by M. Murphy ©2019
If you could only see
The colors noise makes
Stroboscopic pulses melting
The projected penumbra fades
Off in the webs of energy threads
Yellow brown lies
The Gerber orange cuisine
Masking putrescent truth
That green worm-mass-face
It’s anything but serene
Yellow brown haze
As piss and shit
Shout red mandates tightly bound
In the wet black ink stained fingers
Choking round impotent necks
Siphoned oily green drops of life’s blood
Rain pulses pelting my brain
Yellow brown fog
Embezzle cloaked pillars of a white empire
Engulfed in drowning swallows
From the red stained eyes
Driven through the heart by fragments of the one true cross
The brights skim along the surface
Dancing yellows and bright blue whites
Piercing shrieks tighten my eyes
Shut with winching little stabs
Sometimes feel really good
Wanton fat needy arms
Purple wrap lavender lilac
Texture rich lustful bathing
In the open arms of eternity’s embrace
A return to the source with grace
Aural presence
Boreal essence
Make rainbow forests before my eyes
Rooted in the opaque gray of twin hemispheres
Navigating upward ever onward in clear reflecting waters
Her voice the sweet siren song
Soft pink candy serenade
Melts the world for pale golden petals
Upon velvet beds of earthen greens
In a patchwork maze to claim cat’s cradle
I am not overly fond of the color red, in fact, I can’t fucking stand its overuse in fashion. Little tidbits and complimentary nuances are great, but if you want to be avoided completely, wear an entire red outfit. If you delve in to wearing all rust colors, like oxidation, consider it as another sign of desperation, danger, death, and decay.
Commercially produced reds have always been meant to stimulate whether you ingest, or relate to integrate, you are a consumer.
Red leaves in the Fall shore-are-purdy and all, but if you could hear their season long wailing and screams as they die an agonizing choking death, we may behold such grandeur of demise in humbled awe; and we applaud their starvation.
We stopped looking for the signs of changing times, when colors turn away, and the world befalls to gray, color is a revolutionary act.
Rich green forests are in my genes that have been ripped open and rearranged to accommodate the nature of nature. Listening, and singing along with the deepness of infinite green on green upon green after green. Silvers and golds juxtapose the layered pose that Ansel Adams could only compose in black and white.
Green makes me feel like a chameleon, or a salamander living in a bad ass array of ancient rocks beside a stream where I catch all sorts of tasty treats to keep the balance, to keep things neat.
Green makes me think of water so blue because of the sky, like it was handing out free samples of cosmetics. A green so blue, nobody could have painted on an upper eyelid any better and make it any clearer.
The gold lame’ shine of Elvis somehow changes the luster and neon glow of life below the surface; The Liberace gemstone smile lights the way for innocent pink puffy pastels pouting out sweet Welk’s prose to describe brown molded stains of repression.
Hee-Haw the sickly-green institutional yellow pee-stained hay bales litter a set of values dressed up in red, white, and blue crisscrossed plaid. Nestled in the cleavage valley where all roads lead to the deep, dank, humid, golden honeysuckle-south; dripping in the colored blood of generations and tokens of esteem held in such deep regard, deserved of their own private vaults buried in the barren brown earth.
Hot pink solid mods and lime green rages across the screen begging for someone to come and play in the land of yellow submarines, blue meanies, and the red blood of dying soldiers securing the futures of the rich investment portfolios, tucked in to the pockets of slick-oil-fire-stained-hand-buffed-animal-skin wallets.
Plainly stated; I love color. I also have synesthesia; the condition that causes the brain to process data in the form of several senses at once. For me, colors are paired with sounds. Also, people, other living and non-living things emit colors, and sounds or tones like music or a harmony, and little energy wave threads that trail off and in to lots of different directions, like pre-echoes. Then there is the mirror-touch synesthesia; direct empathy transmission – this is difficult to bear at times.
All these examples, they vibrate. Sometimes even the stillest of objects appear to be slightly moving, or about ready to take off. In my visual perception, there are many additional layers. They are like alpha channels in Photoshop, this is the best analogy I can give. So, there are color layers, fog layers, halos, stylized representational overlays, sound layers, energy wave thread layers . . . sometimes it is barely perceivable, other times it is rather debilitating. There are triggers that I must be aware of because of sensory overload leading to meltdown. Everything seems terribly amplified. – M. Murphy – 2019
The Spiral Saint 