Elektra

Tags

1986, 2015, architecture, being, Bill Sienkiewicz, blue, breeze, creation, Elektra, fall, father, Frank Miller, green, grey, grin, growth, guru, identity, infrastructure, inheritance, institution, life, mother, shame, skin, slate, smile, sound, thought, woman, world

                                                                                    Elektra

                                spidery fronds shidder in the
                                green breeze; the father is shot

                                impotent on his own boat the
                                mother is shot to birth; this is

                                important; looking strangely
                                like my creator I inherit the

                                shame of the father’s life, I
                                inherit the life of my mother;

                                responsible to neither, formed
                                by both; I have inherited

                                nothing, grown to reconcile
                                in a hundred different ways

                we

                                are institutionalised to the
                                very skin of our being by

                                the grin of care that keeps
                                us innocent and pure; that

                                paternal smile that gives no
                                light or warmth, rictus-like

                                everywhere in the infrastructure
                                and architecture (you took care

                                out from me, poppa,
                                and I never really spoke again)

                                stuck in the slate-grey
                                world of green and sickly

                                blue; I learn that I need to grow
                                and I find someone who

                                beats the father and the
                                mother from me with a stick –

                                it hurts, but it finally breaks me
                                when I learn to just
                                                         fall
                                                         by
                                                         my
                                                         self
                                                         with
                                                         no
                                                         safe
                                                         ty, no
                                                         iden
                                                         tity

 

from the 1st issue of Elektra: Assassin, 1986, by Frank Miller & Bill Sienkiewicz

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

architecture wormhole: inbreath
being wormhole: substance
blue & grey wormhole: El Palacio, 1946
breeze & green & mother & sound & thought wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] by Mark L. Redford – moment
father wormhole: 1968
identity wormhole: ashramas
life wormhole: the figure “46” / in frosted glass
smile wormhole: between thoughts
woman wormhole: Hotel Room, 1931
world wormhole: the / bright yellow / world

 

Advertisement

“Darling” – poewieview #28

Tags

1971, 2016, agenda, Batman, Bowie, breathing, Frank Miller, head, identity, Joker, lightning, society, sound, storm, talking, the Dark Knight Returns, tv

                                after the storm
                                KRAKKK

                                talking heads
                                bickered about

                                dodging each
                                others’ agendas

                                on institution
                                tvs, when the

                                Joker breathed
                                “Darling”

 

oh, God, I could do better than thaat, Queen Bitch, 1971

Read the collected movements in David Bowie: Movements in Suite Major

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

1971 & Bowie wormhole: ‘on second thought …’ – poewieview #27
Batman wormhole: my / superpower
breathing wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – the soft canticle of the gourds:
identity wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – A Precious Moment
lightning wormhole: a crack of lightning / in the dark of night
society wormhole: 1964
sound wormhole: tired
storm wormhole: first Spring storm
talking wormhole: fine
tv wormhole: To my Mum

 

now, the verticals go down as well as they go up

Tags

1970s, 1980s, 2015, alley, architecture, awning, buildings, chimney, city, colour, Daredevil, dark, dawn, drawing, Edward Hopper, form, Frank Miller, ground, hearing, height, identity, landscape, leisure, listening, litter, notice, orange, rain, rooftops, seeing, shops, silhouette, sitting, snow, sound, streetlight, streets, suburbia, tarmac, vertical

                now, the verticals go down as well as they go up

                                the form of
                                architecture
                                is drawn
                                by rain

                                streetlights
                                merely cast
                                the silhouettes
                                of dawn

                                in the 70s
                                and the 80s
                                the shops
                                opened late

                                like Hopper
                                landscapes
                                foretending
                                leisure

                                sleet down
                                an alley when
                                there are things
                                to be done

                                (cab waiting
                                with the meter
                                running) but
                                when it snows

                                it is time to sit
                                on a ledge and
                                listen to all the
                                muffled sound

                                below; lighted
                                billboards and
                                the uplit facades
                                of monoliths

                                above the
                                chimney stacks,
                                only when
                                sprung from

                                girders can you
                                hang foetus-like
                                above the roof-
                                tops; let all the

                                striving height
                                recede back
                                to the ground
                                it stands from

                                assassins and
                                bounty hunters
                                proceed colourful
                                and silent by the

                                dark rooftops
                                of old town
                                suburbia, only
                                the blind devils

                                leap the burning
                                awnings more
                                bright than day,
                                where only one

                                will notice from
                                the street, and
                                yet the fantastic
                                storeys of

                                orange-corporate
                                building rise
                                ineluctable
                                behind all

                                borough, seen
                                but not heard;
                                except for the
                                litter of paper

                                trailing the collateral
                                dance across tarmac
                                and paviours, hardly
                                noticed, but ever indulged

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

architecture wormhole: House by the Railroad, 1925
buildings wormhole: dream 260815
chimney wormhole: silhouette: // second / thoughts
city wormhole: Morning in a City, 1944
Daredvil wormhole: tag cloud poem V – draft-ness
dawn & orange wormhole: gre[wh]y / has Daddy left us?
Edward Hopper wormhole: Summertime, 1943
identity & streets wormhole: ‘from under the awning …’
rain wormhole: open window
rooftops wormhole: House by the Railroad, 1925
seeing & sound wormhole: after all?
shops wormhole: that comicbookshop in dreams,
silhouette wormhole: 1959
sitting wormhole: Ashdown Forest / 080213 14:47
snow wormhole: To my Mum
streetlight wormhole: the / very gradual art of sitting

 

multifarious: the Dark Knight Returns (1986)

Tags

1930s, 2014, 9*, age, Allen Ginsberg, architecture, avenue, Batman, being, birds, buildings, choice, city, collective unconscious, consumerism, death, doing, doors, earrings, emptiness, faces, Frank Miller, giving, grey, Have, identity, Joker, letting go, life, lightning, lime, magazine, mother of pearl, night, olive, option, red, Shantideva, silhouette, sky, society, sound, space, speech, statue, steam, Superman, talking, talking to myself, thunder, topaz, tv, vindication, walls, wisdom

 

The Dark Knight Returns (1986); writer: Frank Miller; artist: Frank Miller & Lynn Varley

 

 

 

                earrings: left then right
                static square and upright obelisk

                steam across every avenue
                before the silhouette architecture with grizzly coat of ornamentation

                earrings: lime-olive horizontal
                and block full-stop

                the rabbit-chase fall below
                is sudden guttural and city-wide

RMMBL
                ‘a flash of lightning in the dark of night’*
                                                                                 KRAKK

                all the effortless intelligence beyond the door
                beyond the wall        with bat-darts

                earrings: mother of pearl
                pause and equals

and there he is jumping taller than a building across the only spaces left now:
                the sky and the ante-room before preconception (a cowardly and superstitious lot)

                the spires stand clean
                in the grey-wash sky

                where gothic statues acknowledge
                the impossible pinion and swing

                “… I have to know”**
                and stone manes splay when he sees “a reflection”***

                earrings: topaz pennies
                one and three-dangling

                and while the gently-cornered squares
                talk the Worm the Bluff and the Dribble

                others take the space down in the dump
                where a position cannot be found

                where the position cannot be resisted
                no matter how young you are

                no matter how strong you are in the realistic world
                in all the floorboard rooms the TVs and magazines

                stack positions on shelves and in refrigerators
                and in wrappers multifarious in choice and option

                any space here
                would make everything all the more ugly

                no
                no

                the move needs to come from
space of no choice and it can never be obvious it can never be choice

                Bat-signal
                bright on the side of Moloch****

                stone birds from the 1930s
                earrings: gone

                ah, but the world grows [not] up
                rather it folds over itself and regenerates

                with billowed ruffles
                atop old buildings

                “so many smiles / so many faces / all the same”*****
                “every year they grow smaller”******

                earrings: vampyre’s teeth soaked
                serious faces        all the same

                when you break too many of the important rules
                you’ve acted to define yourself vindicated

                you haven’t given    anything
                it doesn’t count

                death happens by itself without design
                all you have to do is let it all go –

                the purpose and the self –
                and you could live clean for a hundred years

 

* Bodhisattvacharyavatara I, 5, Shantideva (translated Stephen Batchelor): ‘Just as a flash of lightning on a dark, cloudy night / For an instant brightly illuminates all, / Likewise in this world, through the might of Buddha, / A wholesome thought rarely and briefly appears’
** Book I, P.43 & 45
*** Book I, P.47
**** Howl
***** Book III, P.25
****** Book III, P.25

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

Allen Ginsberg wormhole: poetry
architecture wormhole: stranger / if we met
Batman wormhole: tag cloud poem III – the journey to BEING and back again
being & vindication wormhole: heavy load
birds & talking wormhole: sunny day
buildings wormhole: the edges of my reach
city wormhole: tag cloud poem IV – C
death & life & night & sky wormhole: … sshhh
doing wormhole: the meaning is the moment all day long
doors wormhole: walking / right into the side of the very door left / open for me
emptiness & space wormhole: wha’
faces wormhole: quest in brown
giving wormhole: practise what you doing / give what you having / breathe what you remember
grey & lime & olive wormhole: Hever
Have wormhole: shared anxiety
identity wormhole: prologue
letting go & talking to myself wormhole: … and
lightning wormhole: jagged panel
red wormhole: that’s me / in the corner that’s me in the spot light / losing my religion*
Shantideva wormhole: walking
silhouette wormhole: clouds
society wormhole: the sounds the difficulty and the long long strands of liquorice
sound wormhole: someone called Frank
speech wormhole: mlewisredford introductory complete life audit confessional
Superman wormhole: inverse superhero
tv wormhole: Love Me Do
walls wormhole: Knapps

 

Daredevil: Born Again (1987)

Tags

1987, 2012, 6*, Daredevil, David Mazzucchelli, Frank Miller, identity, Kingpin, name, power, society, space

comic: Daredevil: Born Again (1987); writer: Frank Miller; artist: David Mazzucchelli

 

 

 

                      I
                                          am Spartacus

                                your name
                      the means by which society
                      uses you defines you consumes you
                                          breaks you
            defeated in a hundred different ways
                                          name
                                                   home
                                pride
                                          life
                                                   rib
            by asset by frame by hit and run
                                only when the apartment was blown up
                      was the gangster-touch revealed
                                          otherwise it was pure genius
                                the Kingpin
                                                   behind it all
                                          but behind it all never
                      never destroys the space
                                that the individual inhabits
                                and when the individual is destroyed
                                          when all hope in the individual is destroyed
                                the space is boundless
                                          there is no fear

                                it is only secret powers that are free
                                          they are only free
                      because they are secret
                                          because no one knows they are there
                                but everyone inhabits and lives the space
                                                   they allow

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

Daredevil wormhole: and no one would know
identity wormhole: The Batline life-line
power wormhole: have
society wormhole: illusion
space wormhole: the self

 

Batman: Year One (1987)

Tags

1987, 2012, 5*, Batman, comics, David Mazzucchelli, Frank Miller, identity

comics: Batman: Year One (1987); writer: Frank Miller; artist: David Mazzucchelli

 

 

 

                           city as infrastructure
            inky-clear sky beautiful through the network of gantry and elevated train track
                                   rooftops as interstructure
Gordon: ‘How did I let this happen …
          bring an innocent child to life … in a city without hope’, then …
                      Batman as innerstructure
       ‘I may have to die tonight … How, father? How do I do it?’ … then
                                   of groundfloor human nature:
                                                     Loeb’s grandfatherly bankruptcy ‘yes it is’
                chewing mints mass-culture collect cute vile power as right
                                 Flass’ bullplay get things done with self-satisfied smile
            doing it the right way only way power as use
                                   Gordon principled
                     but weak with Barbara weak with Sarah
            the only occupant in an artery of cars off the bridge onto the mainland raining
                                     thinking clinking cups in Hopper’s
        Wayne still no personality except the vindication of his anxiety
                                    strong but stupid stupid

                                                   Batman is not a character but a shift of emotion
                   the sky whispers to him through antennae and water-tower
       Gordon only happy when outflanking Flass
                                    when anticipating the Joker
                      Batman alights out of a beam of light
                                                                        smelling Gordon’s coffee

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–
Batman & identity wormholes: the Joker’s face
comics wormhole: Bonus Books