After the 2015 Paris attacks, I wrote a love poem to France. Many references to religious extremism, the attacks on Charlie Hebdo, November attacks & the French men & women who shaped my ideology, my art, my imagination, my passion.
My understanding of
Tricolour cockades
Tirades
The way to approach this kind of calamity
In multicoloured vanity
Through this medium, within and without religion
Gray contextually, but infinitely livid
Displaced by the backdrop between a refraction and a prism
Within and without wisdom
Storming the prison of patriotism
And within… no patron patronizing
No lie worth defining and no eye misperceiving
And without… eyes on the ground it's just dreaming
Without eyes on the ground when weapons are flying,
Everyone's dying
Blind her to see if she's still seeing
For free will and the like
Our bond is unbinding and freedom rings freely
Love is bound as neatly and simply as the sunshine shines
With woman, man and child no longer agonizing
For complacence without adversarial antagonizing
...Incessant truth
I will do.
P.S. Amour Fou. Indebted to You.
For truth, aloof…
Debt is a praise the meek cherished in prose
But fought for the rot of the wrong
Let them eat cake, and let's also eat cake with them
That sounds nice
Don't you hate it?
Let them seek to find ye climbing above with nothing but a piece of flint
And glory as her flame
For whom do I thank?
Does she have a name?
Eiffel told Bartholdi who told me to play!
If love can't relate to the sunshine shining…
-Now let us remember that all the good in the world is bad timing-
P.S. Amour Fou. Indebted to You.
Misunderstandings, of the many…
Religion
+ a misinterpreted acquisition
within human brain functionality
= revelations with disproportionate arses
Her genesis is you forgetting who you are
Baby, you can drive my car
Retribution is a farce
Wisdom outweighs the camera that caught me
Don't you hate that feeling when I know they got me
For the carnage and bloodlust that robbed me
Vengeance, the uninhibited carbon copy
The Resistance
The Nazi
When primordial hell can't stop me
You lost me
I'm too stuck on truth for you to occupy me
P.S. Amour Fou. Indebted to You.
Let us not use force…
For the sake of all humanity and every living animal…
Don't follow that retched course
Bow to the Celts? Norse?
How the hell should we know?
Hell is remorse, thanks to Bouguereau
Not for Rome, ah Shalom
For The Franks I must thank
I insist.
Let them alone
May peace bring you hope
You're the reason I know this
By the Gaul's wing
…or falling for another century's war?
Of course…
P.S. Amour Fou. Indebted to You.
"Liberté, égalité, fraternité"
It's just a phrase
Too many needles in the hay
Too much tact, too much grace
Fraternity is testing and contesting the reaper today
By laws of the aether, too many shades of grey
…will fade
Then Into the afterglow, they'll all pray
Until mind, body and soul sound the same
Equality, fortuitously can't be innate
We are the whitest of all blackface
Contention displaced today
Equality is a mess, and we're all to blame
Trade your bishops for a thousand pawns, and I will too
Whose oligarchy is the duck's duck's duck's goose?
Who's wading in the pond?
The ugly duckling is laying an egg
The black knight is a freud
However sour the taste in your mouth
There's a flower that blooms as fleetingly as it dies
You couldn't be a coward or a thug
You have the power to make her a swan
This land is our land, and for the rights of man
For the rights of woman
Too many rights for the zealots to get it so wrong
But we know the refrain… Now we say…
Liberté… What's too many, too much today?
Liberté! Welcome me into every place
For Liberté, there's still grace
I'll ask why for every roundabout rhyme
Every dab of paint will paint me blind as it bids ado
Liberté, for you, I'll die and die again a thousand times
For a Lily, I'll find a pond with room
Smaller fish, liberté
You may find this silly,
But for Monet and his lily, I'd dig up her tomb
Between Locke and Hume,
There's a Sartrean Doctrine…
…That we only need read once in the womb…
P.S. Amour Fou. Indebted to You.
Roundabout… Shout out… My understandings of…
The root of our genial flagstaff
The stems of consciousness
The uselessness of prayers
The Bad Faith I'm exuding now
Couldn't be possible without a name…
For the sake of Bad Faith, there's a name:
Always begin with Montaigne
Un-Locke'd up in his cage
Insanity isn't exclusively insane
Take a breath of freshly blathered flare
The second breath should be Voltaire
Out of thick air to no heir, with allusions of jubilance to blame
The divinity of thought
The wherewithal of The Renaissance
Just a start… Descartes is the brain
And when the stoics begin to complain…
There's Sartre, Camus, Beauvoir
Nostalgia is Louis' Champlain
I'll drink the Brut et tu, but thanks!
The Stranger awaits
My third symphony's drawing a blank (it once had a name)
It's troubling, but bubbly works in mysterious ways
I found the Mississippi, and I still have no name
I believe it began with René- and a dash for the flaccid
Where history becomes prose, it knows nothing
And it won't take a cue
Robert LaSalle knows it's true
P.S. Amour Fou. Indebted to You.
We feel your pain…
In a superficial way
From the phone to the satellite
And right back into pain's place
Disregarded and/or displaced
And, by the way… Give us back our Paine
Through a colorful array of interpreting carnage in his wake
I hope we have as much tact
I hope we have as much grace as you
How would Renoir decorate this place?
…with a million footsteps Degas tried to trace
Every dab of paint will do
I'm following you
P.S. Amour Fou. Indebted to You.
In retribution, there's only more pain…
Speak for the meek from the most gorgeous tongue
Turn your eye for a cheek just to see who won
Renaissance over revolution
Hostility, grievances hold all love in their wake…
To whom is they? What's the wait?
Let them eat paint.
P.S. Amour Fou. Indebted to You.