A Match Made On Earth

Posted: April 29, 2016 | Author: Heath Muchena | Filed under: Words In Imaginary Motion | Leave a comment

as we strolled down…
stepping on pine tree cones scattered on the green lawn

taking in the little bit of nature around town…
observing geese and squirrels living in unison

said she wanted a man who knows how to have fun…
but could also take control and get things done like Genghis Khan

and I never once claimed to be the one…
but I suppose she’d never met another ‘half dust, half diety’ under the sun

so she promised to bear me a daughter and a son…
as long as I agreed to build us a home, in her name, sorta like the Parthenon

78.9

Posted: April 29, 2016 | Author: Heath Muchena | Filed under: Writings by one ambidextrous... | Leave a comment

If set on modalities of a similar order, an artist’s works, like nature’s, have their foundation laid in the subconscious for he does not have a tabula rasa from which to work. Also, he does not necessarily always consciously direct most of his inspiration and is often, in actuality, subject to the seemingly timely ideas… always having to bear the burden of genius.

Purple Passage

Posted: April 29, 2016 | Author: Heath Muchena | Filed under: Writings by one ambidextrous... | 4 Comments

Total recollection of the past can impede present effort, and the indolence that results from ignoring the latency of inherited psychological faculties serves not to hinder endeavour, but to sufficiently guide it; since those that are fully aware of palingenesis seem to encounter the challenge of a conscious incapacity to pursue their aspirations. And if man is privy to his fellow’s suffering, and accepting of the minimal progress thus far achieved – in light of time – with consideration of the fact that the dead outnumber the living, he’d discover that only the realisation of collective consciousness will bring about an end to evolution, which suggests that his existence too, ephemeral and fragile, is but a passage through universal movement.

78.8

Posted: April 29, 2016 | Author: Heath Muchena | Filed under: Writings by one ambidextrous... | Leave a comment

Wherever instinct predominates, intellectual development is almost always stagnant. So any environment that fosters never-ending monotony and offers no excitement can only breed unpleasant, commonplace lives which inevitably will lead to barren and petty passions.

Black Fill

Posted: April 28, 2016 | Author: Heath Muchena | Filed under: Inhibitions Illustrated | 6 Comments

monologue
—-
gold brooch for his lapel
an ornament to his gift
because they’d rather see him in a jail cell
mould and roaches in his midst

they insist works by his kind are insipid
and one cannot set pace
or change the face… unless they dictate taste
which of course is always the task and force of establishments

so even if one innovates
and leads an artistic movement
the fact still remains
and will likely in any case

since one’s pigment does not reflect or match
standard associations deemed best
either for or of the language in use
hence also the power of thought represented in or by it

so what is depth or meaning
think…
what is fact or fiction
link…
and when destiny is predetermined
what is genesis or a beginning
if not measured against a limit or an ending?
—
fade

Ballet Dancer

Posted: April 27, 2016 | Author: Heath Muchena | Filed under: Inhibitions Illustrated | Leave a comment

the human form corresponds to the will of mankind
so too, her body conforms, to the expression of her character

selfhood so unique and sublime, far from the norm – a real treasure find
the way she performs with finesse, each moment and the next
nothing short of gracious

so carefree but never careless… whether on stage or it’s just us
she makes my life so much richer than Pictet… picture perfect

and every night I spend with her feels unreal that every morning still…
she blows my mind

so strongly I feel and must confess
that I think I’m in love with a ballet dancer

Penman Ponders

Posted: April 27, 2016 | Author: Heath Muchena | Filed under: Inhibitions Illustrated, Writings by one ambidextrous... | 4 Comments

when I’m gone
unknown, forgotten
perhaps a sentence I wrote
will remain memorable

so while this earth I’m still upon
I’ll strive to compose
not only poems that flow
but that quench appetencies of the soul

meant for your edification
and if not to provide some guidance
then at least to channel energy in a positive direction
like a penstock

even though I know I have more flaws
than any that dare to read this blog
and aware also that a sublunary mind will never know
the exhilaration of the imagination
nor the profusion of sublimation
and at best will entertain only perpetual pensiveness

I will still continue
because this is all I know
how to do without the burden of effort
but a love deeper than any I could ever show

and I hope this practice of poetic uproar
will not degenerate into only intrigue
bound to follow me to my black hole
when the light of life eventually goes off

Art Is Energy Arranged?

Posted: April 25, 2016 | Author: Heath Muchena | Filed under: Writings by one ambidextrous... | 5 Comments

One would reason that intuition and creative expression, by a margin, transcend the intellectual faculties because the collection of all conscious learning has to be absorbed and integrated before being subconsciously transmuted into inherent powers.

See Self

Posted: April 25, 2016 | Author: Heath Muchena | Filed under: Inhibitions Illustrated | Leave a comment

If states of consciousness are different representations of the Self, then the Self as a characterised portion of the psychic energy shouldn’t be confused with the mental state corresponding to that which is perceived. And because the Self is capable of going beyond the limits of the states of consciousness, it can easily dominate all its depictions. So why not you – see self – the ultimate truth and good!

Sunset Peach ii

Posted: April 25, 2016 | Author: Heath Muchena | Filed under: Words In Imaginary Motion | 2 Comments

he had no intention of coming across as being insensitive or cold-hearted
but how to remain temperate in the telling of his truth
proved to be an artful pursuit just as difficult

under apricot skies
time was melting away
and she stood before his eyes
beautiful and breathtaking

the moment if framed would’ve packed the sweet but atomic content
of something akin to a Dali painting

the once deemed indelible remembrances
buried deep in a chest of emotions
those upon a time treasured and heartfelt
but now much further away from the surface

and on her face
a tear – windswept from the nasal bridge
his hurt hid very well for none could make or tell
so expressionless

perhaps it is so, after all, that Clarity is independent of all contingencies
and since to Will begins with a Need
it would be Right to surmise that there was none or not enough left
to save the relationship

On The Heath

where would-be writer works with words