Space Condominium

Space is all one space and thought is all one thought, but I divide my space into spaces into spaces into spaces and my thought into thoughts into thoughts into thoughts -like a large condominium.  Occassionally I think about the one space or about the one thought -but usually I don't.  Usually I think about my condominium. -Andy warhol

My paintings always ask me "Am I pretty?" and I usually respond, "Yes you are pretty, but I wish you were not."  And then my painting responds "But why do you wish me not to be pretty?"  -and I think about it and try to articulate my answer. -I never can quite explain it.  I mean I'm happy my painting is pretty, but then I am afraid that is all it can ever be.  What I really want is for my painting to blow my mind, to express a fraction of eternal emptiness, to touch the vast field of grief that surrounds me and flows through me.

One time when we went for a walk up the hills around Will Rogers park, I first saw these old old cars deep in the grasses down by the stream.  -I know now they were from the early forties maybe late thirties…but they appeared ancient, full of bullet holes, and the bullet holes made me feel uneasy.

There were some holes that I recognized could only come from a machine gun, like a tommy gun.

I didn't want to look inside them because I felt they'd be full of snakes…but the outsides were so full of beauty, the original color faded and transmogrified to a light green.  I thought and dreamed that me and my friend could tie giant ropes to them and drag them home where I would set them up in my family room or at least in the lot next door.

But then I thought we will only just pull off the bumper.  And with a sort of desultory finality I thought we don't have any giant ropes.  Then I wondered could we even move this car with our twelve year old bodies.  Would my mom let us keep them?  Would Neil want to drag one of them up Sunset Boulevard

and set it up outside his house on Radcliffe Avenue?  I gave up.

And the next year we moved.  We moved into a nightmare where everyone was a wrecked car, everyone had bullets through them, the entire brain population was faded light green, and it all lay there waiting for something, though I knew not what.

I have nothing to say and I'm saying it. -John Cage

From great consciousness vision Harlem 1948, buildings standing in Eternity

I realized entire universe was manifestation of One Mind-
My teacher was William Blake -my life work Poesy
Transmitting that spontaneous awareness to Mankind -Allen Ginsberg