Daily Keemo. 01.30. Proof Of Our Existence

Proof Of Our Existence
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It was late as we walked and
there were stars and
the sky was dark
but not black and
we didn't talk much because it was

one of those nights that we didn't need to.

It was late as we walked and
there were clouds of steam coming
from our mouths as we let go of
each breath and
proof of our existence was behind us in the snow and
in our hands and
in our eyes and
we didn't talk much because it was

one of those nights that we didn't need to.

...Enjoy!

 

 

Daily Keemo. 01.29. Conversation Between Friends

Conversation Between Friends
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Will you do a portrait of me?
You can draw my big head,
he said.

You don't have a big head,
I replied.

You can write about my big head too,
he said.

What am I going to write about
your head?
I asked.

Write about how big it is,
he said.

You don't have a big head,
I said again.

Sure I do,
he said.
Make it big,
he said.

I still don't know what I
am going to write about your head,
I said.

You will think of something,
he said.

...Enjoy!

 

 

Daily Keemo. 01.27. Under The Chest

Under The Chest
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I just don't have the words tonight.
That doesn't mean that there is
nothing up there
above the eyes or
under the chest or
flowing through the veins or
in the fingertips.
It just means that I don't have the words tonight
to make sense of it all.

If you always know what to say
then you aren't feeling enough,
he said to me.

I am fairly certain it was his drink talking
but he made sense and
I knew
I would use that line when I
ran out of words. 

...Enjoy! 

Daily Keemo. 01.26. In That Moment You Are Absolute(#2 in the Typewriter series)

In That Moment You Are Absolute (#2 in the Typewriter series)
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There is a brief moment when I wake up in the morning and the room is pitch black and the air is silent and my eyes are not able to focus, that the world is absolutely perfect. It is like there is no time or place or motivation or desire or wasted minutes or wasted hours or wasted anything.

There is only you and in that moment, you are absolute.

There are no morning commutes or corporate ladders to fall off. There are no traffic jams or obscene hand gestures or sirens. There are no lotto tickets or dreams of golden tomorrows. It is only you and your hope that all good things stay good and that everything else gets lost in the pockets of pants that are not yours.

There is only you and in that moment, you are absolute.

 

Daily Keemo. 01.25. Blue In Big Sur

Blue In Big Sur
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The music has changed. The sad German composers have been replaced with Thelonious, Dexter Gordon, Fats Waller, Coltrane and more and it makes me think of that beat writer, you know the one who was on the Road and some think he's the only one but I know better and I bet you know better too. I don't think of his stories of the road but I think of the days after he was on the road and he split to Big Sur to get away from it all and the only thing he found was

the bottom of himself and
it wasn't pretty.

The music has changed. The sad and dark and lonely sonatas have been replaced with Hawkins, Sonny Rollins, Coleman and Davis and more and there is a new lamp over the desk that shines new light on a new face and new colors and brushes and it lights up the empty paper and in it's reflection the only thing I see is

the bottom of myself and
it is just the way it should be.

 

 

Daily Keemo. 01.24. I Still Don't See It

I Still Don't See It
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She taught me that
sometimes when we search too much
we miss what we are trying
to find. 

When I look at your paintings,
I don't see anything natural,
she said.

That is too bad because it is
all in there,
I replied.

Your colors and your lines are
not natural, I don't
see it, 
she said.

If you look, you will see nature is
not about color and lines and I swear
if you look, you will eventually
see it. 

I still don't see it,
she said.
I still don't
see it.

...Enjoy!

 

 

Daily Keemo. 01.22. In His Eyes And He Talked (#1 in the Typewriter series)

In His Eyes And He Talked (#1 in the Typewriter series)
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There words are nothing more than just that. Words. There is no music in the air tonight. Only the sound of these keystrokes on this paper and the dog scratching on the floor by my feet and papers rustling as she goes through a drawer looking for something. I am looking for something but it is not found in the drawer. I know because I have already looked in there.

There is still only the sound of these keys and nothing more.

I think of the man in the wheelchair who asked us to get the cup out of his wheel and he had to be cold going around the city in just a t-shirt. You could see the drink in his eyes as he talked to us. As I think of him I am certain that he has forgotten about me and the cup and the cold and the talk and it all.

Daily Keemo. 01.20. No. 2 in G Sharp Minor (the purple paint is still drying)

No. 2 in G Sharp Minor (the purple paint is still drying)
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The purple paint is still drying and the Austrian composer, Johann Hummel, is in the air and it is No 5. in F sharp and before that is was Tchaikovski and before that it was Chopin and before that the paper was white and there was nothing.

The purple paint is still drying and I am thinking about how I might answer questions for the upcoming interview that is supposed to be centered around the business of art or the current state of the art business or something like that and to be honest I think it is much easier to talk about all that stuff than it is to try and explain everything behind all the color and line and words and why it all comes together like it does.

The purple paint is still drying and I am alone in this room like I am every night at 2:00 AM and I catch myself staring at the wall in front of the desk and am thousands of miles away from the black chair I am sitting in and Hummel has been replaced by Alexander Scriabin (no. 2 in G sharp minor) and I slide off the chair and lay out on the wood floor and just listen with my eyes closed.

 

 

Daily Keemo. 01.19. It Only Takes Three Blocks To Walk In Your Shoes

It Only Takes Three Blocks To Walk In Your Shoes
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Her eyes were full of tears and I don't know why because I was just walking by her and I didn't know her and she was on the phone, not talking, just crying and listening and I kept walking down the sidewalk away from the crying and I stopped at a store front window and looked at the expensive watches on display and imagined the person who would buy such a watch and I looked back where I came from and the crying woman was no longer there crying on the sidewalk and I imagined such a person who would make that woman cry and I couldn't imagine either one of them and I turned back up the sidewalk and kept on walking.

Daily Keemo. 01.17. In Books That Are In Rooms That I Am Not In

In Books That Are In Rooms That I Am Not In
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They are upstairs and I
am down here and 
the heater is blowing hot air
on my feet while I paint and 
I hear one of them
turn a page of their book because that is
how quiet it
is.

There is no music
because there is not
room in this moment
for it.

They are upstairs and I
am down here and 
I can tell when I am not getting out enough because
I write about the moment and
not about the time leading up
to it or the time
leading away from
it.

It is just about now and
there is no music and
there are pages being turned
in books that are
in rooms that I am not in and
this where we all move away
from this moment
together.

 

 

Daily Keemo. 01.16. When Your Head Hits The Pillow

When Your Head Hits The Pillow
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It is very late or very early depending if you are awake like I am or asleep like the rest of the people on my street. When I pause in between things, I can look out the window into the night and the silence on the street is visible and as I look at the houses all tucked in, I am thinking of recent events that have resurrected thoughts of the old man and the old man's ways and the old man's words and everything else the old man dragged around with him and heaved upon everyone in his wake.

He has been gone for more years than I have fingers and all his garbage has been cleaned up and dealt with but there are times in these very late hours of the night (or early hours of the morning) that I am weakest and I look back and want to rethink things and I question the distance that he and I have created.

Let me rephrase that. He created it and I have kept it.

It is then, when you take the top of your head off and have a good look around and you unbutton your shirt and let your chest beat a little louder and you let the clock push on towards morning because you know eventually, when your head hits the pillow, it will all go back to how it used to be.