Project 330, (drawings done about 1980)

RADIO-HEAD

sketch
my radio head

Asleep in the night. Some people are passing by outside the squat in 330 Commercial Road, walking about 30 or more feet away walking eastward. My deep sleep shuts down and opens, clear as a radio, listens to the conversation of passers by. The talk would normally be too far away to be heard; an amplification of sound takes place inside the brain and makes the conversation seem nearer and clearer. In the morning I attempt to record the strange experience as a drawing; my Radio Head.

WINDOWS

Disturbed sleep experiences.

MATTRESS (performance proposal)

Wake up in the morning/persperation. The wall is a surface/unpapered/non-illusary. To see beneath the surface, to dream. A man looking at a surface and dreaming. To wake up from the night/from dreaming to stand on the mtress and press warm body against wall. Bones and wall are one/flesh and matress another. The room is cool. The mattress and flesh are warm/bones and wall are cold. This seperation from warm and cold, flesh and bone, ilusion and surface, night and reality. The surface is covered in white paint. The paint is as cold as the wall, even if it conveyed an illusion, it is a surface even if it depicted spatial design. A dream comes from some death (like a lantern fish). Can you pass your fingers through it, or is it a surface. It is not illusory, it is real, living, working, and working, (or is it the thinking, illusory sound where do dream sounds come from – real of imaginary?

THE THREE GRACES

BIO-FORM

Project330.jpg
bio-form

LONDON DOCKLAND & THE TWIN SLEEPWALKERS

As a person who has suffered from sleepwalking since childhood, here I imagine a twin who watches over me.

THREE VARIED DRAWINGS

Project330.jpg
linear drawing

 

Will It Happen Tomorrow?

A vacuum between here now to the shores of a new Kingdom.
A sweet perfume of expectancy over a desert of quicksand.
Through the visual melee of mirages,
So intense they fill the air; so eternal the heart cries
To be taken further from the dark door.

Is it just a dream?

A river divides the seen and the unseen
On the bank I am a child of many colours.
In the light I look across and see darkness
In the darkness I see nothing.
I go to discover the other side and I drown
I disappear into a grave of water
A new existence takes over – the river.

The river of life? sea of death?

I drift down to the ocean into a cradle of the earth
I float upon the mirrored surface.
A fragmentation of knowledge evaporating into the firmament
As if the universe were a room where mirrors slip from the walls
Of an original parent giving birth to a new man.

When will it happen?

I cannot come to terms with reality until I know it will happen
I push love out of reach myself to seek a new clear key or life.
It’s there I know it is; it is more than what it seems.
But why can I not see it? Why can’t I know that I know it’s created?

From: A Squatters Poetry Journal in pages section.
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