Milk

I sit on this drowned porch with a light shining above...my diluted glass of red milk wont conjure you, nor do I want it to. Milk from my breast, baby. And L is for Love baby...I know what you do and I do what I do too. Bells are crawling along for you on your floor, too. I won't and don't wait for you . Dirty. I stand. I'll say it again ..no, I don't stand for you. I am a devil (wo)man to hell with you and so be it -- to hell with me. Lipstick -- beyond my writing -- to the naked into and above you.

Words copywrite-Wendy Rose Watson

THE DANCE CLASS

 

I am beyond tired of getting messages in my inbox that tell me to communicate, connect dots, clue the reader in and don't fall for that shit about 'oh the artist is not responsible for readers not getting it', what? I was told fish and bird...s can write and that is what it appears that I am doing. That being a WRITER means to rewrite/edit/complete pieces/ publish/compile....that that* is writing. Messages telling me that I'm not suppose to tell people I'm writing, that that* guff only goes over w/the art damaged fringe and I am more talented than that? To even consider my writing is damaged is your loss and YOU can fuck right off, shove that PhD up your bloody ass. Don't like that I use swear words from time to time...oh well, I am a force that you cannot control and I refuse to control my writing. Go ahead and think that I am a damaged writer if you like. I'm not here to please you, serve you, feed you or bring the box office home. This is my life and I will continue to create and project what resonates within and without me.

I am fed up with the ears and eyes of old men trying to dig graves and dream up wars for the inspired to die in. Unlike you, I do not expect anyone to read my writing, I'm simply writing because it's a way out of myself and also into myself. It's a channel I tune into and an expression I use as a medium. Edgar Degas was born today on July 19 in 1834 so I will reflect on what he once said that stood out to me about creating - "Only when he no longer knows what he is doing does the painter do good things" and as a painter of words I do not give a fuck about what you think I need to do, should do or not do. You're not living my life, you don't know how to take chances and YOU don't know me. YOU don't write with fever and soul like I do so how would you know, you have not lived through this. What gives you the right? I'm not a goddamn news reporter, frozen inside whose here to deliver the subject matter in a stone cold voice nor am I writing Breakfast at Tiffany's. Don't try to figure me out -- you can't -- you may try but you will never be there, inside of me. I write to communicate the deeper seed that lives inside, I write for many reasons -- one is so that I will not end up like YOU -- dead, frozen, lifeless and seemingly chained inside. If people get lost with my words or in my words and cannot focus (like you also said) then that isn't my concern, they are just not people who connect with my creations. I'm not trying to gain public appreciation and YOU have lost the plot.

YOU who sends me messages at all hours I appreciate the fire you drum up in me but I do not strive to be like YOU. I have human respect for all but I don't need to see your way as this is my road, my dance and I am the driver, I am the dancer of my own words and yes, by the way, and in case you didn't know I know what's good for me. Don't think twice. Fever, passion and channeling words are just a natural part of my way...stick to your methods and I'll stick to my intuition and birth right. My voice is a strong song and you will not be able to teach it or calm it. It is none of my business if you hear me or not but whatever you are hearing so be it. Your life must be spinning out of control to spend so much time reading my entries -- do yourself a favor and go write about that and then maybe you won't have such an incessant need to try to sway me your way and then, instead you'll be able to offer up a ripe slice of words for your reader. Truly, we are a different breed. I haven't lived this long to sink down and let rules and regulations and voices like you try to guide or enforce your ways onto me. I am a woman, not a girl like you also called me. There is no wrong or right, especially when one writes from the soul. The writer I am suppose to be and am is one who is free, writes with abandon and refuses to live in caged thoughts. YOU who send me messages and lays your writings and rules on me can't stand that I am free with my pen and burn the box. No, your world is just NOT for me...and no we don't have to share it. We may breathe the same air but your world is not the air that I wish to breathe, I prefer my own, thanks. Labeling me as feminist because I have my own ideas is also insane. It's true for you though, whatever you dream up about me, as you just can't handle it, you can't handle me.  I'm a force who refuses to be a slave -- a slave to your slavery; A place where many recognize themselves in their commodities and find their soul in their automobile, their degrees, their split-level homes and kitchen equipment. NO. THAT'S JUST NOT ME.

The Dance Class (La Classe de Danse) born July 19th 1873 - Edgar DegasSee More

 

The Eye

When that fierce tornado strikes your house you will know it - there will be no place you can run for cover and you won't be able to escape...you will beg to be let go and you will be called to make your way into the light, you will crawl out of the darkness, if you are fortunate. Some are hit with that kiss but not blinded - suppose you could say that I am fortunate that EYE wasn't blinded.

I now have 3 eyes -- one in each hand and one in-between above and below.

L O V E



Words Copywrite - Wendy Rose Watson

 

We Don't Care: The Moon Is On Fire (and we once called it the sun)

You don't need to understand our process and posts - that's up to us...not you.

Close your eyes and imagine it.

Though you may have joined the cult , we know none of you.

It would be ludicrous to say that we do,we only know of you as

not all those whom are called friends will be able to come to this line of thinking, some have to go fishing in order to understand the catch. Maybe that is why you are here, reading this.
That statement in itself may or may not make any sense to you but what do we care? 

We are not here to "make sense" of your world. We make sense of ours and those that connect will connect and join forces with us because they have been down a path that is similar to ours. 

This is not a paid advertisement, tt's free, just like you should be.

The moon is on fire and we once thought it was the sun was, too.

Words - Wendy Rose Watson on behalf of the CVC

INDEPENDANCE DAY

 

Happy Independence Day! 

 

 May you all have work that inspires you 'cause getting down to real living is what it's all about.

Workin for the (wo)man ain't no good thing but sometimes

you gotta pay your dues in order to break free.

 

A high salute to all that continue to find a means to an end

&

YES

 Break free

 

No Bullshit, Inc.

 

I Am Not That Place Called Midnight

 

I left that old, ancient ghost hotel.  The one I often refer to as my ivory tower, today. I left it almost 9 months ago. Yeah, that's right. The term of a pregnancy.  I abandoned my room and those four walls and I shook his dust off my coat and never looked back.  I walked down the streets and heard the hum and rattle that was draped against my black - drenched heart as if I was on some sorta  mission to resurrect thoughts, thoughts on a razor and on that razor.... that razor... it was still logged deep inside of my womb holding me to bleed. That place where only that echoing voice can be heard, his voice.  Nobody knows what's going on in my head except you and I. Wired thoughts just like fiction that grain against my skin in that place where I summon the words that ache like Achilles in the desert.. That place that aches when I conjure and create, to birth no matter how painful, heals. No more self mutilation or devastation as I'm not midnight. He is. It's just that your eyes can never hold me to the light so I create from that place that's deeply embedded and razor sharp. I am your wife standing in the beating sun. I'm standing in that place where everything is glued  and tightly undone. That place where  no one else is allowed to see, no one but you, you and me.Metal fragments reflect wild dreams in postcards and again no reply as you steal away.  Metal post cards still arrive on my hidden driveway. Those pale streets did it to me and I just sat there broken, tattered and torn, cut up by the darkness with three wings, a crown of sun, moon and thorns. You,  circling my head today, everyday so  I unleash my bats watching them ride home, free and the very thought of you remains glowing in my mind just like the drifting fragrance of flowers. I am not that place called midnight.

“I am the sunrise of sunsets, and I make love like noon at midnight.” 

  Jarod Kintz, from This Book Has No Title

 

 

 

Words copywrite ~ Wendy Rose Watson

A Rainy Night In Georgia

Reflections in Suspension. The Graveyards and the ghosts traveling through space, looking for somewhere to settle. I know it cannot be here as I am not settled, I am a traveler and I see how the rain falls and burns itself on the lamp lights of yesteryear. The smoke is rising like an electrical fire. The eye plays no tricks. There is no direction home. Lights installed ages ago, I don't have to wait to get my fix. I rise once again as I've risen before and this time I have not forgotten that there's something beyond waiting for me. A garden of bursting rose blossoms but still there's no way home because I'm already inside on the outside. I am already home. This is not  a place where time and fevers run black, white and violet and home is not just another rainy night in Georgia.

My home is in things that are evident and have proofs and are repeatable and, if new evidence comes along I am allowed to change my view based on the new verifiable evidence. Faith, unlike a rainy night demands an adherence to dogma regardless of the evidence and proofs. Do I have faith? I'd say that I do. Faith in my continuance to write with abandon otherwise I stand with reality which allows me to move forward with balance and stealth into the arms of tomorrow which may (or may not) be just another rainy night in Georgia.

Words © Wendy Rose Watson

Using My Writing - Black & White

How to use writing is like having to use color, like a painter maybe... it's a form but you add something that's also unpredictable. I like the noise and distortion, the dark that contradicts the light. The real versus the unreal and adding a layer of music to it all is just the icing on the cake. Work has to go away, it's all about creation and imagination for me.

Photo of yours truly outstanding in a field somewhere in Chicago ~ June 2013 

Words © Wendy Rose Watson

I Walk the Line

Should I fake it or should I just lie? Should I tell the truth or should I just die? A fine line. A fine line when you continue to walk behind my eyes. I walk the line. Everything is illusion. In your eyes. Not mine. 

Words © Wendy Rose Watson 

Don't Fuck The Dead People Now

I feel just like Winona Ryder in that movie about Vampires. And she couldn't get that 'accent' right....neither could that other guy...

I was taught as a little girl that If you like anything about yourself you're going to be punished, if you were taught that as I was, don't buy it....love yourself and project that outwardly even at times if it means burning with word, in art and your daily in and out job that you are so fortunate to have. Make your statement. Love yourself. You are not doomed nor selfish when you're in that state of being. You're alive and living what is rightfully yours and true. People will judge you so be up for it but don't allow their judgement to infect you into a non-loving state of being. Don't let it color your decision making to be something that you are not or that you do not feel is true for you. Move forward with integrity and be honest with yourself and those around you as you will connect with the right people when you're truly in alignment with self.  Also, keep in mind that sometimes those people judging are the right people for you, too...they may help you define what you will and will not tolerate in this life and what boundaries you need to set for yourself. Be who you are. Celebrate your existence even if it means being alone and celebrating by yourself. Those hours alone are gems, hidden treasures and will open doorways for you. Doorways that not only exist in your mind but doorways into the next reality and remember nothing lasts forever outside of love so keep inside of it.  Love is infinite and it's looking you straight in the eye right now, all you need is a mirror to see.

You've been conditioned to believe that you were born to be a slave to the master. This is untrue. You were born to be a master of love. No crime committed, but a terrible and beautiful vision to see. So many twist and turns on the road in this world we live in today. So make noise in the hallways and command the door to open  as the poems don't love anymore. They will not suffice. It is all within YOU. Not the cold or rainy as I'm not much nourished by modern love either. I've seen the silver knives flashing in my bridal negligee.  Experiment within the maze, your maze and continue to worship the feeling it creates inside of you. I've certainly ripped my heart out on paragraphs but whatever you do don't fuck the dead people, don't fuck them now.

The lonely and the night of hands always relies on self.  Hands and eyes that are our brightest diamonds, yet so faint and sometimes falling from the sky not bright enough. So keep the doors of perception open and open them wide.  Open to higher thinking and open on the alter of prayer. Loving is not only a state of mind, it's a state of being, so let love in ...love, a voice in the night that says,  "You are not alone" and when hunger speaks precise instruction know that you are one of the chosen ones - you know you can never leave yourself, you have been chosen and you are the master.   It's not too early for the rainbow. It's not too late for the dove. This is the shield against the quarrels even if your name was once instructed to be the foundation of the night.  LOVE YOURSELF. BE YOURSELF. Write your redemption song tonight. It's alright. We are all just finches in the mist world but whatever you do don't fuck the dead people, don't fuck them now.

Words © Wendy Rose Watson 

Mothers Day - Bless Your Creations & Your Inspirations

Happy Mothers Day to all of you courageous, gorgeous, intelligent females out there - I've said it before and I'll say it again...all women are Mothers and for those of you who do not believe this to be true you've got some learning to do....your life is limitless as a human being.

I chose Ms. Marina Ambramovic to represent this day and I chose this particular video as her background has much to do with the way her performances are dealt with here although she actually has no intention of making her work resonate with one meaning only....I think that most human beings stop on the visual layer, if a woman has a child then she is considered a Mother but this isn't true for me as I've 'mothered' many things, beings, lives etc...including my own.

So here's to another breath of life and to the living it - the celebration of living 'it'....'it' being this life and each breath.

Today, bless your Mother and you as yourself and take some time to count the blessings all your "Mothers" bestowed upon you, your life and your breath. Count the Blessings our Holy Mother/Creatrix bestows each day....Bless your creations & your inspirations and Life. Own it NOW. NOW is all we have. 

Keep On Keepin' On....

FIsh & Candy

It's there inside of you
It's here inside of me, too.
Do you know where you're going to?
Do you like that things in life are showing you?
Why did you come here?
Is that really a ?
It's a rite of passage
You know what to do
It was born into you
You were born into this
Birthing
Breathing
All our songs - holy fragrant flowers
I will wait for you
never losing my way
The way to the sun
The way to the moon

Here's my stop
My back, yes still  full of flowers
I know they grow silent in the room of eyes hours
As you roam, search and still you mend your wound
Drenched from the rain
Your thirsty soul stretches out in your temple of doom
And here stands the phantom my ghost - mother rose
Rising like a honey comb our breathe will soon close

Like the mere dust that beckons you to swallow me whole
The things you should never believe, the things you are told
With your heart that has been padlocked
Your brain at war with those locks so deceived

Filled with moon light
Try hard to deceive yourself dry
I'm pregnant with words and so are your cries
I collect glances from men
Validation approval
You never arrived
the lesson is futile

A sort of energetic force that isn't true
The fountain spills over and it's time to sell wedding rings
Corner pieces in the jigsaw puzzle of life things that were once in the dream
Forty years
Forty Days
Forty nights
In the desert
The floods that never stopped

And now with those pieces in place so silken rare
You think form my photographs you smell honey comb in my hair
Like self-love, for instance humbled
I am free from this belief that you cannot see
the old beliefs that locked me and made me stumble often
Into all unworkable relationships  your ship wreck is often

With all who knocked upon my souls door be the test
With intent to own instead of to share so I have no regrets
So I have no regrets
It all led me to here
And here is pretty damn good
And it's time for those the have forgotten to see
Gold, platnium, diamond, sapphire , opals with longing to be
She, she named it and so she has told ....Sappho the poet the one who knows

The ring, this one as its no longer been forgotten
The one that is now almost long and forgotten
The one that a bright halogen light shines upon
It's been polished and cleaned
And so as I do yes, so as I do
I'm still ready for you

Where we touch is unseen
All manners of the chrysalis signals
It is if you are already inside of me
And we will radiate the phoenix
when our flesh comes to be
You and I
Heaven sent in a song to stand by each others side
Confessing it all
Awakening thirst
I swore I met you before
And the sun of hours is here now at our door
Drink hyacinth with me, my love you know
The sun of flowering on our opal shore stone

For we are so simple and yet complex inbetween
We are so more than before
Don't fight what is seen
Authentic power
Soul knowledge is ours
That that is coming up the stairs against the miles

Released you will never be alone in the great find
This great find of self and once realized
Scanning the horizon
You are the heaven that was sent direct to me
The one that was sent when I could not see
This I know is true just as
The river runs south
I will meet you there
With fish...fish and candy, deep enough to swim
Back to me again just like a kiss on your mouth
Just like candy...You are through fishing...
as she is I that desires you

Words © Wendy Rose Watson