art is subjective it means something different to everyone
Posted by Artcode at 9:13 AM
alex fox- scratch magazine-uk, the god father of nails - tom holcomb riverside california, izayah jeffrey palm springs california, tomoko gaman tokyo, japan.
Posted by Artcode at 9:36 PM
One of my first pieces to be published by the national gallery of writing- As I look back upon my life journey I see that all the pain and suffering has made me who I am today. Without it I wouldn't be the same person....
Where I dare not go -izayah jeffrey
Where I dare not go is the first place you lead me. Your twisted hunger wraps itself up through me as it's the largest I have ever taken into my tall lean body.
More-so Proud than Eager I was born to this existence with Labeled-Self-Serving-Desires, but also with truth itself guiding me to much more than my unearthly pleasures, but your unfound desires, something to call your own. Something leading you not far far away, but to a brand bew beginning!
Smiley-Sad-eyes wrought with uncontrollable pleasure, lurid-emotionless-glare, such proper boyish demeanor, a job more than well done but unnoticed, and unrecognized by those that mattered dear, by ones-own-organic-self.
Sensually-Exotic-Twists, of fate, perhaps, uncertain? Best Yet, to not Define!
So many times, putting yourself through it all again, pain, disappointment, betrayal and yes love, something we dare not speak of. Opening your body, buried flesh that should remain covered, protected. Enjoying it as it unfolds and reforms into a new venue, if by chance that luck, is leading! Not one but many, have fallen prey in trying to conduct the flight of fury: Passion!
Least I be tormented by enhanced persuasion, delicately nicking the surface of your armor, but-deeply rooting your own mind, more than blossoming lust, into a vivid fragrance.
Smiley-Sad-Eyes Of mine, yet embracing another foreshadowing of shattered dreams, deliberate and concise, getting caught up in but another moment. We tend to yield when in fact truth has brought more than we know to this unity. That heart inside that which mesmerizes and captures us in wonderment, undaunted in the frayed hours, those that are meant for rest, beats and beats unless we foolishly try for the ultimate. We try for the ultimate! We lose our way, we let be gone our minds to side wind flurry into vibrant lust again.
Why do I dare go where we lead ourselves to you? Perhaps it's my twisted perfection. Is that what sets us free and keeps me as yours? Forever telling a strange new tale? Perhaps my arranging, be that for me, only to keep me as yours.
Perhaps we have met something not to arrange-but set free!
Something so much more than we could ever really possess.
A dream we think that could never be.
If that comes back for us!
I must let be.
izayah jeffrey 2006
Posted by Artcode at 11:02 PM
when Steve Lowe passed - i was at the memorial with a very diverse group of people from Alex Gildzen to Michael Childers. My photography from the event was published by the Palm Springs Art Museum in: Every own owns a piece of the sky. For those of you who dont know Steve Lowe, he was the proprietor of Beat Hotel & Lautner Hotel as well and the assistant to William S Burroughs american novelist . Steve Lowe was an amazing man with a huge heart. He knew alot about alot of groovy things but mainly art, writing and old hollywood.
A compilation of interviews Jake Gorst and I shot of Steve Lowe at his various projects including the John Lautner designed Desert Hot Springs Motel (1947), the Beat Hotel ( a tribute to William Burroughs) and more. We will miss Steve for his unfailing eye, incredible creative energy and infectious laugh.
In a blackish font (Steve Lowe Tribute)
When I heard the news
it was a strange language
coming from a not so far away land.
An email reply to the question of:
Hey girl do you know a groovy artist
that could inpsire me for my website?
But there it was, neatly arranged
in a blackish font in front of me
next to a coffee cup from the day before:
"Could you ask me that question tomorrow
Steve Lowe died, and I am a fucking mess?"
I heard what I fear most
in the font of devastation
from my girlfriend
who was clearly unraveling
by each new ray of light
that brightened her morning.
Stunned in a glare
the snapping in and out of it
was remembering how my week began:
Finding a dear loved one not breathing
curled in the middle of his bed
and waiting for 911 to send its best
while the phone cut out on:
Please Keep Talking and Stay With Me
Don’t hang up!!! The next few moments
of graveness petrified my heart.
A funeral of another friend on the day before that
was the clearest thing I could think:
Poor Richard: he had called me on the day of his death
but since he was an addict-I hadn’t wanted to be bothered.
I had found out that Richard also died in a blackish font
next to my coffee cup.
Today : This blackish font is for them:
Artists that shared more than footsteps with me
But a universal language in life,
izayah jeffrey 2007
Posted by Artcode at 1:21 PM
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Posted by Artcode at 7:24 PM