Statements Anti Statements

7/31/2019 Statements Anti Statements

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STATEMENTS ANTI STATEMENTSby

RICHARD MillettA SID Feller Production

Content:Apocryphal StoriesWhite Apple

Horse

No More Burlesque

Circle Soul

I freed a thousand slaves I could have freed a thousand more if only they knew they

were slaves- Harriet Tubman

Most people do not question their world. They think that the world that exists today isthe only one that has ever existed and that what they are shown is all that exists.

Artwork shows other possibilities, it is another language. It is an enigma. The art that I

make is not about messages. It is about presenting enigmas. I think that that is a sane

stance for the artist to take in the world. The role of the artist is to show other

possibilities, which helps to bring a little sanity to the world that is imposed on us- Ken

Jacobs

Specialists without spirit, sensualists without heart; this nullity imagines that it has

attained a level of civilization never before achieved- Max Weber

I have always strenuously supported the right of every man to his own opinion,

however different that opinion might be to mine. He who denies another this right

makes a slave of himself to his present opinion, because he precludes himself the right

of changing it- Thomas Paine

There is no self-portrait of me- Gustav Klimt

All titles written by RICHARD Millett 2010 published by FLUXLIFE INC

Edited by RICHARD Millett

Photography, Layout, & Design by LIZ RamirezConceptual Interdependence by EARL Todteman

Other titles in this series:Radar/Grain- Tracing The Dim Signal- Water b/w Fingernail In My Salad- Scatter- Scatter/Mild Life/T. & W.- Life Isn't Hard b/w Mild Life- The Aluminum Farm- The Zen TransferenceManual- It Went Red- The First Four Years- Splish!- The Splish! Supplement- Splish Reconsidered- Swim To The Center- Oranges- Present- Communism Is Grand- The Samplere-mail [email protected] for ordering informationvisit makethingseasy.blogspot.com forThe First Four Years, The Aluminum Farm and "Life Isn't Hard", as well as information about

this work


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APOCRYPHAL STORIES

metallic reaction on the skin, changes gold to bluefoundation brick laying play, all the questions trueglass in voice, nose in place, lake of lilies dareon the steps, in the air, all the swans can stare

you can seethe birth of earthyou can see it black and white

in reverse!

all your dreamsin betweeneverything everywheregravity, egg, and seedwet wet the jungle sea

window caterpillars, in iceberg clear skylightswhisper when the shades of blue, reflect in shades of whiteMichael Hampton on the wheel, one foot on the squarecoat of platinum, of the voice, exemplary thing to wear

I can choose a point of viewchange the channel I transmit ontoslip past security, unchain the drakeopen the door, dismantle the gate

in reverse!

all your dreamsin betweeneverything everywheregravity, egg, and seedwet wet the jungle sea

gifts of god for the people of godfor the children of godfreedom of godis freedom from godfreedom from godis freedom from god

in reverse!

it is the lightning in the legit is the beginning of the daynot guilty of causing an affrayblank sheet blank record blank history

free in every way

Right OnCome On

In Reverse!

Come On

You need all you can getthe jungle sea wet wet

full!


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WHITE APPLE

The audience glares/the audience is aloneprojected onto the citiesmoving mouthsupside down, silent, cementstruggles for breathlets the water runwalks with a stilted, failing gait

the water runs in the documentarybehind the page, a lessonin taking what you needwanting to know, so bad, so badso thirsty, so eager for the seed

roman columns, deep shadowsbuttressed archesfallen collective breacheyes cast upon the outer circleseyes cast upon the oval rings over the seaeyes cast on eternityeyes cast on maternity

then across the alley across the streethe can see cracks in the statues feethe crashed his car against a buildingagainst a lamp postfluttering fingers ivorydancing around dartingmercury

the survivalist juts forwardhead leering off the shoulderssees the wet walkways glisteningover enunciates to nobody listening

his face an impression in plasterrefers to a thought he had earlierbut its too austereto articulatehe's had too much sugarto hold his hands straightas the glass carton breakshe collapsesthe cream running parallel over his veins

the audience on stagethe public face encasedin a clear plastic capsulewith evenly explained rulestyped on a eggshell card displayed underneatheach remark cataloged and critiquedeach dismal dismissala prized antique

washed clean when the day ran drythe only dot in the satellite skythe audience needing permissionneeding drink needing oxygen againthe combinationhidden in international watersthe shadow shining on the light


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everything in plain sight secreta camera on its tripodspinning a circular anglea code transferred, capturedheld by an ascending angelall are welcomebut come open handedwithout guests or familyyou'll enter easier nakedand your intentions won't be mistaken

jagged rocks under the rushing riverwhich lead to the lakethe scene is a remakea three point star shapesuperimposed with stretching handsmaking a cityscapeand cold exhaling creating hovering clouds

silent/take out the soundI want to hear the rushingI want to hear the pounding

I want to hear the happeningafter the actionthe empty airin my earsI want to hear the flying birdsmake their callshear the echo reverberateoff ancient stone walls


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HORSE

let's share the silencewhile everyone's absent,with the electricity out,its unknown if the edges can be seenthin line, take your clothes offand find if you're purple

supine, time to get reservedby disengaged, dreary people

I'm optimistic enoughto whisper in your earvanish into the wallsand watch you walk to the chair

let's share the silencetest the power of my stareand the limits of your willingnessthen pretend we're unawarewhen you stand in front of the mirrorand all the stringent reasonswhy you're really here

I'm clear enoughto stand near the backnot against your thighto avoid glancing at your eyes

let's share the silenceease into your patiencemeasuring what each instant takesseconds after the temperature breaksand staying anxiously awakewhile the next seven minutes

and advanced into minute facetsslipping across conjoined elements

I'm open enoughto adjust the embryo windowyour tight spine, your consentthe tension kept sacrosanct


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NO MORE BURLESQUE

extractionthin metal claws and clipslike feelersor a hair sliced down the middleand carefully pulledoff of a listdiscipline/resistthe reading poisonof thoughts extemporizedand swept from a dingy mindthe mind articulated in plagiarists terms"my grandfather is sick"and guilt projectedonto a thrusted handsilently implying a demandof satisfactionand the water in the pipesruns dry rustand the oil in the planesiphoned andgiven to the next contributor

prevented by disintegrating mortarthe wall was razedthe field free for plowing

an entry for an enfant terriblea miniscule crack in the porcelaina micropoint pried openwith a petulant eye roll appealingto youth fetishistsand the prematurely decayingwhile wearing a prostitution ringa scarlet 'a' seen by anyonewho can decipher semaphore flags

making tenuous connectionscreating dubious self-advertisementsa popular indie labela writer from Vicea music video stealing your imageafter you've stolen your imagefrom an anonymous army of American Apparel modelsand a sub-Wes Anderson vision of a sub-Anna Karina"now, I'll be a star forever"Margo, don't go to Olympiaor Lacey or RentonAnacortes, Tacoma, or Bellinghamyou will be wholly inessentialyou'll taint the water supplypollute the soilyou'll deplete the telepathyend all conversationserase all electricitycease all levitymake joy obsoletethe sum total/with your floating dead eyedanime mask/facean omnipresent reminderof the rotten applemaking no funfor everyone


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Margo, don't go to Olympiabecause you need to learn the life lessonthat no matter if it's London, Brisbane, TokyoLos Angeles, Portland, Chicago, or Renoyour luggage will always keep arriving before you dobut, I suppose we all know, Margothat life lessons arent easily applicablewhen you can becan be the singer that doesn't singthe intellectual refusing to thinkthe marxist/obsessive materialistwho unironically writes"I love money"whose reactionary parents payfor college, clothes, and mac make-upwhich is still not enoughto keep you from beggingand complainingand nearly joining the militarystill pretending that you're more rebelliousthan what you label "progressives"still seeking to please the teacherand such a solipsist

that if the teacher doesnt play alongassumes it must have something to dowith your perceived unattractivenesspleasureless yet still promiscuousthe hedonist who hates liberalsthe liberated modern womanwho longs to be subservientand find a wealthy man who will dominatethe mental patient who insiststhere is no such thing as the sub-consciousand the awkward loner who thinks"individuals" are the insidious constructof anti-collectivist capitalists

"property is robbery"is the trite tripe slogan of someonewho has only existedwithout responsibilitywithout any self posessed honestywith no depth backing the grandstandingMargo, see what you find in Sri LankaMargo, see where I grew up in Ciceroand tell the LaMarca's that property is robberytell Mima driving home from the factory thatproperty is robberyyou delusional foolproperty is her way out ofdrudgery, her ticket pastthe line of indentured servitudewithout owning the buildingyou have people who areeasily organized and cut offfrom accessthe human experimentcalled The Projectsbut its impossible for you to thinkbeyond your anorexic contextand in your minddisagreement means judgmentand surely theres nothing worse than that


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in your minddisagreementcreates a scale ranging betweenmisogynist and apologistwhich is perfect since you alsolove to disparage feministsinsisting on women being more demure and stylishand while I'm at itisnt it always an istor at least an ism in your mindeverything neatly categorizedall thoughts and emotionscompartmentalizedMargo, at the center of youis abuseeverything youve ignoredinformed by the suspicionthat for you, lifeis impacted internmentdespite your outfitsability to execute your whimsand negate peoplewho dont fit into your trends

you have no freedomand I doubt you can know releaseI've heard you say"I hate art"well Margo, art dreads youand I look forward tomy suspicions being truethat youve become a sullen trophy wifestaving off boredomby blocking websiteson the school councilbanning booksor silently voting for

abstinence only sex educationMargo, you are themisinformed, manipulated manifestationof everything expressedby punk fashion shows and vampire weekendand your own wordsyou erase, clear off the pagemaking yourself the voicelessunable to raise the questionstoo choked to face the stagewasteful, self induced inability to articulate your age

No more burlesque!someonewaterfallsforced sympathyenervating congratulationbototx breakfastmoonfruitno more burlesquean offer of silencea measure of sanitya reasonable sense of controlbecause it hasnt been earnedand the wires will burnand the lights will freeze


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no more burlesquemoonfleshplaying harpdancing a rewritten balletspeaking with the sadhuand sharing informationcircle in circlein a city parkI walked by her once in a lineshe was shocked to recognize meI was all too happy to dodgethe people who I'd arrived withthe moments, the months beforesomeone hits the "record" buttonno more burlesquethe order will be determinedbecause in a sense it is already determinedlike the milk in the glassand the honey on the shelf underneaththe fruit on the trees grows naturallywithout any help if anything,it would be an interruption

Audrey, the amateur farmerpainting class teacherand occasional motherwhen the notion takes herand the weather suits herchanging names every other monthadopting identities from the televisiondominationstrutting across a runwaystarvationthe poise to retain a poselactationthe unwinding knitting needles

the steel front doorthe stream from the bus stopto the vault floorgigglingthe technology, the abilitythe enabling slipping sleepthat punches the feathersand exclaims exhalationsthe empathy, the stageof photographs & writingslike an unintentional confessionalor a catharsis withoutfurther ramifications or reasonsunderstanding by proxya community of torsoshandclaps and assumed nom-de-plumesa convergence of compulsionsthat folks get very defensive aboutif you mention their distractionsthe humidity got lostin the flurry to uproot the cactiand build rectangles of oak treesso Mrs Meredithcan have her begonia patchsprinkle a little can of waterand adjust her lil straw hat


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and adopt a section of walland elect a man to speak on her behalfand pester the county boardto get a nice sign to let the public knowthat these are her wishes, her designationsa living will, making clear all her intentionsthe wall behind her gateis sleek and strong and tallthe fence in front of thathas a mote, and behind thatan outdoor kill floorwith a 30 foot falland the air just keeps flowingits imperceptible to tracewhen someone walks upknocks three times and sezhey, wheres the bobcatson the roof?dont they claw your roof?had a hell of a damn timegetting rid of emand your back gets soaked with sweatjust from walking to the car

in the parking lotjust from hiking the kidonto the swing at the parkand the stalebreeze thru the backyardwind chimesis a whistlingwhistling

on another continentin a retirement communitygrandmother asks granddaughterwhat she thinks

"its ok" is the responsetaking english at universityunwilling to get a proper job becauseany earned wages wouldget absorbed by bus fareclothing updatesand hygiene upkeepyes, I am a thief of thoughtsand I cannot save a salaryor be a parentor uphold any promises I madewhen I was only tryingto leave the room unnoticeda new apartmentwalking to the fitness centerportfolio for the agencyshe listens to a lectureabout sexual repressionguys who refuse toperform certain actsselfishness, stupidityshe fumes and thinks abouther boorish ex boyfriendsno excitement, no thrilljust expectationsand obligations


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directions to lay stillplaying upon guiltmaking her feel responsibleintimating that she's luckysubtle self containmentand a status quoof self-consciousnessalways doubting, never questioningeven worse wasthe guy who treatedeach orgasm as anolympic medala competition of onethat he kept winninghe couldnt understandhow condescendinghe was when he held her headand said she shouldattempt speaking without speakingsaying it without saying itcritiquing her interests as outrkeeping an instant signalwhile allowing her transmission

a five second delayyou can paint in the cornersbut seriously, donttouch the frameshe sends packagescontaining chocolate and teahandwritten notesand a photo of herself laughingshe edits the scenedisregards the magazinereverses the reflectionand resumes exercising

Two sistersMirela and Annacame from Bucharestliving in Stoke On Trentlooking to move to Maidstoneboth annoyed at the neighbor abovewho keeps blaring manele"its just not good music"Anna laughs to MirelaAnna leaves to work at the hotelMirela wishes she had a bishonto keep herself companywhen her sister isn't aroundthe only time they argueis about where to goafter they've left EnglandMirela wants Americawhile Anna has her heart seton Australiathough they each knowthey have time to create their futureAnna has four more coursesBefore she becomes a teacherthey made a portrait togetherfor their mothera large abstract with


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cherry blossomsin the centergave it to her for her birthdaya turtle in the bottom cornerand a small frog in a stunning shade of purplea silver bridgeand small clips of picturestaken from a ledgein Cheltenham

your panichow quaintyour pretensionof coursewho else couldcorrect an israeli anarchistand tell them they shouldlabel themselves differentlyto more broadly appealto american touristsyour temper tantrumsare no longer a surpriseand only you could spend

new years day looking at the skiesto see if they might be fallingcertainly would make things easierand thats one way you wont lose your pensionthe same thing asbeing convincedexerting absolute controlwill keep anyone's attention

no more burlesquepromises of giftsthat havent been sentdetails about plans

that never get setfigments of fancybest left undressedno more burlesqueand archetype equalsinactive symbolsflawed perceptioncoloured witharrogant concisiondisguised asdiscerning eloquencethe eagle in flightthe documents in sightthe steps gleaming whitea pushbrooma toothbrushand a chunk of gingerthe connectionfizzingthe wheel spinningthe request is sitting on my desk

I was born in the Midwestand I come from minerson both sides of my familymy Aunt saw


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Buddy Holly at the Winter Dancein Eau Claire, WII'm willing to speakas I've almost always beenwilling to hear a point of viewand consider that person at least an acquaintanceand I met with the ghostsof Joe Hill and Tom Paineand I got asked"who are you tryin to impress?""no one" was my response"do you ever ask that of others?""not yet, but it seems to make sensemore than most questions"My Father's Father/Mother told me somethingthat left an indelible impression"if there's you and another personand theres a flag 200 feet in front of youand its understood that whoever gets the flag first winsyouve already won, no matter if you get the flag firstwalk backwards, go around in a circle, or stand stock stillthe reason is, that person defines themselvesby someone elses pre-existing standards

and if you dont define yourself at allit makes no matter if they get the flag or nottheyre still a slave to itand you are free to be anywhere""what if this person doesnt define themselves by such things?""thats when you've found a friend, anything else, then?""all things as all things?""yes- dont forget theres no such thing asdegrees of freedomyou are either free or you are a slaveand if you are a slave, you have to find outwho you are a slave to, and why"so I vote in elections

obey traffic lawsshow up on timeand use linear languageI dont feel the need to abandon itbecause its more involvedthan numbers in a sequencewhere the structure meets the disciplinewhere the structure becomesa code to copy and applyto open areas and determined formswhere open areas become a disciplineto reach a decisionto walk or not walk the trailwhere the discipline meets destinyin the day to dayin the ones and zerosin the world of shadowswhich new patterns of light punctureand reconfigure the architecturerebuilds the infrastructureso if a man puts a stage on a landmarkand gets behind a microphoneand says he's restoring orderyou know he's a liarand if he says he's restoring honourwell, I don't know


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but I dont think martin luther king jrhad corporate sponsorsand that man cant possibly mean honour for alljust a sect, a handful of investorsand a network of supportersand constituents, a series of groupswith acronyms for namesa confluence of systemsthat hopes to cover enoughfor you to find something to embraceabout it, and I found them last nightbarking directives, spray painting the snowwith enormous orange/pink lettersand I waited until they leftand went out there with a shoveland cleared the way, swept off the slushchopped the ice and made a pathand by the next morning, theirmessage had meltedin a soggy messand my neighbors had cleared a walkwayas well, and we spoke about the town charterthe aqueducts, and the phone number

for a good rooferthen my wife and I went to the marketto buy food for dinnerand there were no wingson the streets, no distractionsjust three teenagers, one boy, two girls standing in frontof the library, starting to singI looked at their body language and clothesand I tapped my wifes elbow and said"that kind of reminds me of mewhen I was that old""well good luck to them"we waved, she started smiling

and we made up a new song of our own

icicle streamthe white signalchannelingthe clock measurementsout in chalk on bricksthe stencil fitthe walltime signature incrementsthe birds, the fishthe deer pausing at theouter lip of the forestto avoid traffica dozen womenwalk together forwardsand sidewaysholding their keyspens and parking passesthey stand at theinformation centersand read the smalltypeface, before proceedingthe railway, the conductormakes a joke, collects a ticketdispenses change


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the train streaks bythe storefront and itsnew window displaythe passenger turnsabruptly to readwhat it has to say

in the eyebrow arch There are no sidesthe headmaster trickery and there are no armiesthe tacit complicity this argument is an illusionwhich leaks across silently a pantomime, a presentationthere is a bite mark that is ours your breath is your breathwe were awake when it was happening your mind is your mindand we excel at remembering your life is your lifeevade the hunt a circle wave, your fingersconfound and confuse them and the flowers in the bowl of waterexpose and release them- free them spin aroundevade the hunt and reflect in the mirrorthey did everything they could think of which sends back the lightaffixed you with a label and your eyes are your eyesforged what isnt legal your sight is your sightevade the hunt there are no sideswhen there are no rules in life

its obvious who's responsible in life


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Statements Anti Statements

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