i am an earth dragon born of the thunder clan chinese-canadian settler third generation islander at heart. i live for the wind the rain camp- fires. four seasons a stove. hair of abandon the coo of a moth. one sun, one moon, all stars & i’ll be the first to spot an eagle.
deep white curtain dancing green aurora envelope of the earth's life aura without it we turn to dust stars mars
Be warmed by the fires of love.
Be rocks drearily coaxed into slow, radiant heat;
bask baking bare to the breeze. Be the middle of the circle. the centre of family.
the baby born into the arms of grandmother and grandfather.
Be the beat of feet and soft bed of palms turned up to the sky.
Be the whispered moment. Be the background voices and the sound of mom. ear to warm chest,
like the ear to a shell. it is the ocean calling.
Be seen in the dancing shadows. Be the delighted shrieking children.
Be the hunters drinking mead.
Be the warm mug of coffee, cigarette in finger,
hands wrapped ’round glazing clay; looking down
into a bowl of stars.
“Looking at the stars always makes me dream, as simply as I dream over the black dots representing towns and villages on a map.
Why, I ask myself, shouldn’t the shining dots of the sky be as accessible as the black dots on the map of France?
Just as we take a train to get to Tarascon or Rouen, we take death to reach a star. We cannot get to a star while we are alive any more than we can take the train when we are dead. So to me it seems possible that cholera, tuberculosis and cancer are the celestial means of locomotion. Just as steamboats, buses and railways are the terrestrial means.
To die quietly of old age would be to go there on foot.”
— Vincent Van Gogh, as quoted in Roger Ebert’s memoir Life Itself.
look at the sky a web of stars without lines, a game of connect the dots drawn in invisible ink escaping with the moon maybe if we were close enough you could drag your finger through the constellations and feel each thread, strum a song and call it god; weave a patch in the fabric of existence or spin heaven into a spool and save it for a time at sea, letting it out at the quiet of night (or make a home in a corner of the room at the light of morning) hang tiny beads of dew like drops of honey... and sail on, unfold into a map a cornered box of a sphere, the opened gift of raven's chest float atop the sea of stories and creation.
i don’t know if i’m attracted
to the mystery
of what i see
but there is something about
the things i know about you
and the beautiful
spaces between those things
like distant stars
that close up blind me
but from a distance
make sense and shapes
and i’m a dozen little children
robed in fur
whispering in each other’s ears,
guessing and gossiping:
under the spell
of the nightsky
This is another MSPaint painting that I drew today. It’s called “moonlight ball” and it’s a picture of two animals, a wolf and a swan. Like any painting or drawing, it started with a line. A shape. And then it evolved into what you see before you. I don’t know if I’d say that it’s a complete painting, but I’m satisfied enough to share it with you. Unfortunately I can only post JPEG’s to the internet (unless someone knows a way to post BMP’s or other hi-res files?) so if you want the real thing, just send me an email at isaaclouie [at] gmail (dot) com. I guess that is the state of our technology, like how you hear the record music of a waltz through the static and “noise” maybe in the future this will be our nostalgic “JPEG phonograph.” So even art, though blurred and distorted on the internet, can still affect feeling and emotion.
What do you see? What do you notice?