h_paranoia

PARANOIA by JEREMIAH KAUFFMAN

Someday there will be monuments to Dick and Gibson alongside Milton

and Homer, and William Blake will be held in the same regard as Yeshua

Ha-Nozri. Our dreams will be safely suspended above the memory of Ke-

pler, and Pluto will become irrelevant and obsolete. We will colonize every

niche of the solar system; we will master every atmosphere and stratosphere.

We will find ways to travel and live in, around, and under every surface, so-

lid and fluid, and in the vacuums all around.

Some of us will know the cold dawn of Mars; tempered by familiar Sol. The

dark, swirling clouds of Jupiter will be pregnant with our craft, navigating the

Nebulous Tempest, a calm communion with Ba’al over Flies. We will bleed Venus

until she is all dried up, and settle down on her crusty shores. We will hold Mer-

cury in our artificial hands like a burning token and plant earrings in the rings

of Saturn. With the thumb of industry and the forefinger of technology, we will

flick old Hades into the void and kiss the sisters, Uranus and Neptune.

WE WILL BE, FOREVERMORE, THE HUMAN RACE!

I love the word frequency; it describes so many things, visible and invisible

light, sound waves; waves can be real or abstract. The vibration that heats a

rock or the pulse of light that makes your eyes work. The ranges are constant,

like a road-map, a compass that points in foreign directions.

I want to see liquid ozone and frozen ozone; it changes color, gets darker;

I wonder if it’s beautiful.

This night has gone nowhere. Will I carry on normally tomorrow or has my

mind spent too long in isolation? I need rest but the sun is about to come out.

I know this feeling well, disgarding tomorrow for the sake of a night of fanta-

sy, living in reverse, choosing to experience the reward followed by the punish-

ment. I feel like a mess. Is it my mind or is there something wrong with my bo-

dy? All I can do is cling to the hope that in a few days things will return to normal.

By Jeremiah Kauffman     Wednesday, March 26, 2008

*************************************************************************

 

 

fine art

JEREMIAH KAUFFMAN’S ART & POETRY

Gallery

a-god-called-god

           A GOD CALLED GOD by JEREMIAH KAUFFMAN

  Having grown up in the South, overbearing religiousness has been a thorn in my

side. I think what I’ve always found most irritating about it is it’s lack of reason and imagination. The world is such a nicer and more interesting place when one appre-

ciates the unexplainable beauty of nature. The mind is capable of providing a feast

for the soul, if only one can see past the self-perpetuating ignorance of religion. I

wanted to create a symbol in a playful act supposedly creating a new god. I decided

to put something else on a cross: something that is unknown. We do not know if this

creature is good or bad, a criminal or a martyr; it just is. It is a symbol of the cross, enacting the drama of suffering but with an anonymity because it is not a beloved human figure supposedly trying to teach the world something but the cross itself

having taken characteristics which predict it’s future use. Just to be clever, I decided

to name this god” GOD”.

by JEREMIAH KAUFFMAN       2008

fine art

JEREMIAH KAUFFMAN’S ART & POETRY

Gallery