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Tridentine Shadow

…….The candelabra’s purring harvest in the forest

…..The silk grooves in the church basement

Evasion….

I was rung by the concierge at the flea bag motel where we began filming.
I was told to bring bring vestments and a prepare a semiotic hymn. “Don’t bother me”, i said, paying the taxi.
The clouds are unalterable at 3:00am. They lift from the ground
rainless, glory filled and irrepressible as a horizonless gouache nudely staring.
The coat i wore held particularly to me: a gold lattice cloak laced in hooks to my flesh and a small hairshirt of emerald briar.
I knew by the smell where the set was. The director and the pale
room keeper snorted and laughed together. “I have the semiotic hymn”,
I whispered with a zealot’s arousal. “i hope Silas, or the woman playing
him, likes it too.”
The cat o nine tails was purple, studded with pearls, and i genuflected in the spindle of my own shadow, facing up to it.
The plaster cast of St. michael’s hung from the wall, and i was told he would fall soon.
I carried out the mass in my makeup, scourging often, rapidly. I held
a laminated photo, black and white, as the rite would necessitate the sacred scripture held.
The image was emblazoned with a reckless dispersal of shadow, and just one tacky bit, a hat rising, a candle by his face.
“On every photograph, anything in man’s image, is soiled by a diurnal shadow, or an arsenic filigree.
“Even the happiest images, which I know nothing of, are moratoriums mocking any other pretense. . A shadow pump. . . .”
“Tell me more,” a voice rang, near the pipes, near where my double danced in front of the tabernacle.
I wept, and the plastic organ began blasting.
I was given a carnival handbill and snuff.

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Comments

had to look up "Tridentine", not being Catholic, although I bet not that many followers know either.

Surreal stuff is so personal in its images, and even though they can be very interesting in their own right, making sense is virtually impossible. Maybe that is the intention.
I read it a few times, and have not felt it a waste of time, but do not think I could survive a steady diet
of this type of art...but do admit a rare indulgence is good for the psyche.( why, I haven't a clue)
maybe just to shake up (not stir) the martini-ed mind. Go figure!

enlighten me, if, as an artist, you won't mind doing so

thanks

Al

The director and the pale
room keeper snorted and laughed together. “I have the semiotic hymn”,
I whispered with a zealot’s arousal. “i hope Silas, or the woman playing
him, likes it too.”
The cat o nine tails was purple, studded with pearls, and i genuflected in the spindle of my own shadow, facing up to it.

The guy is an extra in a movie held in a Church Basement. He starts to tell how he actually feels about belief, etc, but is interrupted.

author comment

thanks for responding
so, this is not "surreal" at all.
I see that now
theater people, just being their normal selves!
makes sense

I did enjoy it, even if the gist eluded me. confusion isn't painful, just disorienting sometimes

thanks again,

Al

canny and uncanny. The way I present is the way I see it. Like you would see a film by David Lynch and then--ohhhhh I understand now what it was really about, maybe a year later.

author comment
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