Tag Archives: Painting

Shape your Step

la-la-ca-1230-ink-art-274-jpg-20140108

Paradox is a gift, discipline is a reason, to shape your form from chaos. To co-create patterns with the other, what may become adopted in your wake. Leaving a signature of a life lived to its potential, leaving nothing, but the wax upon the lintel. The threshold of deaths door slamming shut without a whine or a creeping moan, just a figure sliding effortlessly into its frame.

-Joshua Fleming

Image by: Sun Xun, “Some actions which Haven’t Been Defined…

http://articles.latimes.com/2014/jan/11/entertainment/la-et-cm-ink-art-20140112

Advertisements

Para-Flux-Dox-Uations

paradox-3

What if all things are in flux, in-between paradox and reason, in-between life and death, you and I, darkness and light, that and this, this and that, self and other. What if God is a dream and you are the dreamer, what if Jesus never really died, what if he was just a story, what if Buddha always lied, or never spoke at all, what if buddha was not a saint, nor a prince, but just someone going on unnoticed by the crowds, the ones that we will never read about. What if you said yes, before saying said no. What if those headlights didn’t blind her sight, didn’t cause her to go off course, what if she is still right here with us, what if the universe or universes, has still not yet exploded into being, flowing backwards towards that beginning, two-mirrors two-reflections starring back towards the beginning, and back towards that end, what if the cycles, the stories are all bending, twisting and spiraling round a great gyre, a golden Möbius strip of infinite possibilities. What if the stories of old hold the revelations of tomorrow and the stories of tomorrow hold the truths of yesterday. The seeds are the tree and tree is out walking. What if that day you walked away, some part of you stayed, does it really matter what we try and define, what we try and hold true, or does it matter more than anything, does everything depend upon it, are you the pivot, the fulcrum, everything holding purpose in its place, will it all unravel, becoming known and unknown at the same time, burning and blurring two flickering candles at both ends, burning from their ends towards their beginnings and their beginnings towards their ends, should we run in fear towards that great darkness, that great forgetting, or should we walk, stepping slowly with patience and dignity, with courage and love in our hearts, as witness’s of a story being told, being sold through our perceptions and our actions, being dreamt and being the dreamer. Let us sleep ever so deeply and let us dream ever so boldly, let us wake in our slumbers, and let us wake in our dreaming. Let us forget to remember and let us remember to forget, let us always remember that we never forgot, let us never forget that always have remembered. All things are in flux, in-between language and logic is another world spinning, in-between that world is language and logic holding a conversation. Science and Spirit tearing flesh from bone, Spirit and Science tending to each others gardens. Let us move beyond, moving forward by moving backwards and let us move backwards by moving forward. The Great Trickster is not a fool, Chaos does not wish to steer us off course. Only hoping that we will find it, these paths for ourselves, and rise to the stern of our great ship, the ghost returning to its shell, the captain to its helm, that is your story, our stories, all waiting to be heard, expressed and experienced. Something is feeding back into that Great Serpent swallowing its every beginning and its every ending, each seeds for the other, shedding its skin, to wear a coat of arms of the ancestors and of what is still to come.

Parafluxdoxuation is a prescription to be used only as a topical ointment, its salubrius qualities are of the highest order, it is to be applied when only absolutely necessary and it is never to be confused for a steady diet or meal replacement plan meaning applying it obsessively to all areas of contrast and confusion in ones life. It has highly addictive qualities that may lead to never making a fucking decision ever again. On a few distinct occasions it has been documented in clinical trials that one may dissolve in subatomic transubstantiation, evaporating into the ether upon a complete axis reversal of electron spin resonance, where in we must then re-quantum-locate your approximate momentum and position in space-time using previous technologies from the quantum leap series coupled with a rubik’s cube written with nordic runes and then reallocate some constitution of semblance of  you that may or may not be of the same quality or form as before. Side-effects may include synesthesia, chromatic aberration, quantum disassembling and reassembling of parts at random intervals, i.e, like having a cactus for an appendage, or the arm that you had in 3rd grade, in a few cases the male penis or female vagina may have become their own animate entities, where in they would not engage in sexual relations unless they the animate penis and or vagina where given the stage to recite romantic poetry, mostly sufi and greek poems pre- intercourse. Given the above possible side-effects please consult your local physician, physicist and or shaman before applying.

Parafluxdoxuation also acts as an anti-itch cream for the hemorrhoids of existence, to relieve the occasional surface tensions of reality, lubricating the annals of history and your place within its folds. 

-Joshua Fleming

Image by: He Xun, Empty Baggage, 2013

http://www.theworldofchinese.com/2016/03/painting-the-paradox/

 

Hemispheric Personality Test

tumblr_npzzb4aIDe1tntnzio1_1280

If A was B and B was A. If each shared their respective crafts, their dreams, myths and imaginations, their observations, calculations and reservations. If logic went out dancing with an axis unknown, if an unknown axis found its pivot, what world would we live in, one of fear and denial, tilted to the curvature of a world slipping off its own edge, or one of love and acceptance, wobbling and counter balancing in daily rotations to find its center.

Does imagination conjure reason in as much as reason conjures imagination?

-Josh Fleming

Image by: Arjan Janssen

http://butdoesitfloat.com

Flipping The Coin

tumblr_np9mrom1Bw1tntnzio1_1280

Are the roots of spirituality, mythology, alchemy, philosophy, religion and science beyond mere self-driven or self-interested improvements of oneself? Is it by our greater involvement of attempting to climb these immense mountains, to become an adept, to learn more of oneself and the self’s place within this world and that of possibly other worlds, implicitly implying that the adepts are wanting to know what is other than themselves. So the seekers can begin to work more symbiotically within these world(s), within these patterns of the human and more than human world(s).

If by wanting to know oneself is simply wanting to know others. Then by creating this narrative the adepts study and practice of science and spirit is the disciplined art of both sympathetic and empathetic relating and connecting with that self and that other. In doing this we are engaging in a form of passionate, driven inquiry creating a form of altruism. Aptly coined both Science-Spiritus, science breathing the spirit, Heads or Spiritus-Science, the spirit breathing science, Tails. We are all engaged in a balance of opposites most likely fully enveloped in a strange, yet relatable living paradox, wether we wish to acknowledge this or not. By accepting our ignorance within the various religions, philosophies, spiritualities and sciences we can and will a have greater chance of succeeding in our search for answers, at least possibly on a individual level.

Spiritus Lenis is soft breathing is the spiritual or mythical internal aspects of oneself.

Spiritus Asper is hard breathing is the scientific or logical external aspects of oneself.

If we allow ourselves to practice both sides or ways of knowing within science and spirit, or find others on opposing sides to remain in constant dialogue with, then we are in  engaging in a process of activism by keeping a bridge between these two worlds. For the betterment of those worlds and all the variable contents within them.

It doesn’t really matter what I believe or what you believe, what matters is that we can keep talking.

-Josh Fleming

Image by: Arjan Janssen

http://butdoesitfloat.com

The search for reason ends at the shore of the known; on the immense expanse beyond only the sense of the ineffable can glide.

We do not leave the shore of the known in search of adventure or suspense or because of the failure of reason to answer our questions. We sail because our mind is like a fantastic seashell, and when applying our ear to its lips we hear a perpetual murmur from the waves beyond the shore.

Citizens of two realms, we all must sustain a dual allegiance…

– Abraham Joshua Heschel, 1990

Conversations

med_1DC22FE3-ECC7-6C4E-CFBF6970184FCE8C

To take “the winged energy of delight”, to bring it down, from the heavens, to drag its perfection, its clarity, in and through the muddy bog. What it thought it once new, what it wants to remember. Mother Amnesia comes and buries it well in the dark soil, to allow it to seed in its depths, to collapse its light under its own shadow. To root itself in dank forests or branch upward through the slender cracks of concrete in some dirty sulfuric city street, wondering how the fuck it found itself here, shackled in some ghetto wasteland. Somebody else’s war. Somebody else’s disease ridden trough. As bones chew against the wall, as the flesh weakens in doubt, forgetting its appearance. The tumor says that there is not much time, growth is in its final decent. Empires still rolling-roman bones, a wilted dandelion starves to taste the air, as the morning dew still returns, to wash the unclean, settling ever so gently on all things. So if our wings be clipped, if they still be dripping with that thick blood, brutally amputated with the dull rusty blade of indifference, deformed gnarled stumps, where once great mountains grew forth, 10,000 fiery feathers burned inflamed in knowing a presence that cannot be defined or defiled. So, if you find yourself drunk and stumbling within your own chaos, some horrible haunt that wrecks your dreams, look up and look down. As you grew out through the cracks in the skye, the cracks beneath these burial grounds. You arrived to learn, of things that only such a life could teach you. Arriving to restore, some place amongst your ancestors. To cultivate, from where ever they began. To grow out from that centre, to strive, to move towards that conversation waiting to be had. Where once stood a wilted petal, stepped upon and torn, blown out and drifting over desolate places. Until that seed was caught, by your hand and instructed not to fear, instructed to release its grasp on such thing it cannot control, instructed to refashion itself from this seed, to shape itself within this form, to grow within this frame, to know its boundaries and its reason, to work within the patterns, is where you’ll find yourself, yet always keep an ear towards the sea-wall.

“Just as the winged energy of delight
carried you over many chasms early on,
now raise the daringly imagined arch
holding up the astounding bridges.

Miracle doesn’t lie only in the amazing
living through and defeat of danger;
miracles become miracles in the clear
achievement that is earned.

To work with things is not hubris
when building the association beyond words;
denser and denser the pattern becomes––
being carried along is not enough.

Take your well-disciplined strengths
and stretch them between two
opposing poles. Because inside human beings
is where God learns.”

-Josh Fleming

Muzot, Febuary 1924

Rainer Maria Rilke, translation by Robert Bly

Image by: Robert Gutierrez

Kurchatovium 104

The_Good_and_Evil_Angels_Tate_Blake

Tortured souls of an unhappy communion, as you lay out your daily bread, the ritual cycles of a breathing breathe brings you no fullness, exhaling in a rasp, a ever collapsing lung wondering when death will come. As if we simply forgot, or somebody stole that precious fire, smoke trying to escape the smelting room of the ruined hearts. Why must we taste the bitter bile, we are the smudge sticks of someone else’s making, bound tight and burned, the ritual parlance of a menial existence, but what if, it was of our own oversight. Accepting an apology from a distant notion. That day that they told you what it was, what was meant to be, that moment you crawled into their shell, ever hanging under Deadman’s Tree. The World is not a place to bleed, the stagnate Hexagram of Ku marked across your sweat and brow, we are bleeding all over. The thinning wind blows low against the skirt of the Mountain, in an image of decay, thus the embodied and the emboldened must rise to stir the heavy winds, that lay fallow in the killing fields, to strengthen the people and quicken the spirit. Crossing back over obsidian seas, to begin the work.

-Josh Fleming

“Decisiveness and energy must take the place of inertia and
indifference that have led to decay, in order that the ending may be followed by a new beginning”.

-Richard Wilhelm, Hexagram 18

Image by: Unknown

The end of the poem was inspired by: The IChing Hexagram 18, Richard Wilhelm translation.

Wovenhand

page23-1009-full_o

Sew my hand into this fabric of earth, so deeply-rooted-that I may feel this memory. This coursing-pulse, this pounding-heart. Rusted stories still cling to backs of our mind. Discursive thoughts vanishing upon the fixed-horizon. To behold—the presence of being. To feel its weight in bone, to remember our presence as its own.

-Josh Fleming

Image by: Philipp Haager

http://artitious.com/artist/philipp-haager/