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Auré Paperback – September 27, 2013
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Top Customer Reviews
the Aquarian blue paper regression cones: fantastic! So far,
hysteria motifs poppied with a reminiscent skin-cover
of letters and numbers, a taut motive fan opens all its stops
then mosaics for lack of a better word into recessed bird breathings
of partial-light (red risings into white flushes exfoliation
of green/purple droplets)—a violent series of fading surfaces
consciously propped by actual black ribbings as if a whale—
all lapping at an emerging science of shape which culture reforms itself within
to avoid faking the “great leaps” across a virtual mortuary of free will
until everything is crucial all at once! Thoughts of a kind couple
with bodies of a kind in chroma-philiactic self-love: an absorption
of two bloated steel vaultings shadow replicas of canaries more definitive
than potions of simple nervous joy at the sight of blood from a lover.
Abandon is restrained by redemptive ruddy “lariats” pulled like prison taffy
in streamers festively repeating nuances surrounding the corpus
of the “nouveau-diary style”. A dingy reformatory of intimacy
and a contagion of consistency: this murky pentagon’s cutlery
of blonde angelfish echoes this square’s voiceless white begging basket
of hieroglyphs which then reiterate this green triangle’s illuminated (crested) eye
which (in its turn) recalls this line’s failing eminence across the composition
nailed and flowered with bits of dollhouse furniture, torn garments
and the fuchsian stink of freedom contained by construction
or modified to obtain destruction and all within a floral motif.
A visual triumph! A relocation of the observer. A genius! One to be reckoned with at parties!
"In the fulcrum of organs and organ-grinders under restless stars, among other hesitations, other nights racing toward sudden walls, forests, sheer ledges confronting the fruit of dripping honey, the displacement of a woman moving close, the woman despised by threatened kings, caressed by the great black lilies of springtime, the gamelan, the lovely A...is not...in whose reckless abandon the compass points meeting for the very first time. Where the owl of chalk addressed the accordion of distressed ravens. Where the chemist fiddles with his traits, the latest measuring, off-center. The worth of precision, a city in the crime, the milk of shadows chasing your breath..."
:The quarry in the medium, dusting in space. Hybrid anatomy, illustrious condor of the fountain, enabling a medieval ruby in a cloned alchemy of missing endgames, a slowly burning celluloid, a coupling statuesque. Her nighttime conjurations compel a madly repeatable "Who goes there?" of sunlight lymphing through the streets, in vessels propelled by girlish figures and sinister pacts. Insight of the plateau charming itself through your presence, your stealthy science of immaculate conjectures. Always forbidding, that heavy insensitively wrapped stone of transparency. The analogy of your name is intoxicating. The glow of footprints in a dream..."
Reading this trek through the subconscious, I was reminded of Char, Leiris, and Desnos' "Liberty or Love" in particular. The same love of danger, the same lack of fear, and above all, the same integrity of the artist within his framework. This is amongst the highest order Surrealism, and not one word is cheap or written for it's own sake. A rarity.