Person-
the knife enters, cleaving the one
opening an emptiness, emptying a fullness
Person looks for her.
" Where are you? Where have you gone?"
" I am not the one who did the leaving."
As the earth of man reseeds from the waters, furthering
the
desert, sapping the body
salt relieving the void, mirages emptying into thought
children echo the return of the mother/father.
The first word born of their becoming,
here I am, this is my cypher.
Opening to the sky, fill me
I am yours, beloved...
.................................
When I was three my mother went away
to the hospital. She had cancer,
a lump in her breast. The doctors
cut it out, removing her breast
to the bone.
One half of the universe dissolves
the son is alone with the father
Silence becomes enthroned in time, which is separation.
Desperation,
the chick calls out, randomly dialing numbers
until one connects, the signal holds
ringing fills the ears, further into the desert, dive...
An answer, 'yes, hello.'
Person asks, 'Do you know where my mother is?'
You are all dead
Do you here me?
You’re already dead!
This is not life!
This is not life!
Ring around the rosie
Pockets full of puss
Ashes
Ashes
We all fall down
Person
Person
You are a walking corpse
Shit and rotting blood of maggots
Piled high
Caricature of life
My lips
Brake
All is silent
I has wandered
No thing
No where
No shelter
No sky
No mountain
No valley
No skin
No flesh
Dead!
Dead!
Dead!
You’re already Fucking Dead!
Time is up, Mother Fucker!
She is crying.
Duck and cover!
Game over!
Time has ended
With an open mouth and an open ass
Screaming into the void
My sex crawls beneath the night
Enveloped in the boiling of the sky
Tuberous snouts probing
A cankered earth
Extracting poisons
Time honored
Tongues
Canceling the void
Silence scattered
Between cries
The radioactivity of my sex
Emits nightly
Half-life
All death
I cannot help
But to…
Everything is upside down
Somewhere between
The heart
And the mind
Something went wrong
I saw you in my dream
you were the earth
white... glowing...
heat and wetness
the universe in revolutions
about you spinning
Stricken but not broken
alone in the void between worlds
I have nothing to give
but my self
In kisses
voluptuous
sweet
wet
and the warmth of my body
The Omen Project is a magic charm to awaken
the dead, shadows, wandering asleep, forgetful and lost. Deep Black a.k.a.
No'One counted among them, being one who has 'fallen off the earth,' is
sought by and seeks the beloved.
I find that we are schizophrenic as a species. We see ourselves as being
separate/better (even amongst our own species) and thus find ourselves
isolated from and warring with what is essentially part of our being--the
rest of the world. We have run away 'gone to the dark side', perhaps even
'born dead' not yet living. Deep Black a.k.a. No'One counted among them,
being one who has 'fallen off the earth,' tries to remember, to return.
By any means possible (writing, video, performance) I try in my own way
to find my way home. To leave the deserts for the land of the living.
Mr Pickerill is a multimedia artist with roots in poetry and photography
since a teenager. Influenced by Antonin Artaud, Viennese Actionism, and
70's SoCal video and performance since 1997 he has been developing the
Omen Project a series of performances, video and installations centered
on his writing. Inspired by the themes in the Iliad and the Odyssey- the
primacy of personal love over societal conflict and control. He has staged
12 productions and taken part in many Video festivals internationally.
Most recently he has had photography published in Ninja magazine and video
shown on the Art Channel, both out of Paris, France. Mr Pickerill lives
and works in Brooklyn NY.
Burning from the inside, sun and moon collide;
open the flesh.