Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts

I fell in love too young

I fell in love too young to know all that existence under threatening skies the limit of my patience is a virtue to be cherished little ones and twos a crowd three monkeys swing high and low down rider on the plains of the desert served after the mainline shoots and leaves without saying goodbye to all that matters not to me myself and I want you so much ado about what I said last to arrive at your destination unknown to science and art intertwined forever in our hearts and minds over matters of the heart and soul dancer in the skies above us and them changes everything now and again you say what you really mean to me all the time and space travel to the city of orange days and purple nights in black chiffon and lace my shoes together we walk together down this road to nowhere man and woman together in holy grail drinking from the cup of chance encounters with strangers in the night of the long knives and forks in the road less travelled too far and away from home is where the heart beats to a different drum and bass caught in a river that flows and ebbs to escape it's past caring about you don't love me you have never loved mea culpa and all that latin festivals that go bang in small doses of life giving medicine that helps I need somebody all the time not just anytime sooner rather than later on this evening when the sun goes down on me forever in my mind that wanders through the twisting lane overtaking the rest of the field where poppies grow and bodies decompose this poem of love me tender is the night before us who wait for a dawn that never comes...

an idea that destroys

an idea that destroys is an 'automatic' poem that endlessly generates different combinations of words and phrases. A homage to Jean Tinguely. You can view the poem by clicking here...

Tubular Crystal Vortex Undulating on a Lava Sunset

Tubular Crystal Vortex Undulating on a Lava Sunset

If you could take a sharp plane to reality, would the curl look a little like that?
Is there a light at the end of the tunnel memories?
Enter flux twirl this is incredibly mesmerizing
I would dare suggest a title for this image
But I find it very interesting Planet Saturn Ring Cycle
A visual experience that we have strongly related to the two dimensionality of technical image
That looks awesome! Worm Hole Bacon z vortex {Coffee, Eggs and Wormholes}
Public Vortex? white noise Quantum Tunnel
Tunnel to My Heart Quantum Decoherence
My colon! makes me think of a guild heighliner from Dune
The act of representing as if it were three-dimensional
An astronomical “Worm Hole” comes to mynd
Without the Riding Valkyries!

by Sheer Zed, Melwell Romancito, Archimadrita Sophrony, Krysia St Clair, Mitch Posada, Simone Leifels, Paul Payten, Lisa Videion, Yvana Samandova, Dean Brink, Ohm Zutt, John Bardakos, Steve Stafford, Margosha Pyke, Pteryx McKenna, Daniel Mcmahan, Carlos Orraca, Ron Smyrski, Vicki Curry and Bob Georgeson

SPEAK! promo video

SPEAK! is the first exhibition by dadaland collective: It is about words, language, communication, information, letters, voice, dialects, linguistics, sounds, people. Available mid May 2019 at

Art Wank

This one started off as a pic taken of text in a wanky art magazine. The more I tried to read, let alone understand what it meant, the more it kept going around in circles until finally disintegrating into another context all together...

I just wanted to say... (automatic poem)

I just wanted to say...
I love you
Im eternal....
Hey thanks
in all my life, in all your life, thoughts just fly away, brittle winds throw up your thoughts, nothing left to say
there is room for one more inside
I hope you have a great day!
Many of these things are
that even thought the nature of existence is the one of suffering, we are all in this together.
you were right but it doesn't change the fact that we're about to die. i'm sorry i couldn't give _____ back to you. don't forgive me. let me die with the guilt proferred, weightless and glimmering, zeroes and ones, an echo in the sound.
humanity is great and awful and i want to hug and kill everyone
Geopoliticus Face Alienated
That knowing the time of day...
fuck the unluck of good ppl
Listen learn and try to understand and call out hypocrisy whenever you can
Nothing worse than trumped up monkeys who think they are special
This salmon scanned at ten dollars, but it says nine ninety nine on the shelf

This poem was written by you, or someone, or somebody. It started with a publicly available Google Form promoted through this site and social media. The idea being that you could contribute to an automatic poem. The contributions were completely anonymous. I don't know who wrote what or what country they came from or whether it was many people or just one. Some people have obviously tried to contribute in the spirit of the experiment. Others, well you wonder why they bother. I had an interesting discussion with a software developer a few weeks back who coined the term 'crowd sourced art', which I like as a concept. His experience of such things were that given the chance people were more likely to draw a moustache on a face than use the opportunity to participate in collective creativity. So this is it, without edits or embellishment. There is some beautiful and thoughtful writing which moves me. Great poetry? I think perhaps not. But then, maybe my preconceptions have to adjust to the reality of what now exists. So, I just wanted to say...

I just wanted to say...

Please write your response. It will be assembled into an automatic poem. All replies are anonymous...

My day at the mall

Bob Georgeson, underground car park, 2015, Photograph

Nobody laughs in here. They avoid eye contact at any cost. Shop assistants yawn as they finger their mobile phones. The mall swarms with bodies disembodied. Being tall I peer over their heads. A small woman tries to walk through me. I play chicken, determined not to move to the last moment, then jump sideways to the left. She does the same. I jump the other way. She does the same. Our little dance clearly irritates her.

The young girl says “Can I help you Sir?”. I “smile and say “Don't call me Sir”. She looks taken aback. I say “It reeks of British upper class imperialism and the the subjugation of the workers”. I can see this explanation is not helping. “Don't worry...I'm a surrealist” I shrug, realising as soon as the word has rolled off my tongue I have made a mistake. Any word ending in 'íst' these days is to be feared. This is not going well...

Perhaps I am a cultural terrorist. My surrealist ancestors advocated going into the street with a gun and firing at random. These days that is so common that it no longer has an impact, and besides I cannot stand sudden loud noises and hysteria, but I do have the perverse thought of planting a bomb in the food court. It wasn't the drumstick through the forehead that got him, it was septicaemia from the secret herbs and spices.

A woman walks towards me pushing a double pram. She looks a bit too old for a mother, a bit too young for a grandmother. She is very protective of her babies. As she passes I look back at the twins. Two identical plastic dolls stare back at me. Nobody is laughing...

Outside Gloria Jeans in Bega...

it's you pickin' on me day
the fruits of no labours
and indiscretions
gathered in a basket case
of broken limbs and tattoos
the medals of skirmishes
on the wrong side of the law
who are always
pickin' on me

Internet Archive has a makeover...

I cannot emphasize enough the impact and influence the Internet Archive has had on my art, and the direction it has taken since mid way through 2012 when I started getting interested in video and came across the Archive when searching for some public domain footage to experiment with. Since then it has become something of a second home on the Web, one where I resource much of my 'found footage', the repository of my video collection, the definitive 'home' of public domain and the concept of the 'free web', as well as the vast collections of text, audio, books, Netlables, images, music, film, the Gutenberg Collection, the Wayback Machine...the list just goes on and on and on. And all for FREE!

The Archive has just released a Beta version of their new look and feel, and now my video collection is presented in the above format rather than just a list of text titles. I think it's pretty cool (as is everything the Archive is, does and stands for). You can now even 'like' my videos! Check it out here...

I would also encourage you to join and support the Archive. Very easy to sign up and get your e-library card and become part of the electronic frontier...

Robert Hughes on video art

"Mention video to some people and watch their faces fall. If the cliché of "modern sculpture" used to be a piece of stone chewing gum with a hole in it, and that of "modern painting" was a canvasful of drips, then the cliché of "video art" is a grainy closeup of some U.C.L.A. graduate rubbing a cockroach to pulp on his left nipple for 16 minutes while the sound track plays amplified tape hiss, backward."

From the review of the retrospective for Nam June Paik at the Whitney published in Time magazine on May 17th 1982.

This quote popped up in Part 2 of Howard Jacobson's documentary 'Brilliant Creatures', a study of the careers of Barry Humphries, Clive James, Germaine Greer and Robert Hughes. The quote is not only a timely reminder to myself about what I am trying to achieve in video art (visual poetry perhaps?), but classic Hughes cutting to the chase with acerbic wit underpinned by a profundity that most art commentators could only hope for at best. At a time when Australia sadly accelerates backward politically at an alarming rate towards totalitarianism, there is a slight optimism in feeling proud of our cultural heritage and larrikin attitude and honouring those pathfinders who espoused a 'cause' because they believed in it more than their own self-aggrandizement...  

e.e. cummings reads 'anyone lived in a pretty how town'

One of my absolutely favourite poems read by the man himself....

kaspar is dead

You can download the (higher definition) files here:

You can view all the videos on the Internet Archive here...

clenched fingers

anonymous waves, clenched fingers, 2013, photomontage

object obscure
the path
infinity's breath
a clouded
clenched fingers

Star Poem #1

anonymous waves, Star Poem #1, 2013, mixed media


Down the avenue of consumerism
He skates without fear
Weaving through the traffic
Watching life through his ear

He reads books made of faces
Has friends he's never met
Downloads links that fragment life
Passing the cliched cafe set

Life is expressed in symbols
But as long as you can be seen
Having coffee with your mobile
The plan costs more than your dream...


Photo taken by Joy Georgeson at Flynnes Beach, Port Macquarie, June 2013
Along the beach
I walk alone
The waves my family
Each grain of sand
My home

lost friends

greater the distances grow
between us
loyalty unknown
after brotherhood sown
closed emotion

friendships grow with years
and sink with tears

when respect turns to fear