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later/latrēs
(((“worship," λάτρης (latrēs)))
when the world of people has passed
and the sky at night can be seen
by all of the tiny creatures who came
before our after will the gods of heaven
be no longer or shall the faith be felt
by the bees by the flowers by the birds
our here seemed unnatural even as
it was revealed and shared ad nauseam
amongst the crowd of trial error chance
well designed to the eye yes that was true
but at what expense did we make the light
darker smaller our truth was to render all
into the mumble sense of utterances we
began in the caves carving meaning into
but when the earth finally shook us loose
we were not remembered fondly by any
the gods we ponied up to were muted
by our absence but it was of little import
other mouths to feed and all yes they were
quite busy cultivating acolytes from stars
we never knew
(((“worship," λάτρης (latrēs)))
when the world of people has passed
and the sky at night can be seen
by all of the tiny creatures who came
before our after will the gods of heaven
be no longer or shall the faith be felt
by the bees by the flowers by the birds
our here seemed unnatural even as
it was revealed and shared ad nauseam
amongst the crowd of trial error chance
well designed to the eye yes that was true
but at what expense did we make the light
darker smaller our truth was to render all
into the mumble sense of utterances we
began in the caves carving meaning into
but when the earth finally shook us loose
we were not remembered fondly by any
the gods we ponied up to were muted
by our absence but it was of little import
other mouths to feed and all yes they were
quite busy cultivating acolytes from stars
we never knew
A Prelude Of The Aftermath is a series of poems written during the teens and twenties and recorded with music created by my friend Ralph Bendel Jr. Published in 2022, the album is available on Bandcamp..
Ralph and I became acquainted in the late 1980s and began a multi-decades-long journey of artistic collaboration through many multi-media performance projects.
Walt served as the conceptual director, scriptwriter, and coordinator. Ralph was the musical director-performer, integrating the music with dance or sometimes accenting the spoken words and actions of actors or muses.
As to, what this album is about, well, we put it this way…
“as we crawl dance flutter fly scratch belly flop etch moan belch our way to the inevitable chaotic conclusion our species has wreaked upon our own home ((((the earth)))) we stand resolute in our aversion to our worst collective behaviors, remark upon them, and cast these musings as the traces our boots left in the dust of the barren landscapes as we careen headlong with the rest of our fellow beings.
PEACE to those who deserve it, a hearty FUCKOFF to those who do not.
Ralph and I became acquainted in the late 1980s and began a multi-decades-long journey of artistic collaboration through many multi-media performance projects.
Walt served as the conceptual director, scriptwriter, and coordinator. Ralph was the musical director-performer, integrating the music with dance or sometimes accenting the spoken words and actions of actors or muses.
As to, what this album is about, well, we put it this way…
“as we crawl dance flutter fly scratch belly flop etch moan belch our way to the inevitable chaotic conclusion our species has wreaked upon our own home ((((the earth)))) we stand resolute in our aversion to our worst collective behaviors, remark upon them, and cast these musings as the traces our boots left in the dust of the barren landscapes as we careen headlong with the rest of our fellow beings.
PEACE to those who deserve it, a hearty FUCKOFF to those who do not.
One of the pieces from the series, "before word, soñando con el vuelo", was inspired by a painting created by my wife Cynthia Anne Brown
before words: painting by Cynthia Brown
These are a few of the photographs that I've taken of Tulsa, during this period that are visual remarks an accompaniment to the sentiments expressed in the written pieces..
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at the intersection
of thirty sixth street north and nowhere there’s a come and go and a stay if you will attitude the firemen from station twenty four run sprints back and forth up and down the driveway panting with the lost dog and the angry boy fetching beer for mom in a a brown sack heading back to comanche park saddled on this corner like a wet mirage the guard at the gate sweeps at the dirt that never ceases to fill the empty cracks in their lives while an old man with a bike helmet and knee high boots scratches at the grass that creeps over the sidewalk these apartments are sinking slowly disappearing into the bottomlands that swell up near dirty bottom creek where terrence crutcher was shot in the middle of the street from here you can almost throw a stone at northland shopping center that sits mostly empty at the word of life ministry theres a blue door that says sanctuary the red hawk watches all of this from a oak tree filled with dead branches and webworms observing the coming and goings of the speeding automobiles and where was he that late summer night high above so high above maybe up near the houses on reservoir hill that look down on martin luther king boulevard a street that runs south from north until it stops at archer where the downtown do gooders said enough and the road stayed cincinnati but the bridge over the tracks that slashed like a dull knife into the prairie grass and divided the city has bronze plagues that help us commemorate the loss of who knows how many back in twenty one this city has trouble with street names and liked to pretend the past never happened until lee roy opened up a door and let the ghosts come in then he followed them out at brady heights the church across from tate’s old house reads condolences for the lost soul the prayer flags and black ribbons mingle with boarded windows and buddhas we speak with forked tongues of tragedies hang signs to remember yet do our best to forget |
2017 installation photo: where now was
2016 installation photo: image(after)image
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