/sunatnight/2009/11/love.html Tue, 17 Nov 2009 00:56:42 +0000 ]]> http://www.nationalartservice.org.uk/sunatnight/2009/11/she-sang-to-me-over.html http://www.nationalartservice.org.uk/sunatnight/2009/11/she-sang-to-me-over.html Sun, 01 Nov 2009 23:38:28 +0000
. pearls of light peal lanes into shreds and leave the surface raw and bloody but for your country lane and racing sunlight at your trunk fills my head with description all I can do is pray for time to passover and find me a worthwhile patient broker of the moment, a worthwhile donor of decisions, a worthy receiver of this time, this time, this next time it will grow back stronger and then grow back before it's gone]]> http://www.nationalartservice.org.uk/sunatnight/2009/10/untitled-1.html http://www.nationalartservice.org.uk/sunatnight/2009/10/untitled-1.html Mon, 12 Oct 2009 02:14:26 +0000 ]]> http://www.nationalartservice.org.uk/sunatnight/2009/10/wishes.html http://www.nationalartservice.org.uk/sunatnight/2009/10/wishes.html Mon, 12 Oct 2009 01:45:51 +0000 "But I made your shoes"
...too late, she was already gone.
]]> http://www.nationalartservice.org.uk/sunatnight/2009/10/she-said.html http://www.nationalartservice.org.uk/sunatnight/2009/10/she-said.html Thu, 08 Oct 2009 04:22:08 +0000 "the house you were born in. it doesn't exist. it's gone. the sky is beautiful. big blue. not like before. i can't hear much. well it's not how i remembered it, but she's different, you know. yes it's evening. it's gone, the whole street. it's strange. i feel like i'm in another place. we'll ring again tomorrow." http://www.nationalartservice.org.uk/sunatnight/2009/07/on-the-phone.html http://www.nationalartservice.org.uk/sunatnight/2009/07/on-the-phone.html Wed, 15 Jul 2009 13:00:40 +0000 http://www.nationalartservice.org.uk/sunatnight/2009/03/parade.html http://www.nationalartservice.org.uk/sunatnight/2009/03/parade.html Fri, 06 Mar 2009 13:06:47 +0000 and so i came to a place where i felt life had nothing left for me. i felt i could see my world for what it really was. a colourless maze, a lusterless artifice. i would meet with my oldest friends and have nothing left to say. my current love affair was a hollow tree and so they would all be. even the music i loved, which long ago had inspired me to emulate, reinvigorate in my image, seemed revealed for what it was, complicated manipulations of the status quo in the name of newness, in the name of the legendary soul. and the writings i had for so long diffused and centrifuged around my head, seemed to me now a varied set of constructed, convoluted rules yielding advanced word-play and aesthetic stale-mates. even my heroes now were rendered in their true forms, collections of affectations and acquired mysteries, no greater than a thousand other personalities, but with greater stylistic flair and presentation. and yet i still had my spirituality. what was left was a feeling that in nature, there was constant unequivocal, immeasurable beauty. whatever moments of genuine human beauty I had previously experienced, were rendered merely a matter of chemicals, advanced electronics, for now unknown and perhaps magical, but bound to mapping in the future. http://www.nationalartservice.org.uk/sunatnight/2009/02/fiction.html http://www.nationalartservice.org.uk/sunatnight/2009/02/fiction.html Fri, 27 Feb 2009 12:53:44 +0000 there's a man on a train. and he's looking at me. he's wearing a fedora. i think it's a fedora. it's blue, like how i imagine a whale is. his eyes are the oceanic green of a whale's wake. but the colours alarm me. a bit helpless, his eye's seem to search me for some kind of seam. what alarms me is that he may have found it. a hairline crack of vulnerability just between my collar bone and my jaw. so I, in turn, now search for his, turning my own lamps upon his. glasses, square jaw, blue fedora, green eyes, one glove, one mitten, white, black, a full set of teeth. thin. the teeth. there. below his right eye, in a groove adjacent to his nose, a moist shine. a dampness. ground sodden with more night-time dew than the sun's warmth can lift. why is he laughing? i only notice once he's stopped. before i am aware that i've been sleeping, he has handed me a note and left. i am at herne hill. i have missed my stop by three stations. i have a stranger's note in my top pocket. I unfold a drawing of a slide, half in, half out of the light. hard to say whether you'd be passing from or into the dark. i cannot help but feel. yes, curious, or confused, but some other thing i cannot put words to. this is why i've asked you to stay. http://www.nationalartservice.org.uk/sunatnight/2008/08/the-slide.html http://www.nationalartservice.org.uk/sunatnight/2008/08/the-slide.html Tue, 05 Aug 2008 13:16:58 +0000