Sunday, January 2, 2011

Are We There Yet?

It's been a wild ride, trial and error, and anything but cliche'.  Being new to performance art and quite content with my words on paper alone, I've been reminded that not all live events work out the way you envision.  So, as I told a friend last night, it was a great, fun trip -  and we expected to arrive somewhere exotic (like Prague) and instead, we ended up in Detroit.  Highland Park.  In the dark.

But I can't let the destination negate the trip.

This blog contains most of the poetry I wrote for this event, as performed by the actors from RG Productions.  I've removed the comment areas, there are no links online to this, nor can you search for the video on youtube.  I've posted this mainly for friends and colleagues who held my hand through this and wanted to have a taste of the finished product.  This was recorded with my handheld video camera and, well, it shows. 

And here's the very-necessary, never-enough thank yous:  RG, Raylene, Doug and Ed, you are my kids.  All your artwork will always hang on my fridge.  My writers group, Rock/Paper/Scissors for holding my neurotic hand, listening to my whining, and caring about my words as if they were your own.  Mario, for letting me be your crew.  Raylene, my creative partner in crime.  I hope we get adjoining cells.  And when we get handcuffed, I hope Jeff gets it on tape. 

And Karel, for sharing his brainchild.  I was only kidding about the voodoo doll.

And of course, to everyone involved in this project - our group energy is like nothing I've ever experienced.  Thank you ALL for what you bring to the table.  I won't list your names because I'll forget one of you and then I'll feel guilty.  And guilt sucks.  I read that spraypainted some place.

Enjoy the words, both spoken and written, and don't miss the film-short at the very end.  I'm quite sure I've won the prize for Worst Video Shot Through Jeff's Armpit.

And again, thank you my friends! 

Peg...


Unsolicited


Unsolicited

you have no choice
but to witness
what I write
if I spray it
on a bridge or building

permission
is what divides
your art
from my
graffiti

you did not ask for it
yet your money
must pay to remove it
so in a way
you paid for it

maybe you should
enjoy it
read it
let it whirl around
your head a while

it’ll be gone tomorrow
but my message
will linger
unwelcome
etched into your brain

Recruit


recruit

are you a night owl?
enjoy lying to your mum?
do you look good in black?


are you convinced crime against property
          isn’t real crime?

hate the billboards
          they force on us?

with a single can of spray paint
          you, too, can become famous
          in a small town
          overnight

have something to say?
no price for admission
best walls in town

One Word, One Minute


one word, one minute
One word
One minute

live forever
in the propellant
of impulse

expel pressure
reform the thinking
of commonality

leave a mark
tell the world
to get up

smell the high
feel the rush
of immortality

One word
One minute

Dicere


Dicere
(dice dico dictus dicers)
(to say, tell, speak, name)

there is an evolution
to my proven voice
a gradeless learning curve

 I say
in conversation
trite and undemanding words
sugary on the tongue

 I tell
in confidence
whispered noise
disquieting and original

 I speak
from the rooftops
passionate unrest
trigger finger poised

I name
final wrongs
point stained fingers
impose lessons learned

Projectile


projectile

I was told
be careful little girl
words wound
hurled like rocks
break the skin
cause regret

suck it up, little girl
keep that belief to yourself
no one wants to hear
no one wants to think
if you can’t say something nice
don’t scream anything at all

I shot at god
and She gave me voice
gave me sight
told me anger is gunpowder
words are bullets
fire when ready

so I select carefully
lock and load
aim with precision
make my pretty point
at your expense

this word
this wall

my weapon of choice

Unsaid

unsaid

we mark
our public places
scratch and carve
          our given names
          our taken names
          our assumed names

it’s not enough
these subtle words
these scribed accounts
these irrelevant symbols

I stare dumbly
at your grave
there is no story
in your name

what will history remember
about what I have left

unsaid.

Tag


Tag

there is power
in this naming
what you say
and what you don’t

what is etched
in stone
carved in limbs
and what
is left unwritten

what is permanent
and temporary
makes the message
no less important
makes the memory no less keen

inform the unwilling
chiseled stones
scratched words
carried ink
one message:

Remember us.

Saturday, January 1, 2011

Banksy Says:

Banksy Says:


banksy says:

it’s a free country
paint over things that
don’t belong to you

I don’t believe in anything
I’m just here for the violence
stop me before I paint again

this revolution is for display purposes only
laugh now but one day we’ll be in charge
last graffiti before motorway

reciting old proverbs
makes you sound like a twat
welcome to hell

banksy says:

graffiti is only dangerous
in the minds of politicians
advertising execs and graffiti writers

this’ll look nice when it’s framed
I remember when all this was trees
blank walls are criminal

What are you looking at?
people who wave flags
don’t deserve to have one

this is not a photo opportunity
fame is a byproduct
of doing something else

banksy says:

we the people affect the making
and the quality of our culture
but not our art

the broken window theory
blended with zero tolerance attitude
makes your neglect visible

when people look confused
and slightly cheated
I feel like a true modern artist

art is made by a select few
leaving you a tourist
admiring their trophy case

Brandalism



Brandalism
 
you lobbed Christmas
into my summer
knocked me over the head
as santa co-mingles
with swimsuits
apples and chalk

billboards
larger than my house
assault me with golden arches
bind me in pink ribbons
with cell phone plans
and push-up bras

call this number
to meet curious singles
who are home tonight
talking about you
because you bought
the wrong phone

I will not ask
for permission to
keep your rock
will not ask for consent
to take, rearrange, reuse
what is forced upon me

you’ve pinned my eyes open
I can’t avoid the view

this public advertising
now belongs to me

The Shooting of "Art Crime"



Originally written to be performed live at our event, someone had the brilliant idea to shoot my script as a film short.  This is some of the footage I recorded (under Jeff's arm) at the gallery.  What you can't see is the gallery "art" - an attractive, nicely framed clown painting.  The graffiti on the wall is done by Mario and applied with collage glue.  Note:  pink ink and Windex makes a lovely pink smushy on gallery walls.