A disaster in the making

Everything in me is hating this right now.

Not only does it just look awful as it is, it also sparkles... Sure, you can't really tell that it does from the photo, and it doesn't sparkle a lot, but it sparkles just enough to be annoying. There's something about art work that sparkles that screams gawdy and tacky. I'm trying to make it work and unfortunately it's just not working. Time to throw in the towel.

When thinking about where I went wrong, it all must've started with the blue-printing. I seriously did not put a lot of thought into this. No sketches. No direction... You would think this would teach me a lesson, but unfortunately it's a running theme with how I work. It's seriously a self-destructive process, and I need to stop.

I'm in a weird state of mind right now... Currently discontent with not having made any work for two months, yet defeated by the lack of motivation (aka, inspiration). I just want to start doing something. I've got two unfinished works waiting for me; one is exciting for me, the other- well, I'm unsure about it. Perhaps part of my issue right now is that I'm not a) surrounded by other artists, which is what I'm used to from taking classes for four years and b) not getting any critique at all. The only voice going into these works is my own, and let me tell you, for someone who just graduated college it sure doesn't have a lot to say.

I'm being too pessimistic, I know. And this entry isn't really as thoughtful as it could be. There's a lot going on in my world, and all I want right now is a little bit of human fellowship.

The Sunday morning I would have never expected

I'm about to get a little sentimental on you, so if you can't handle it, stop reading now.
I became a Christian my senior year of high school. Unlike many folks I've met since then, I did not grow up in a church nor did I really have any familiarity with churchy-things for the majority of my life. In fact, I would wager to say I was pretty anti-church (see: anti-Christian) by the time I moved to PA and went through the last years of middle school and into high school. I was hurt by a church--the circumstances weren't really their part though, retrospectively. When I decided to be a Christian, it was difficult to even get to the point that I wanted to try going to a church. I started going to a church with my friend Sarah the last half of senior year, and partially into the summer. Once I hit college, I had no where to go for the first half of my freshman year. I didn't even know what it meant to look for a church and I was still a bit edgy about the idea of being in a congregation filled with people who I thought wouldn't want much to do with me. I was nervous around church goers.
Eventually I checked out a few churches.... and by 'few', I really mean it. I think I only really checked out three. I'm not so good with church-shopping.
there was this little church that I went to with a few friends, though, and to be honest I don't really even remember my first day being there. What I do remember is that I felt okay there.. safe.. like I was accepted. Maybe it's because I had a handful of friends that went there too, maybe it's because the congregation was small and I didn't feel like just another face in the crowd. But, it's the church I ended up sticking with: Cornerstone Community Church.

That's a breif history of my church experience for you. I've been a part of Cornerstone for three and a half years, and they are truly my church family. It's the first church I've ever been a member of. It's the place where I've seen Christian community and family in action through homegroups. There's a lot that I've learned from people like Ronaldo, the Herrlins (Dan and Trista, and Pastor Nate and Anne), and a few others in the past. I've been able to feel like an adopted little sister to Mark and Steph Yoder and a big sister to their daughter Amy. Of course, I have learned a great deal from our head pastor, Mark (fondly: P.Mark) Hardenbrook, from his sermons. I think it would be safe to say that one big reason I wanted to stay at Cornerstone was because of the sermons. While I do not mean to paint any sort of extravagant picture of P.Mark, there is something about his sermons that usually have bold confidence and humility wrapped up into speaking Biblical truths. His are the sort of sermons that have taught me, challenged me, and encouraged me.... really, isn't that what a sermon is supposed to do no matter who is giving it?
Over the past year or so, I have had the opportunity to get together with P.Mark for coffee-ish-ness (or, favorably, breakfast... even it if was at 7:00 in the morning or earlier) on and off. Like any good man or woman of God he's been able to dig at the tough stuff going on in my crazy world of thinking, one hand offering challenges and the other encouragement, both pushing me towards Christ. The Lord has been so good to have blessed me with people that can effectively teach me with that sort of method. But what I really want to say is that P.Mark has become more than just a pastor to me, but someone that I can easily call a dear friend. He is a shepherd that cares for his sheep and acknowledges the fact that he too is a sheep cared for by a Shepherd.

So, why am I going into all of this? What does it matter? Some if it has to do with the fact that I will not be going to Cornerstone for much longer. Sometime within the next two months (Lord willing), I will be moving to Philadelphia. But there's more to it than that.
It was about 11PM when I started this entry, a little under twelve hours after the church service from this morning. P.Mark's sermon was about how to handle change, all focusing around the account of Joseph's life. That man certainly went through an awful lot of changes in his life, and all the while handled them in a God-honoring way even though he probably got scared, angry, and sad at times. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why P.Mark would be talking about this though. I tried to figure it out, and thought it may have something to do with the fact that the college students were back or that the church is moving into a new building.

That's when the unexpected was spoken.
With quickly reddening eyes and a choked up voice, P.Mark announced that he was to be resigning from his pastorship position at our church. I was stunned when he started talking about it. He explained that his and Kathy's (that's his wife) gifts were needed elsewhere.... his parents in Arkansas are becoming unable to fully care for themselves. His father is becoming blind and his mother's arthritis is getting so bad that she can't use her hands. This has been on his and Kathy's mind for 18 months... I can't even begin to imagine how difficult this is for them, on any and all levels. They aren't sure when they are going to move, although Kathy mentioned to me that they are likely to be around for a few more months yet.
After (really during) P.Mark's annoucement, I wasn't sure how to react aside from doing my best to hold back tears. I wasn't too successful. I know that it's good that P.Mark and his wife are going to be with his parents... in a lot of ways, I highly admire it and hope that I would be brave/strong enough to do that when my own parents are in need later in life. I know that the Lord is going to continue working in Cornerstone, and I know the Lord is going to continue working in their lives in Arkansas... I know He's going to be working in me apart from Cornerstone and apart from P.Mark. But I will be honest... much of this morning and a good portion of this afternoon was very difficult for me. In some ways I feel self-centered, but I am a human being. I have real, raw emotion that does have the tendancy to get through the fortress I normally have built up to stay composed.
Perhaps it's been as difficult for me as it has been because it's double-fold.. Not only am I leaving, but P. Mark will be leaving too. See, I'm not sure if I ever told him (I'll be sure to do so now), but if I ever get married, P.Mark is the pastor I want. That's how much I love this guy... seriously.
It's weird thinking that if I visit Cornerstone in a year, P.Mark won't be around. It makes me wish I would have opened up to him and his family a lot sooner than I did, but I'm grateful for the time I did get to hang out... and now I just want to hang out with his family all the time before I leave. But I know I can't because he probably wouldn't let me. He's a good pastor like that and a better steward of his time than I am. In some ways, it makes me really grateful that I'm going to be in Allentown for at least another month-- today was going to be my last Sunday. If it had happened that way, I would have been much more upset.
Now, I'll be praying for him, his family, and Cornerstone... we'll be going through a new phase in church-life: looking for a new pastor. I can't imagine Cornerstone without P.Mark there, but there will be a time in the future where new people won't be able to imagine Cornerstone with whoever comes in his place.

After the service, I walked up to him and said, "You- what are you doing making me cry?" Some conversation passes between us and then he remarks to me, "Hey, you were leaving us first."
Touche, P.Mark.

-Y

And thus the cryptic nature of the things I write

Logos

What are words, but that which gives ephemeral form
to thoughts and pictures,
or syllables weaved together to create a new sound?
And from whence does it come?
A box that cannot contain that which it produces:
foreign creatures with wings,
anxious to break free and be taken away by the wind,
left to ride the backs of thunderheads
This is the immersion of voice, buried deep yet exposed,
raised letter by letter like the resurrection of saints
and falling as a holy waterfall

Yet so much more are the strokes of a pen
that grace the surface of a sleek white virgin page,
truly allowing it to breathe some new thing
Word given form, shape and purpose
bringing to potential paper and ink, united as a bride to a groom
The result leaves humanity colliding with divinity,
drawn in by a shepherd's hook that brings the cold close
and holds her in a warm embrace

What are these words that fall off the tongues of cherubim,
cresting the edge of the world like satin white horses?
The lungs of man will be filled with poignant pictures,
and trifold 'holies'
The pen will make his mark on internal walls,
saturated with the sound of glory

These new things, these shapes and figures-
whence do they come?
Not from the depths of the sea, nor bellows of the earth
is it heard or seen or smelt or tasted
A voice of such words that are foreign,
yet inviting the Dark to be pierced by Light
and speaking in a beautiful spectrum that is hidden by angels
The syllables are deep and brought to the surface,
the infrastructure of the world cradled in the palm of one word
and blazing into unseen cardiac highways

YB 06 8/25

Forgotten poetry

Seeking Sanctuary

Metal trees built up with jagged edges
and razor-blade leaves
as the sound of aged grinding gears
accompanies chimneys coughing smog
A shroud of oil begins to blanket the floor-
How did I come to this place?
So foreign and industrious a forest;
I can taste the rust in the air
and hear the metal groaning in the want of something more.
A twinge of familiarity-
I've been here before.

This isn't where I want to be.

I hold myself together vainly,
arms wrapped shoulder to shoulder
Stones whisper with itching ears,
desperate for the color of life
The weight of hollow metal is opressive
as it echoes the voices of my sin,
my faults,
my malignant thoughts
Oil seeps into my wounds to suffocate healing
The slick and sticky touch of where I've been.

This isn't where I want to be.

Turning yet blind to the path
with rocks, gears, wire
holding me down and blocking the way
My heartbeat ticking as a time-bomb-
eyes cast from this dangerous forest to the heavens
I can see rays of light
wrapped around velvety clouds of sanctuary
The fragrance of my salvation
gracing my thoughts once more-
How did I forget it?

That is where I want to be.

I call to the heavens, to the Light,
to my Redeemer-
"I cannot find the way out on my own
for I am blind to the colors of God
and deaf to the sound of guidance."
Metal shudders and gives way to wind
trees of razor-leaves buckling,
oil retreating
A transformation sweeps across this forest
unravelling in the way flowers blossom

Yellow crests the horizon like a golden crown-
glorious, O as glorious as the Son-
holding the earth in a warm embrace
as renewed, acceptable, pleasing.

This is where I want to remain.

YB 05 11/15



I was perusing through the poetry I had typed up, and found this one. Apparently, it was the second to last one I wrote before the short poem posted in May, and then I came up with the response-poem to Dayton's 'End of the Tunnel' in July. I hadn't realized my wellspring of writing had been so dry for so many months.... The kicker is that I'm unsure if I like this one from November, since it doesn't seem to flow so well. Always room for revisions?

Do you want fries with that?

Okay, so I know that I said that the next post would have some word-flair, but I just saw Super-Size Me with my friend Charity and I'd like to share some thoughts.

1. Although I pretty much ditched McD's because they changed their fries and their chicken nuggets to things that taste like the decendents of cardboard, it's official: I will never, never eat at McD's again unless I'm desperate.

2. I never knew how obese America was, nor how often we gravitate towards that which is truly bad for us. At least, not in the perspective of food. A man in the movie made a good point in saying that we are very quick to criticize people who smoke and tell them to stop because it's bad for them. Yet, when it comes to watching an obese person gorge themselves on food, we are not so quick to actually tell them they should stop eating what's bad for them and consider vegetables a healthy staple. Admitedly, I don't think I would ever say that to anyone, but I've told many of my friends they need to stop smoking... Perhaps part of the reason for this is that smoking doesn't just affect the smoker, but those around him. Eating horribly bad food only affects the person eating the food and not those around him. Are we just looking out for the smoker?

3. Children/teens in our country are totally ingrained and surrounded by food that is bad for them, and encouraged to eat it by the sheer accessibility of it. School cafeterias assume more than they should about a kid's eating habits and nutritional know-how.

4. Eating fast food every single day is going to kill your liver... and apparently your mojo as well. Go figure.

Conclusion:
Fast food is awful for you. Don't eat it unless you absolutely have no other choice.
I hope I can stick to that conclusion. I don't really eat a lot of fast food to begin with, but holy smokes, the movie made me never want to eat another processed chicken sandwich ever again.

She's Off to China

I promise that these posts will not happen very often, so bare with me. But, because I won't be seeing this girl for 11 months I figured that Barbara deserves a little more spotlight. I had breakfast with her this morning and drove her off to Carlisle... she's leaving next Wednesday... I can't believe it!

By the way, I don't recommend driving and trying to take a photo at the same time.



































One of the things we mentioned in the car ride was how crazy it is that people are doing things and going places right out of college... Not everyone I know is doing something right away, and there's not a thing wrong with that, but I would have never thought I'd have something to do. I thought I'd still be looking. And yet, that's not the case, and I'll be in Philly rubbing shoulders with art students. Barbara is going to China. Tony has moved to Philly. Heather is going to go to Indiana (as in, the state). Brian is moving out to State College. Other friends are going other places.... It's exciting and scary at the same time. It interests me the different places God puts people, and the different times. There is a time for everything, and a place, and a purpose. It'll be exciting to see how things roll out.





-Y

P.S. Next post? Since it turns out that P is an amazing writer -- moreso than I thought before -- it makes me want to write. Perhaps I will get some poetry out of me.

Works in Progress and Dead Animals

I've been working on some art things, though not as much as I would like. The space that I'm currently in (IE, the basement) is not exactly conducive to being creative all the time. And there's something I want to make right now but I cannot for the life of me find my Bristol pad. It makes me sad. But I'm sure I'll find it somewhere in this mess.... Anyway, remember that self portrait that I blogged about a few months ago? Yeah, I still ended up hating it when I came home after training. So the other week I decided it was time to erase it's existence. The image on your left is what's coming of it right now, and it's in progress. I'll keep the steps to follow a mystery for now. I can't reveal all the tricks up my sleeve, now can I?



This one.. well.. I was originally going to be doing a traditional sort of oil painting with it, but wanted to see what would happen if I went a different direction. I kind of like it, but it also is a work in progress. Problem? I don't know what to do with it. It's meant to be a gift for a family I'm close to.... but like I said, don't know where to go with it. Hmmmmmmm. I think the fact that it's not centered is bothersome, and it's too late to fix it.
We'll see where it goes.




Finally, we've got a light box in progress. I'm so glad that I started working on this idea, although I need to start working on the other aspects of it... drawings, text, etc. I'm pretty pleased with how this part is coming along, and there will be more done to it. Again, where it's headed will remain a mystery. But really, if you want to know, just ask.
Really, all I wanted to do was show some pictures of what I'm working on, and prove that I am doing stuff.. just slowly. Right now my time is focused on making phone calls like a mad woman.

By the way, any thoughts and constructive criticism are appreciated.


In other news....
I went to Cabella's for the first time the other day. The only real reason that I wanted to go? To take pictures of the stuffed critters. That probably sounds morbid. It probably is morbid. But that's how I roll, despite the fact that it was creepy. I don't think I've seen that many dead animals in one place at one time. Actually, that's not true, because I've been to a number of natural history museums - that's really how I roll.

At any rate... my assessment of Cabella's leaves me thinking, Wow, this place reeks of testosterone. Perhaps I am cynical because I am not a hunter, and I'm not super fanatical about being outdoorsy - though I do love running around in the woods - I just couldn't help but be overwhelmed by a stereotypical American male ego in that store. I would probably feel the same way if I had gone to a super-duper-car-store or something. Particularly, it was all the hunting stuff in juxtaposition to all the mounted animal trophies. I've never been a fan of the idea of people hunting for the sake of having a trophy (and not using the animal parts for much of anything), so do you blame me for finding it to be the epitome of ego glorification? Really, the building itself is comparable to a temple, in the sense that it is massive and filled with tools to equip and things to aspire for, physically speaking. And yet, I probably take it to a ridiculous level in thinking this way. I think in the end, I'm just curious about why people show off the things they've killed that never had a war with them in the first place. Okay, so that sounded cynical. I would ask why we need a store that's as big as Cabella's, but I'm the one that loves to go to Ikea.

Anyway... here are some photos of the animals. If I had the guts, I'd look into learning taxidermy...... no pun intended.






That's good for now. There's actually quite a bit more than that, so I decided to upload them onto Flikr. It's at http://www.flickr.com/photos/yivviepants.
Other thoughts on the stuffed animals... I went into the Deer Room which, needless to say, was a room packed with deer. It was interesting in the sense of the repetition of the deer heads on the wall and then all the full-body deer in the room. Yet, despite the fact that they were all deer, they all were very very different. Of course, making things individual is something God is an expert at, but I had no idea how varied deer could be. I was keenly interested in the fact that there were very few bucks that had perfect antlers. A lot of them had points going off in all kinds of crazy directions (which, I wish I got more pictures of). The only way I'd seen a buck depicted, it had perfect antlers without deformity. It's like candy coated venison, flawless. Yet, there were the ones in that room where the antler deformities were crazy. A sign of humanity's aspiration for perfection? Possibly.

Barbara, this one's for you.

Can I tell you a story about a girl that is amazing? Well, if you don't, I'm writing about her anyway. This will be an uncharacteristic break from what I normally write about... Although I may end up writing a tribute to a few other people that I love to bits.

Pictured to your left is myself (looking as pudgey as all get out with short red hair) and Barbara four years ago. Barbara is this girl that I met at our college orientation before school started, and we decided that the other was pretty awesome and we wanted to hang out. It's funny to think that part of what united us at that time was that we thought a boy with green and black hair was adorable.
We also decided that we wanted to be roommates, so come second semester of freshman year, it was so. During that year, we were the black sheep in a predominantly preppy hallway... We lived together all of Sophomore year, too. She's a pretty fabulous friend all across the board. While we kind of ended up spending time with other people, I cannot tell you how much I love this girl.

Barbara's quirky, artsy, ballsy (yes, I did just say that), hysterical, weird, comic-book-loving, and so many other things. It is true that she can be very indecisive, but once she makes a decision (especially artistically), it turns into something awesome. She's a sculptor, weaver, embroider-er, and thinks pretty much three-dimensionally about everything... which I admire, because I'm a dead-beat when it comes to that kind of thing.
Okay, so this entry isn't really meant to be a O.M.G-BARBARA-IS-AMAZING Fest, but in some ways I guess it kind of is. She's one of two people that I met at our college orientation that I'm still friends with today, and one of a handful of crazy people that I spent a lot of time with my first semester at college. She's introduced amazing music to me, some pretty flippin' sweet art, and I've probably adopted some of her quirks along the way.
I mean, people used to think that we were sisters- or, even farther than that, used to confuse us with each other. It was awesome.

So, my dear friend Barbara is going to China for an internship-job and will be teaching some kind of class (womens' studies class, I think?) for 10 months. I just found out last night right after she found out, and I am SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO incredibly excited for her! I mean, really, there aren't many people I can say I know who have gone to China. I can understand her fear about going to China to teach a class, since I would be shaking in my boots. But I know that she is going to be absolutely amazing and she's going to be great. We were thinking of living together in Philly, but you know what, I would much rather her go to the other side of the world for the experience of a lifetime. Seriously- how awesome is that? A whole different culture, way of life, and art experience out the wazoo... man, she's going to love it.

I know there were more pictures of her and I, but I can't seem to find them. That makes me sad. But here's a group photo of some of us from my very first art show at KU, second semester freshman year. Four years ago... we all look VERY different now. I wish I had more photos of these kids, because Kyle, Tony, and Barbara were my core group to spend time with in the beginning of college. I regret not spending more time with them as the years progressed, but there's nothing but love for each of 'em. ... Suddenly I feel all nostalgic. Man.

The Ceiling is Gone

If my posts seem to be coming in frequently, it's because I don't get out of the house much. But in other news...

My ceiling was finally taken down yesterday so it could get fixed. Don't know the story? Well, while I was in the last week of training, a 2 1/2 foot square panel fell from the ceiling in my bedroom. Because the ceiling was plaster, the whole thing had to come down and it took two weeks for them to finally get to it.


You know what's funny? I kind of like my new anti-ceiling. They're going to come in and plaster over it again, but I like being able to see the boards and all that fun stuff. I'm not really sure why I like it... it's kind of like when I went to visit the Penn. School of Art and Design way back in the day when I was deciding what school to go to (consequently, it was the only other school I looked at besides KU). The classes are in an old car garage and it was pretty dang awesome.
But anyway... yeah, I kind of wish they could remake the ceiling so that the boards can continue to show but still be finished and made nice. Higher ceilings are awesome.
And in addition to that, it makes me think of art things... unfortunately, the specific work that I'm thinking of I cannot for the life of me remember the name OR the artist. I suck. It was something like, "The Man Who Flew into Space from His Bedroom," and it's an installation of a bedroom with the ceiling all fallen apart, and it's suggested that a man slingshot himself through it.
Just kidding. I found it. Illya Kabakov, The Man Who Flew into Space from His Apartment. 1981-88


Pretty sweet. Anyway, here are some photos of the the anti-ceiling. It makes me want to artsy things (go figure).

Plexiglas and Light

Finally, a post about art.
I decided to wander over to artblog and catch up on a few things since I hadn't been reading it for a while... well, I don't really have the habit of reading it often to begin with, but I'm hoping that all of that will change soon. Anyway. I was reading the post from this past Wednesday and found something absolutely delightful.

Mark Khaisman is an artist (as many on the artblog) that I have never heard of before. But I'm terribly intruiged by his use of packing tape on Plexiglas surfaces, using light to illuminate the piece.


His works are incredible in their illusion of detail, and in some ways they kind of remind me of Rubens' works with pixelation. On Inliquid.com's website, Khaisman says that, "I work on the light easel, applying translucent brown packing tape on clear Plexiglas panels, the layers built up to create degrees of opacity. My main motivation is my love for classics. The images are archetypes derived from the cultural heritage: art, architecture, movies. I am trying to be faithful to the source, but in the process of interpretation all kinds of things happen. The reason is submerged in the shadows, the purpose is absorbed by the light, the cultural icon has become the personal experience."
It would be pretty sweet to see these things in person... I AM planning on being in Philly soon, before the show is over. I wonder if I can find the Fleischer-Ollman Gallery?

See, one thing that I really would like to start doing is making light boxes. I've only got two so far- one is friggin huge (30in x 30in - one of the bigger artworks I've ever made), not to mention heavy... The other, the second one, is a bit smaller and turned out much better than the first. That's it over on the right... The light isn't really that bright, it just came out that way in the photograph.

I don't really know what to call them if anything other than light boxes, but the idea brings together printmaking/collagraph techniques, drawing, as well as texture, layering, and light. It's seems only natural, then, to be drawn to Khaisman's works. There are so many thoughts that drive behind what I want to do with the light boxes involving the complexity of the "human condition" and humanity's relationship to divinity, struggles and all. I'm aching to continue making them. I've got two huge pieces of plexiglas, and a few smaller ones that I managed to get for free... one of the large pieces already has a work-in-progress, but I'm not sure if I want to continue with it. I have what I would say is a fabulous idea for the other large piece, but it's all trapped inside my head for the time being. I also have a bunch of ideas for installations, but that kind of thing may be in the works long before it ever comes to realization. Who would have thought little old two-dimensional me would ever be looking to do quasi-sculptural things? When did that happen? It's like these light boxes are a weird love affair between everything I love about graphics/illustrations--flat with no illusions to three-dimensionality--and the dimensionality of texture and boxish-ness.
Go figure.

I don't really have any other thoughts besides that... At least not right now.

Since I stumbled upon Khaisman's works, I decided to do a little search on Google and found a few other things that I thought were interesting... but I didn't spend a lot of time perusing through the things on Google to find a lot. So here are just three things.

An art show in Texas, 2002

















Targetti Light Art Collection, 1997

Out like a fish-
Y

A Poem in Response

I went down to Philly last Wednesday and met up with Dayton Castleman, which was much needed and also pretty encouraging. Afterward, I had the fabulous opportunity to check out the Eastern State Penitentiary. Now, I was jazzed about this because 1) abandoned places that have self-tours are awesome and 2) Eastern State is basically part of how I found out about Dayton a year and a half ago, in such a way that lead me to really begin to investigate the whole art, faith, and ministry thing. I really wanted to see his installation, The End of the Tunnel and I'm so glad I got to. Not just that, but there were some other really neat installations there... such as Pandemonium, which is probably the coolest thing that I have experienced up to date that literally gave me chills.... and the penitentiary itself is amazing. Really, the best thing about it is the fact that it's so decrepit. I want to go again, and bring my camera.
At any rate... the visit made me want to write something, and so I finally sat my bum down and threw something onto the computer screen. Hopefully you like it. If not... well, I don't really write for the sake of others anyway. But constructive criticism is helpful.



The Flavor of Red

His breath is held close to darkened corners,
slowly pushing back the blue shadows that swaddle his skin.
Taught with all the energy found in a jack-rabbit, ready for flight-
it won't be long until they follow, before they notice him on the move.
He's quiet with senses heightened to a razor's edge,
the world around him set to black and white and red-
a blaze tracks the path he ought to take and nothing else matters.
With tired, worn hands he grazes across a tired, worn wall
and a riot pushes him back and forth inside.

He was promised freedom in that book, it's all he wants to taste.
He knows his deed was of ill-intent,
a nightmare that sleeps in his bed at night,
deserving all the hell that can be dished out in fourteen years.
There are words and phrases that haunt the corners of pages,
whispering what he cannot believe.

Cotton mouth and body tense
when the screech tears the night apart and leaves him breathless
Sprung like a pop-gun, he's down the corridors,
around the corners and exposed.
His brethren rattle their cages, clanking the pipes with all they have
and lungs brought to hooting, hollaring-
the riot spreading like a cancer.

Beads of sweat roll down his forehead, his back,
all he can see now is the red path set before him.
Turn here,
duck there,
through this window-
Their voices are coming,
their steps are hot and fast,
his senses explode into disarray.
He was promised freedom-
it's the only thing he wants to taste.

Slick as silver bullets they come, closer now-
He can see the beginning of the end,
stopping dead before the barricade stones piled high,
the red trail snaking up and over, beyond his reach.
With desperate fingers clawing up the wall, they come-
he curses and prays, damns and begs,
slipping, falling, climbing again.
Gentle words weigh heavy on shaking shoulders that beg for forgiveness,
they seize and drag him down.
The sounds of the riot within ring in his ears,
that with-out buzzing in the distance,
the path dissolving into a haze of defeat.

Breath loose and broken, colored by darkened walls,
the nightmares peer over the corners of a rickety bed-
was the red line drawn over the wall, with all its broken promises,
was it the flavor that he so longed after?
Could there be another shade of red he hungered for?

YB 06 7 31