The Doors: When Your Strange

People are strange when you're a stranger
Faces look ugly when you're alone
Women seem wicked when you're unwanted
Streets are uneven when you're down

When you're strange
Faces come out of the rain
When you're strange
No one remembers your name
When you're strange
When you're strange
When you're strange

Moment of inner freedom
when the mind is opened and the
infinite universe revealed
& the soul is left to wander
dazed & confus'd searching
here & there for teachers & friends.

Jim Morrison

True Love

"I like it. I'm not gonna crack.
I miss you. I'm not gonna crack. 
I love you.I'm not gonna crack. 
I killed you. I'm not gonna crack."

                                       Lithium , Nirvana

Nirvana In Bloom: Nevermind Exhibition

The Loading Bay Gallery, Brick Lane. 

Standing surrounded my Nirvana Memorabilia, lyrics, sound and video made me well up. I got hot flushes, dizziness, butterflies... I could hardly breathe. I will always be truly truly in love with Kurt Cobain. On the 20th anniversary of NeverMind (which is the same age as me!) Nirvana changed history and made themselves remembered for ever. As the exhibition put it this is not because of Kurt's history or his tragic death this is the shear power and uncontrollable beauty of his lyrics and music. It is literally breathtaking.  Watching their last gig at Reading I could not help but feel like I was in heaven. Raw emotion. That is all.

The Vorticists - Manifesto for a modern world.

"Victorian vampire, the london cloud sucks the towns heart." Blast 1

Jacob Einsten -  Rock Drill

Henri - Gaudier - Bruska : Front (head)

Back : Penis

Jacob Einstein

"Think of a whirlpool...At the heart of the whirlpool is a great silent place where all the energy is concentrated. And there, at the point of concentration, is the Vorticist." Wyndham Lewis

The Tate Britain is a refreshing change from the wonders of the Modern and it never (all though far less frequently visited) fails to disappoint. I rushed at the last minute to "The Vorticists - manifesto for a modern world" exhibition...which finished yesterday.. despite the fact that I had been meaning to see it for as long as it has been in existence. 

   Just like The Miro I absolutely loved everything about the show. The curation was (thank god) intelligent and interesting. The wording fluid and the display stunning. The Tate seems to be getting better at understanding it's audience and inspiring awe in the viewer. The work was shocking but beautiful and I found a fragility in The Vorticists work as it so apparently took on the world it was scared of. Obviously the connection with writing was a point of interest and inspiration for me. Poetry is key.. however as with the Miro. I feel inspired to make art again. Thank you. 

  Even though I of course do not take the Vorticist view seriously its rhetoric makes me smile.

"BLESS the solitude of LAUGHTER.

BLESS the separating, ungregarious

BRITISH GRIN."

then again.. maybe I am just to fleeting or influenced.. lets hope it sticks!

Pianorama (after curtain call) - to the sound of chords and such

Discord is a frenzy of your movement or the disquiet in my limbs
As notes pour and converse with your or mine
Or it or who.
Black and white is filled with greys and brights
Colour and movement and melodious sight.
Circular light is nothing without these eyes.
Waiting for the next touch is a caress to the ground
Jabbing or subtle dancing of finger upon finger.
The repetition drowns the imagination and jars at my irritation
But the blinking lid opens and flows off into sporadic dreams.
Translate into words without speech and stop waiting.
My ears are a window into what could be the strands of being.
The purpose to absorb something and disarm the present.

Head

The wolves are out dancing under the moon
She's running on her mind and tripping on her skirt
It's reaching her ankles and she's naked once again.
Limbs glowing white under the howling skies.
The flying isn't fear
And the wind is free and fixed on her fierce burning stare.
My feet feel the earth, pounding the ground.
Nature's spell stole on her smile
Whip her fast and ruin her body
Thorns through her heart
Are briars to her finger tips.
Stabbing means EVERYTHING.
Blood is thicker than her skin
She is bleeding from her eyes
She fell in love with the wild things and now the haunting won't go away.
You wont get her back
Her wings got torn off
Her hair collecting feathers
Leaves poking through her skin
Her lips stopped speaking but snarling and spitting.
Ravenous hunger for flesh upon flesh.
Mud up her legs.
Closer to dirt. Ripping at scabs on her heart.
Cos her head is the earth and her hearts buried deep.
The darkness is light
And the stars her angels - She's in love with the wolfman and she lost her head.

Displacement of the calm

Stomach will not stay still
Eyes flickering
I can't think about anything else
It is that feeling of something flowing around your body that you don't want to be there
I don't like this
Pack it away.
I can't.
It stays.
And everything seems to be against us at the moment.
Universe.
I am asking for your help.
No settling.
I am in the wrong body.
Can accept everything else
But we are running out of time to just move on.
Be with me.
It is the shaking of the skin.

Pink daze

In the pink dress
She hovers floating above the sea
An ephemeral future.
My dreams are all the time
If only they could fill all the grey and  stop to breathe.
Reality doesn't matter to my soul but it inflicts my body.
If I could escape the monotonous daze.
The repetitive repetition of existence.
The over and over and over and over of the pointless
Materiality of empty existence.
Time flows and is wasting the thinking
Freedom tied and bound and suffocated in the lesser mundane
Life running through wasted water.
Ged rid of this burden.
Society sells the sun to the soulless.
And be free.

Me and my CAMERA...

Film made in a couple of days whilst on residency at Trinity Buoy Wharf


Up against the wall; Down a dark alley from Elizabeth Ophelia Alice Rose on Vimeo.

The rapture

Engulfed in blood thirsty painting
The end is the beginning
Red fire  and gold stars are the start of the s.eduction.
We didn't believe and we still aren't going to.
Ancinet myth means nothing in  this modern lost world.
Time is just a measurement,
Where is the consistency in that?
The scale is no longer important.

Pheonix born again in flames.
This is life.
I am not sitting waiting for stopping or dreading my own destiny.
Whether written or unwritten our fate is lost in the folds of the universe.
Our hands don't belong on the decision,
They never will but that doesn't stop us from choosing which direction to breathe.
Wasting my youth is your needing..
My wildness my heartbeat!
Mistakes just actions and I can't choose to regret when the future looks fucked.
Not that I believe.
What's the point?
That is a joke.

We want to live forever and we will.
At least in fairytales.

Mad Girl's Love Song

Mad Girl's Love Song 

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; 
I lift my lids and all is born again. 
(I think I made you up inside my head.) 

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red, 
And arbitrary blackness gallops in: 
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. 

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed 
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane. 
(I think I made you up inside my head.) 

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade: 
Exit seraphim and Satan's men: 
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. 

I fancied you'd return the way you said, 
But I grow old and I forget your name. 
(I think I made you up inside my head.) 

I should have loved a thunderbird instead; 
At least when spring comes they roar back again. 
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. 
(I think I made you up inside my head.)" 
— Sylvia Plath

To one in paradise... a year on.



The Snowdrop fairy whom my grandma loved

 Today marks a year since the day that my Grandma Pam died in hospital just before she was meant to be coming home. She was the best Grandma ever, so stong, so humble, so fun, so good, pure and loving.
She honestly belivied in faries with me (and that I was one) and I will always remember her as the sweetest person. She honestly loved, loved and loved. I know it is common to remember one like this. But she was truly, truly good. Intelligent but simple. She knew herself.
This year has been hard but I know she would want us all to continue as normal. Never one to make a fuss. I hae seen my mother work herself (virtually) into the gravetrying to orgaise everything, look after my grandad ( who is lovly bu not uite so understanding), organise a move for him, continue with her job and always alwasys stay strong. I am here for her.
  I saw my father show sorrow. My paretns have been divorced for years but he jumed to attention and showed real grief and love at the funeral. This respect is amazing.
  This year I have grown and always remembered Grandma Pam. She helps me. Everytime I have negative thought or want to give up...  I know what she would want.
Thank you.

I believe. I believe. I do believe in faries!

Thou wast that all to me, love,
For which my soul did pine--
A green isle in the sea, love,
A fountain and a shrine,
 All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers,
 And all the flowers were mine.

 Ah, dream too bright to last!
Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise
But to be overcast!
A voice from out the Future cries,
 "On! on!"--but o'er the Past
 (Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies
Mute, motionless, aghast!

 For, alas! alas! with me
 The light of Life is o'er!
"No more--no more--no more"--
 (Such language holds the solemn sea
To the sands upon the shore)
 Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree,
Or the stricken eagle soar!

And all my days are trances,
And all my nightly dreams
Are where thy dark eye glances,
 And where thy footstep gleams--
In what ethereal dances,
 By what eternal streams!
Alas! for that accursed time
They bore thee o'er the billow,
From love to titled age and crime,
 And an unholy pillow!
 From me, and from our misty clime,
 Where weeps the silver willow!

1835 by Edgar Allan Poe

Fallen Nymph

When she falls in love
          she falls
                she falls
Because she is not free.

Not her who has trapped
She is trapped.

Trapped by her
                   heart
No power
Lost

Not that she ever desired power
that is expected
Just
     the chance to
                         escape?
No decisions
No blocked pathways
The journey unknown
       the future e n d l e s s . . .

But she
she is a girl
         a girl
         a life.
Wild bird
Wild thing.


                But love
                She loves
She kills for             love
Not            kills
But something
                     something dies.

Violent life
Violent ends

All
Just
Love

The Carcas Van

As i pull up and park I dread the sight that has become so familiar;
The sickening smell so haunting but turning the everyday.
Splatters of sepia septic blood blending in to grey polluted air.
The van gaping and ready to gobble the grotesque forms and figures
looms.

Flung over dirty back staining stench drenched suit...
Fleshy mounds of putrid fat hard to seperate from the living,
Veiny gelatonous pulsing body lumped over the daily grind.

A treat for consumption.

A disturbing delectability for the eyes, the nose, the mind.
Cold. Hard. Slaughter.
The distaste of the dead.
Not a head just body after body after body,
Misformed mountain.
Cracked ribs in broken trolly beign whelled past it's end.
Rotting, wretched creature, yet not,
The soul has past?

Yet... so in human. SO ROUGH. MORE THAN I CAN TAKE.
Clinicality lost, crulety lost, just pure objecthood.
The objecthood of the dead.
The objecthood of the living.
The dread
The dead
Oh how I hate that bloody bitter carcas van.

Smoke love

Loves light suffocates harsh world
Rose lips on pale palour
Hauting creation in neon glow...
Flame Flickers.

Lusty limps stroke and sway
LAUGHTER RINGS.
... Once dissapaited. NOW ALIVE.
Screaming
Screaming
Screaming in pure ecstatic joy.
Transcendency beats.

Swathed in darkness
Music penetratign the dancing soul
Rhythm moves the mind
Eyes BLIND.

Lost
Lost
Lost and finally FOUND...
... gushing energy bounds from the heart
seeping from Skin
into skin.
Above, Beyond, Whithin the mind of GOD.

Fantasy tosses and turns the pixels of perfection
Clarity to what isn't known.

LOve, in Love, what love
TO LOVE