obviously SO I’m linking this to my Facebook page esp art stuff as i’m slightly better at updating that 
https://www.facebook.com/daviddragonboysutherland
I’m Really bad at updating this!
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sum pics :)
article on the seven rays by one of my teachers
MAHAKALA
1078 ART SHOW
I have a solo show coming up at the 1078 titled:
MAHAKALA : Guardian of the Temple
New and retrospective work
it runs from January 7-23 with a reception on Thursday 21 from 6-9pm
come check it out I will be giving MAJOR deals on art sales!
playful dust bowls
SHE
plants a seed in your soil
and waits
she smiles at the endless dreams on which your
waking world breaks.
time and again the fuzz builds
on your living room floor
spinning in vortextural dances
trying to taste a touch of the self animate.
and there you stand
against all odds, an antagonist for the indecisive
drenched in high fructose corn sentences
you will your limbs to do the motion they’ve always done
arm swing forward, opposite foot forward,
but nothing, and nothing but dire uncertainty
turning soiled as well as unsoiled particulars
into playful dust bowls which momentarily cloud your vision.
persistence
she insists
persistence, persistence, persistance.
right, my response,
further investigatory analyses seeming utterly useless i regress.
tackle me, i scream
I have the ball of nothingness
capture my flag and follow me down the rabbit hole of eternity
the gate which, when opened creates the stream of life affirming
uncertainty that presses each of us into the perfect vessels
for human reflection.
pre-supposing, however, the dynamite laden mine fields over
which we float.
He’ll never go down, big belly and all beaming eyes
drinking Budweiser, telling tales of gratefulness for each day
on this, his seventy first birthday.
rich, in that substance which easily produces heart felt smiles
genuinely caressing with words.
solidly shaven, satisfactorily quantifying the yes moments which
the days events produce in his heart
he is a hunter
the one who pursues and unceasingly squeezes
out the glory in each ones valiant struggle
the strategist, the publisher, the drunken rebel rousing indescriminate
citizen of the underworld
the one who walks on water, who jumps from stone to stone,
up streams of memories vibrant living forests.
the questioner, the tidal riding sea monster of your eternally waking day dreams.
incalculable, the 30 second syllable who’s tone denotes the inevitable arrival of your filled pleasure craft.
luxury
the million bodied progenitor of life’s impregnating prodigy
the one
inside of each blossoming word which dances from his tongue
like fireflies.
the proof is catalyzed by the light filled caverns which implode within your minds ever expanding eye.
the matador
the purposefully uncapitalized letters of your carefully composed nightingale inspired manifesto.
he talks to much.
you dream of her.
your own personal genie, the magic queen who’s every move leaves you wondering.
how can this be? you muse.
retractable blades and long slender rectangular swaths of thick green grass
layer brick like upon the raw dusty earth
instant signs of life
hovering, wondering at such a sudden change, never the less entering the newly drawn lush green labyrinth.
The international stratosphere portal is opened to all possibilities,
so what,
you sit with nothing in your mind but the desire to connect the timeless effervescence from which you’ve come,
the little bird flies
the chirping is so delicate and precise as to arouse the suspicion as the possibility of it being an alien impostor
improbable and yet…
the stories validity gains moment as the tip of your swinging pick axe keeps striking solid rock,
jarring, an insurmountable task, which continuously draws you back to your small carpet on which you daily meditate
wishing to untangle the knot filled ball of circumstantial elements you’ve come to know as “your life”.
and yet, there is always a time for looney tunes.
a time to tune your channel to the stream of eternally knee jerking banter
the peanut gallery of gods delight in the uselessness of it all,
I am the revelation, I am porky pig, the road runner
i am trapped in the bottom of the well, with all the time in the world to dispel
the inadequacies which have grown as bars around my earthly cage
as restricting thought forms around this spinning turquoise sphere of life.
blink
she’s unformalizing the structures of this carnage happy convolution called humanity.
she’s sinking her teeth deep into the pits of your hearts calm and hungry caverns,
to give you glimpses of how good it can be to give,
as she does. the center of all grace within each being, your own personal
dragon empress.
she pushes the “sit down, shut up and listen right now button whenever your tempted
to judge, categorize or critique the essence of any other of her children.
But herself is easy to love. as tame as a tidal wave
drunk on pirate punch her antics circulate like sirens of revolution
through the panda party palisades of yesterdays dynamic recollections.
strange.
its uncertain where to place your left hand,
on blue, right hand yellow, left foot green, right foot in mouth and munching until devouring entire self
just in time to reintegrate, to contemplate, and recreate this little light of mine.
The cohesion clouds have scattered, taken up hawking mats and strode magically across the desert floors
in all directions.
30 FOOT TALL PAPER DOLL
she is red
30 feet tall
a paper doll
my paper doll
i call her brenda
but everybody else calls her chopstick.
she’s better than any steak
you could eat.
in fact
not one ounce of her content is flesh,
she was pulpy
and wet
now she’s just stiff
and easily crinkled
bordering frail
not a bad deal though
if your planning on eating her
and rolling her into little
balls
to throw at your friends
passageways
restricted by alien beings
which i ingest
happily
the ends becoming the means
the first spark
igniting your long forgotten
fire friends
some call them beasts
a label i’ve come to love.
a table
set for two,
so we sit,
and read poetry
simultaneously
our skills
honed so delicately
we give
and take
listening while telling
telling while listening
tales
your words
ignite my own
and my own become instant feedback
retreat, attack, retreat, attack
purpose
drops away like happily falling rain
free
as unbraziered breasts
tasting the breath
as you slowly inhale
pausing
before the next
which inevitably comes
draped over the
uncalculating day
ink stained sheets
eyes meeting again,
“this is the best”
you relate as i
absorb sugar coated
delivery callibrated
perfectly
in millions of colors
drool drips daintily
from bottom lip
you lunge to catch
and sip
hungrily
teasing pool swirls on tongue
creatures, every last one
from start to finish we open their
cold adult eyes like dennis the menace.
this one
true love
is a festival of the senses
one that never ends with the corporealy
clouded chaos of a
complete sentence
take these pills, and don’t call me in the morning
stay up all night
and write nonsense until you pen hand is bleeding
ever injecting mind boggeling mystery called air
can you stand?
30 feet tall
and hold your antane like arms to the heavenly abyss?
tricked like gilligain
again
regress into nothingess.
regress, then slink
like worm
inch by inch
to the place where sanity supposedly sits
but the closer you get
the less sane she seems
she
shooting appropriatley proportioned poisened arrows
into your constantly opening heart.
hmmmmmmmmmm
a good place to start
it seems, so you begin
again
this time it is you who falls
from rain cloud
absorbing into chocolatey soil
giving roots the mystery called water
blank blank strut stride emit noise glitch
go ahead trick me pwease
if it eases tired legs
so demanding
yet rewarding- you fall to the floor
and beg- eyes ignite words become
dancing blurs
that evaporate from human site
tempting
tall tale teller
tempting, but, lasting forever?
question
then violin woman steps to stage
quelling urges
she
4 feet tall in platformed heels
too slowly
bloom
blossoming into dr. suess statue
i worship this
beast
empty ego
cease
empty memories
release
sit on stage
set up stand
fragrant flowers explode
in untainted nose.
New ART & a POME
A letter from son to father
He’s given his heart back to it’s rightful owner
Now, ALL of his tools are in working order.
His white light is no longer truncated into strange
phantasmagorical delusions
He is neither royally grand nor worthlessly insignificant.
Now, he perceives your love directly.
He understands you as the true son that you are.
There is no longer the Bandying about over the words
because he no longer speaks in THAT way.
Now,
He speaks in the spirit
which you’ve always longed for him to speak.
The temptation to triumph over natural forces pisses on him,
because those forces now rule him.
His body has changed into an elemental time card
punching in and out at will, there is only TRUE work,
divinely proficient
without the physical delusion of beginning and ending.
He’s making amends in ways never before dreamed of.
He used to pass through that particular spot in the park,
where the giant oak tree shadowed the meadow just so,
the river, carrying the vines of the blackberry on it’s back.
The spot where wayfarers were forced to stop and contemplate.
He used to wonder what the big deal was, what was it about that spot?
Why did it make them stop? Why did HE feel the need to stop?
Now,
in his current vehicle, the one he’s come to refer to as the “light offering kaleidoscope of transe-edification”, he spends a great amount of time here,
only NOW
He is the one pollinating the flowers
He has become one of the little ones
The joyful little builders of the vortex,
which captures those bound to the marrow.
He’s giving you the gifts, he’s always longed to give you, but never knew how.
He speaks to you through the redeeming realities which spring forth
into your memories of him.
His light, in you
has become an incontrovertible beam
an absolutely integral part of the spanning bridge.
His voice in you
has allowed you to become
the true son, you know yourself to be.
Closing Reception for MAHAKALA!
The show has been a great success. I’m super excited that people have been into these “dragon masks” cause i’ve been LOVING making them and will continue to do so.
Hope to see you at the opening, In light all-ways
dragon
KEEP CHICO WEIRD
Call for submissions: Keep Chico Weird Talent Show!
Calling all performing artists, sword swallowers, musicians, mimes, whistlers, thespians, magicians, competitive eaters, ballerinas, Olympic curlers, contortionists, one-man bands, mind readers, chainsaw jugglers, spelling-bee champs, interpretive dancers, slam poets, organ grinders and everyone else with a talent for keeping Chico weird … the Chico News & Review wants to put you on stage for the Keep Chico Weird Talent Show!
Performers of every style are eligible to participate (visual artists, too, for the Weird Gallery in the lobby). Must be 18-over.
Email a description of your act (and if you’ve got ’em, include photos, videos and/or audio samples, and any pertinent Internet links), or a photo of your art, plus contact information, and the names and ages of everyone in your act to:
Or mail to: Chico News & Review (attn. Keep Chico Weird), 353 E. Second St., Chico, CA 95928
Deadline for submissions is Thursday, Jan. 9. Selected entrants will be notified the following week.
And find us on Facebook at: http://www.facebook.com/keepchicoweird