Jonathan Jacobsen

Its got everything that calls deep, shocks, satisfies and hides more than it shows ....

railway tracks and telegraph poles
red
black
shadows

".... she breaks into a run, the wind working into her hair and into her head and lifting her away in swirls of mad temptation
and when she begins to lose hold
she tightens her grip on herself...her fragile arms surrounding her in one last effort...to seize herself away...from the demon wind..."

and then the frame freeezes

well never know
the face of the girl
and if the wind took her away
and
why she ran
down these railway tracks...

'Fall' by jonathan jacobsen

Con·cep·tion

1. Formation of a viable zygote by the union of the male sperm and female ovum; fertilization.
The entity formed by the union of the male sperm and female ovum; an embryo or zygote.
2. The ability to form or understand mental concepts and abstractions.
Something conceived in the mind; a concept, plan, design, idea, or thought.

I usually spent hours staring at things...and let my gaze be intervened by, connected and irrelevant thoughts and find, how many possibilities are simply existent for a single thread of thought....music helps because it can change paradigms easily within chord shifts and vocal ricochetting off the bare walls.Its a little fifteen minute journey... through images, echoes and silences of light, sound and time... the process of forming an idea...a conception

I will leave soon
and I am already lost
sometimes you have to trust that you ll survive another journey just to step forward

Art is a Silhouette surreal...and irreversible.




Of empty diaries,
Of zero gravity alien mother ships,
Of humans
Becoming aliens…




I was left alone in the house for a while. Home feels different in ways that can make me swoon. I remember the first day we moved into the house …among the ruins, everything was still raw…the elevator shaft was still a hole…from the second floor we threw stones into it and listened for the sound of them hitting the bottom…sometimes it could be heard mostly not…we never looked down…its easier to let things disappear when u are not looking.

Things are fascinating when they are new and fresh…even so that they don’t really have to be beautiful and exceptionally captivating…new things have a different quality…they make the best memories. The floor, the whitewash, the footprints on wet plaster, the dignity of a ten-year-old slum girl picking up dried white flowers, almost proud, almost making it as precious as it should have been.
Wet walls, rain, washing off new coats of paint forming patterns in darker shades of blue. And the wind from the greens of the golf course…carrying the smell and howl of the wolves…deep...deep and dangerously fascinating…

I was fearful, as I have always been. It seems to follow sometimes lead me by the hand almost like a child… when he wants to show u something. I cant help but follow…and forgive…I think in many ways I was taught to move towards things that moved me. How can the fear of unknown be described…its simply something that takes over, like a touch…too strong to let u breathe anymore.

So I followed. I wiped. Erased. Pondered. Wrecked myself with memories…flowing till my nerves showed through my skin…blood can rush to the brain in velocities that can surprise the heart. I never play with blood. Blood plays all the games it wants to…draining itself, making little bursts of consciousness making me tremble within and without reason.

Time moved. Like it does. Days were days. And we played hide and seek games in the rain, in summer in sweat and youth liberated, used our will, used our legs to follow, and find places to hide, used our senses to defy define delay danger and I grew…and pushed further inside…I said to myself… my past warning me…of the end…of the time soon to come…the time to leave.
Still…love has its way. It finds u, in exactly the same number of ways u thought u had to break away from it.

Time moved. It always does. And my nighttime dread came true. The little angel of fear was outside my window again…hanging quietly… and I kept collapsing.
In the nighttime, whispers came upon my shoulder, and rested, sighed and said its time…to go.

Time moves. It always will. It moves me. It moves her fanatical eyes, restless under the sky, weighed with tears…restrained, held back… almost relaxed…almost brave…almost able…always beautiful.

Too much passed in between the few breaths we took
It turned me hollow
When I look at the sky sometimes I can see that night unfold…and both of us…friends turning into lovers turning away…turning into strangers…aware…almost asleep…exposed…out of the hiding, bare and destroyed…
And she held my hand…we held to whatever helped us stay…
She smiled…once…whenever I looked…whenever courage allowed…whenever each blinding memory of our fading childhood begged us to return…we watched…constellations curved and stars rained...fading away almost as soon as they hit the ground. So it was time. And I left her there. Beneath heaven, Beneath falling stars and pain and hearts pausing to continue. Beneath a truth both of us knew and couldn’t forgive or forget. I left the next day. And to this day…I couldn’t bring myself back…maybe…that….is evidence enough of a time not forgotten.

I am home now. For whatever it’s worth.

The conjuring
Entertainment in the form of magic tricks, especially ones that seem to make things appear or disappear.

Magic is..
Hypnotic
Fluorescent
Dim
Ethereal
Vanishing


Gasp…breath…stop.
To find the end boundaries of fascination…devil Dracula spirit dances…courage.
I am lured…head first …into tunes…so hollow and resounding with temper and anguish.
He Speaks screams silences swerves softly…hush…breathless…colorful….and rising from a certain depth
Its simply fascinating to put down words, unconnected in reality but falling like neatly trimmed pieces of a puzzle when a level is breached…when perception is violated to find new meanings and new connections…

Feel free…

Inside
The planet
Placid
Playground

littleredridinghood is on the lookout....
forest forest
name your devil...let me see its eye and its shadow.
make me run
away or into
the stillness..

How can I write when fear is a symptom...residing in me...
fear...of being seen...
opened..
identified and discarded...

Once u are inside it doesnt really matter anymore does it....u learn to deal with it...simply...by chance..by error...by trial

I have returned...and im the same(give and take)...its been 4 hours. Now im trying to recollect a day in my life...my head, is not quite at it...its straying and skewed....what holds back a thought?

I hate people at times....I hate that they see..stand and stare and measure my moves...my hair-length, my twitch, my shift, my comfort, my sigh....and i feel betrayed . what have they done to deserve this?...why do I feel like escaping and sparing...why do I feel like it was unnecessary and tasteless...

and there was a explosion under the trapdoor and the sky lit up in fake stars...i can almost watch the thought take turns and run into an empty field of cold ice rain...its clever...how i hide from them.

...nothing was filtered except what i showed...no one knows and everyone is safe...