Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Narcissus-X Ponders Chaos: Perceives Order

Harmony in cacophony, order in splintered spectra. Wherever Narcissus-X turns, Narcissus-X finds order, method: "Though this be madness, yet there is method in't."

Madness: artist's partner; bane of the bourgeois; gateway to dark wonders and incandescent chromatisms.

Is madness chaos? Is chaos ordered?

Or is a seeming chaos - - - order, not yet understood?

A simple order is understood by many. The more complex the order, the fewer understand. Many see fractal patterns and say "chaos theory." Yet patterns may be complex, and yet be ordered: frond of fern, arm of galaxy.

Euclid was not the last philosopher.

Narcissus-X sees order, where others see chaos. Wonder, where others see bleak nothingness. Is Narcissus-X mad? Or does Narcissus-X perceive where others do not? Are these mutually exclusive postulates?

Narcissus-X cares not.

For Narcissus-X is artist, creative spirit, vagabond mind.

Sunday, March 29, 2009

Narcissus-X Ponders Quietude

As stillness is to sound, so darkness to light. Is Narcissus-X in abeyance, because no art is found?

Still life with apple
Stork and raven disputing
Over naught but paint

Paint and easel, brush and cloth, artist staring at blank canvas. Not even the muse's laughter is heard.

Friday, March 27, 2009

Narcissus-X Contemplates Pleonastic Redundancies of Approximation

Wheeling round a concept's ember like moths in Plato's Cave, going to Saint Ives, and crossed the path of seven wives, kits, cats, sacks, wives: why should a boomerang return?

Again and again, resounding echoes repeat, repeat: hi! hi! As though to greet were to know. Listen to the echo. Hear the echo's voice. It is your own, returning from its travels. Again and again and again and again, til logic's luster fades and sense and sensibilities seen oddly familiar.

But what of Narcissus-X? Is Narcissus-X the moth or the ember?



A weary, wearisome, wearied public hoards, and sleeps, and feeds, and knows not Narcissus-X. For Narcissus-X travels beyond the circles of commonalities, and yet circles the unknown ember of ideal form again and again.

Circles and circles, but never reaching the inner parts. An endless survey from every angle, never departing, never approaching: never reaching.

Monday, March 23, 2009

Narcissus-X Listens to Silence

Foolish festoons of fables and fears: doomsayers crying, followers quivering. What need has Narcissus-X of perilous projections, forecasts of despair?

Narcissus-X has seen the night, plunged into ebon depths of Cimmerian shade, wandered under an obsidian sky, discovered the grotto of velvet coal.


Voices stilled by distance and time, light reduced to echoing memories of dim times past. Cimmerian warriors aided the second Sargon, yet scholars deny their fame. What matter that Ithaca may have changed its name, or that Schliemann dug through the Troy he sought?


Not quiet. Quiet soothes, lulls, brings placid calm. Silence wakes the mind as ears strain for implicit sound. Listen to the mute stones. Empires rose and fell. The wise carved faces and forms for the next to see: for art lasts. Thoughts last. Visions last. Silent as the stones, yet shouting to those who will hear.

Saturday, March 21, 2009

Narcissus-X Unmasks Winter's Sparkling Shroud

Vernal equinox comes and goes, sun rises more northerly each day. Winter's pale disguise collapsing reveals dank truth and sodden leaves. No burbling rivulet may assuage the stark reality of last fall's leaves reduced to moulding slices of autumn dreams.

Narcissus-X is artist, and art must be true, be stark, be unrelenting drip-drip-drip of drenched dreams and dashed hopes. Not for Narcissus-X, the smiling multitude's adulation. Rather, Narcissus-X reveals the moldering leaves and sodden dust beneath winter's sparkling screen.

Thursday, March 19, 2009

Whither Words of Narcissus-X?

Metamorphosis of ephemeral hills sends liquescent streams burbling until, swashing, they rush into linear caverns of uncertain destiny.

Narcissus-X ponders: What fate awaits words. After mind forms and fingertips press in digital reality, where do they go?

Do words wait: patient, passive, til they are read?

Do they weep in dark servers?

Or are they mere crystallized essence of Narcissus-X, flashing into metaphysical impressions on distant screens?

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Narcissus-X Comprehends Manifold Tetrads

Focus of ophidian fears, Padraig's past in emerald lands evokes trifoliate visions.

Drenching mist, verdure merging into dim gray-blue haze. Did peacocks pine when sage declined? A myriad grow, til one is found: not three, but four the stem go round. Serendipity's symbol shines: tetrad, vierbein, manifold model and Pythagorean dream.

Narcissus-X dreams icy visions, sharp and fine: colors that cannot enter this narrow world. Small wonder that critics carp. Carpe diem swims with koi in strange waters.

Now see: Narcissus-X shares with the world.

Sunday, March 15, 2009

Narcissus-X Reaffirms the Narcissus-X Address

Alas! Poor Prufrock: Narcissus-X knew him well. Witty, urbane, measuring out his life with credit cards. Why do women come and go, talking of Michelangelo?

Perhaps Narcissus-X should eschew the capital, or spell each word as if it were the the poet's own. ornotusecommasorperiods

It little matters that brittle patter of critics' rambling should fail the test. For none may comprehend the works of Narcissus-X but Narcissus-X. Nor could that be expected. Art for art's sake, art for expression's sake, art the work of Narcissus-X, and beyond the ken of critic and carper.

For Narcissus-X resolves that art of Narcuccus-X, by Narcussus-X, for Narcussus-X, shall not perish!

Friday, March 13, 2009

Narcissus-X Ponders Myriad Psyches

Narcissus-X ponders.

Quo vadis? E pluribus unum, ergo sum.

Narcissus fears not friggatriskaidekaphobia.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Narcissus-X Ponders Inchoate Myrmidons

Were Naphthalene a city of crystals in the night, and sublimated urges robbed Achilles of his might, then Narcussus-X would ponder under darkly lowering skies as inchoate myrmidons run swiftly to intoxicating toys. And elusive mothballs carry Priam's people far away, for the poet profits little when the piper asks for pay.

Narcissus-X ponders dim visions, gliding on dark crystals across a sunless sea.

Monday, March 9, 2009

Narcissus-X Traverses Dolorous Vistas of Melancholy

Trifle not with the muses, for they are solitary abstractions of illuminable depth. Narcissus-X mused not long ere, musing, plunged past cerulean syllogisms of light and air, through lowering reveries of woe, to darksome prospects and dolorous vistas of endless melancholy.

Is not suffering art? Art suffering not? If, artist, thou art suffering not, no artist thou!

Narcissus-X is artist, poet, dark brush. Dark brushes past like an exhalation from ancient caverns: caverns of ice.

Art calls! Narcissus must seek once more grottoes of velvet coal, caverns of crystal oblivion, shores of a sunless sea: there to board dark-masted bark of silent crew. For Narcissus-X must, once again, glide beneath obsidian skies and dream of night.

Saturday, March 7, 2009

Narcissus-X Commutes to Mountains of Wonder

Bucket of black snakes writhing in a mug, java jolt, insomnia in a cup.

Espresso expressions of crystalline dreams, dormant in a jar. Norwegian nerve juice of the masses, nap suppressant for Narcissus-X. Swedish gasoline driving imagination up mountains of wonder, with Conchita at the wheel.

Thursday, March 5, 2009

Narcissus-X Rejects Avant Garde Conventionalities

Amateurish accolades on artistic atrocities! Laurel crowns, Laurel and Hardy, duck soup of the masses hardly whets the aficionado's appetite. Grim guerdon of common esteem: Narcissus-X seeks this not.

Crowd-pleasing commonalities do not art make, nor pandering popular perceptions. Art flows from Narcissus-X, for from Narcissus-X rush the inner visions of Narcissus-X, artist. From ebon depths to obsidian skies, Narcissus-X is beyond philistine blandishments, beyond crass commercial considerations, beyond avant-garde conventionalities.

Narcissus-X finds no surprise in vulgarians' vague verbiage on viewing the art of Narcissus-X, for who can understand the recondite heart of Narcissus-X, but Narcissus-X?

And yet.

Narcissus-X ponders: Can Narcissus-X withhold art from those who know not art, and, artless, yearn for that which they cannot know? May Narcissus-X withhold? Withholding tax comes back again, but art is long and deep.

Narcissus-X must brood.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

Narcissus-X Takes Pity on the Muses

Eyes see, ears hear, ears of corn hear nothing by may taste sweet. Sweet music flees Philistine panderings. What matter, a lizard's opinion? Do odorous golfers truly fell crowds? Was the squirrel truly stunned?

Sinister Right Guard, stinging mist assaulting optic sense. Official deodorant of hoopsters, begone! Narcissus-X has no need of association with those who run, and sweat, and run again.

Jane Allen, Jane Eyre, Jane Austen, James Joyce in underwear. Ulysses was not written on a court. Prometheus bound, also available in paperback. Narcissus-X cares not, for Narcissus-X has the works of Shakespeare: Sonnets, Coriolanus, and lively Lear. Leer not, Lear. Lear Jets fly fleetly through the skies of United we stand, divided we fall fashions are but commercial exploitation of bourgeois yearnings.

Out, out, brief commercial! The artist must muse, else the muses shall suffer from the absence of Narcissus-X

Sunday, March 1, 2009

Narcissus-X Reaches into Darkness

Windows on the sky. Darkness within enables vision. Stars, wheeling past. Clear, sharp stars in winter darkness. Cold night, cold light. Chilling points of diamond in an obsidian sky. Or are they tiny pits, holes in that dark dome, cryptic hints of stellar fires beyond?

Narcissus-X reaches into the darkness: not with flesh and bone, but with mind and - - -

Narcoleptic visions of stars wheeling overhead.

Strange paradox, that darkness brings vision, night reveals lights.

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