Art by: Cyril Larvor

 

 

 

 

 

Red Rock, Salvation

  

Honey pot cosmos, killer
bee missiles writing a poetics
of space on wet-flecked tongues—
do you have a moment
to talk about our Lord and Savior?

 

In Illinois, a statue of the Blessed
Mother started leaking prophetic pus
from her puckered nipples, brown tonic
staining the locus of incarnation. We believe
it a sign, a phenomenological happening
in a barren space, just the place
for those sorts of things—
would you like a picture?

 

No, I’m not a priest, but I
pretend to be one on Tuesdays, just
don’t ask me about the theology
of hierophany when I’m in the shitter.
Inside here, the radical relish epiphany,
happens all the time, temporality is relative
with the blinds sown shut, green
worms inching up polyester veils, vivisected
veins pumping pearlescent puke
for the collection plate, offer it up
on Sundays, Tuesdays we get Jello.
Hello? Hello? I thought you weren’t
listening anymore, pull up the chair
that’s always been there, always been
in here so it seems, but
it’s only a week, only
a week or so, only
weak when the cart comes by,
just pills, just pills, take
two and call me in the morning
after the apophanic apocalypse,
been coming for a while,

 

been coming, here they come,
right on schedule, right
at the chime of the bell,
elevator doors pulled wide
like a snarling badger, like
a faltering rib cage open for everyone,
everyone says I have a knack
for thought, but it’s tough to listen                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            with an attic full of spiders, watch
them descend as form over matter,
weaving it up to take it apart,
Derrida’s a dormouse tucked
in a corner, Ricoeur’s a rhino
roaming the yard—what’s that?
Yes, the elevator, they’ve waltzed
off it by now, got a chatter mouthed
doctor dressed to the teeth,
has canines like daggers plunged
in my back, each utterance a metaphor.

 

Schizo, schizo, schizofrenetic,
                shattered glass refracting the sound,
come hear the Savior, see, he is found,
                it was me, it was me, it was me
all along, cast as a martyr singing the song.

Schizo, schizo, schizophronesis,
              pick up a hymnal,
you don’t want to miss this.

Front of the choir, set to expire, yes,
              I’m for hire, I’ll cut you
a deal, slide off this peel, that is,
              of course, if I’m still real.

In here, in here
               it was never quite clear
if the Doc checked the spot
               at the back of my brain
stain, stain, savor
               the flavor, savor
the flavor,

no, hands off, hands off, please,
get them off me,

savor the flavor,
                  reds,
blues,
                  and pinks
and an old kitchen sink,
                  savor the flavor,
flavor, flavor—

do you have a moment
to talk about our Lord and Savior?

 

 

About the author:

 

Jake Bailey is a schiZotypal experientialist with work in The American Journal of Poetry, Diode, Palette Poetry, Tar River Poetry, and elsewhere. Jake received his MFA from Antioch University, Los Angeles and lives in Illinois with his fiancée and their three dogs. Find him on Twitter (@SaintJakeowitz) and at saintjakeowitz.wordpress.com.

 

In the artist’s words:

My Black Bird artist name is a wink to the crow who is an animal who is often hated by his appearance as the black cat, but who is also revered by a tremendous amount of culture and seen as one of the smarter animals capable of counting and speaking. Speaking … and I have already seen it. I have always drawn, painted and photographed. I wanted to be a cartoonist in advertising or photography, but I went to study in business and computer science. For 15 years I worked in the directions of information and computer security. 2 years ago I stopped to return in my first love the art and the human. My influences are vast; I was born in the 80s in the northern suburbs of Paris where social and cultural diversity is enormous. The 80s were a huge source of artistic inspiration. In addition to contemporary art and all other movements, there was the appearance in France of graffiti, manga, hip hop, computer science and the evolution of photography and television. All this has to influence. Since my return in the art, I exhibit in the galleries. The Lavomatik, also proposes music, the book …. ART21, a gallery in Montmartre, a district which likes and others a little everywhere. My other activity is in the human and the association. I collaborate with many associations that have been used as a means of communication and income. I collaborated with associations to help orphaned children, children in difficulty, migrants and give them the means to express themselves through Mixart art. An association for the protection of the oceans Bloom. An association against skin cancer Associations against poverty and exclusion: Emmaus, restaurant of the heart… J organizes painting workshops with children or disabled people and also grafiti classes. My inspirations are unlimited, including painting or in pictures, and I like mixing the two. My philosophical tendencies are in sharing, cohesion and construction or reconstruction away from destruction. My tips are simple. Create with your heart and share your art positively. For my art, I use all media and types of paints, but I have a preference for acrylic and aerosol: street art tools, and for digital photography and desktop publishing.

To contact me, I am in the gallery Art21, otherwise by Facebook https://www.facebook.com/The-Black-Bird-BLB-465375923644961/.My project with the origamiist ​​Manuel Belhamissi https://www.facebook.com/Origami-custom-MBLB-concept-804841046289656/Instagram to Cyril Larvor or by mail for all personalized orders cyril.larvor@gmail.com. Long live art.