latest painting

Untitled (fear); Oil paint, magazines, and water colour ink; canvas paper 16X20inc

This is my newest painting, which I've completed today. What do you think? I call it: fear. however, this is just a working title. Sorry about the quality of the image--I work from my cell phone. Sadly it doesn't have blackberry and IPhone awesomeness.

New Ink Blot

Sorry it's been a while--actually i'm not sorry really, but I have been busy. I'm posting my most recent art work (again with the ink blotting theme of my life).

Acrylic and watercolor ink, 16x20in canvas paper

Enjoy.

Untitled sonnet

This sonnet-esque piece was born during a sleepless night recently. It's also inspired by one of my favorite poets, for simplicity and delicacy: Pablo Neruda. Whenever one wishes to be inspired to live in a moment with another, I suggest Neruda  Currently the poem is not finished, and there is no title.

Untitled


Don't go far, move not an inch
packing away your landscape from mine
because I hate missing your calloused fingers
wandering over my foreign newborn corpse.


I beg, don't turn away
your wide terra eyes from mine
because under their command will I come undone,
unraveling similarly when your hands demand my raw nakedness--
with that said, don't turn away your hands from mine.


I glide under your heavy hanging sky thirsty, and starved
over the peaks of your damp and musky breath.
I wither. I drip. I live by each brief encounter;
annihilated over each ending,
resurrected from waiting.


Please don't leave--because I will leave too,
in your suitcase, squeezed between dirty underwear and a toothbrush.
come, my darling, I don't belong there,
I can't be there.

hrm

Currently I am working on a new poem, constantly re-writing it. Sometimes writing can be frustrating for me: I always censor what I want to say; obsessively focusing on semantics, rhythm, and images---well, that's writing isn't it?
I rarely feel I get to the core of what it is I want to say.
Of course when i'm done, i'll post it. Till then..
AMP

Somedays it feels like i'm a chess piece unable to move....it feels

For the last several days I've been weaving in and out of breathing and being alive. Don't ask me why I believe this, but something is slightly off and I can't figure out what--in the same way that I constantly remain ambiguous.
So, what's the best thing I can do during moments like this??? (whispers) write. And like so much of my thoughts and feelings, what I write becomes a Rorschach Test--similar, and slightly different. I'd like for you to project unto me.

4/25/11: Untitled
Swallowing these pills reunites myself--
it's been a while, ol' friend.
The nasty sting of Anger; 
loneliness in Sadness,
and always on a high.


Everything is nothing
and suffering is shitting and eating pretzels--
being full and empty.


Piss tastes like loving you girl
bendable, aching, a runic lie.


Several bottles fall off the bed
empty womb sliced open by daddy's
fat, black, cock
wiggly and plastic.


I'm on the edge twirling with the world
taking a stand
wandering along the margins
and lines.
I write
down

Abstract Art

Hey
Ok, sorry if these picutres are not in the best resolution...you can only do sooo much on a boost mobile phone. I created these paintings yesterday using a combonation of mediums.
Untitled 1 was done with acyrilic paints, and ink. Untitled 2 was done with charcol pencil, oil, watercolor ink, acrylic ink, and arcylic paint. Both are varnished and then glossed over.
If you're interested in them (perhaps buying????) let me know!

Untitled 1

Untitled 2

The following pieces have been done over about a 4 month period. I don't remember which piece came first (since I don't date anything!)

Terminated (Acrylic ink, pen; Translucent bond: 14x17in.)

Untitled 4 (acrylic ink, pen on bright white translucent bond; 14x17in)

The Suicide (acrylic ink, pen on bright white translucent bond; 14x17in)

Battling Breathing (Charcol and acrylic ink on bright white translucent bond; 14x17)

Untitled 5  (Charcol, pastel pencil, oil paint, acrylic ink...black, the light makes it look blue. Translucent bond; 14x17in)

Window/Door (cotton canvas, oil, acrylic ink)

Loving You (acrylic, pen.).

Aborticided Breathe

This poem will be published in a literary magazine called Crescendo City at the end of this month. This will be my second literary publication (the first: "Gentle is His Love" published in the North Country Literary magazine in 2008). Most of my poetry is confessional (for those who aren't familiar with the term, think: Anne Sexton, Sylvia Plath, and Robert Lowell.), touching subjects from deep-seated despair, sexual failure, self-laceration, and abortion (in the very nature of the word itself).  "Aborticided Breathe" was created during the summer of 2010 at one of my lowest points in life. Much of the poem is voyeuristic, and invading as the life I believe I feel punctuated by a simple emotion--hopelessness.

And now: "Aborticided Breathe" By Andy M.


Bitterness in my mouth the moment I wake,
The next several hours I curse the day
constantly warring repeat. Repeat.

Will supports my weight in the scalding. Repeat.
To feel, opening the cabinet, both patient and physician. Go. Ingest. Repeat.

Half dead rattling in my mind-cage, the empty air fills my bones.
Thought: repeat. Indulge
Despair. Thought: repeat.
I’m ill-equipped for rest. But mine it is
to feel

Pregnant practicing the art of hurting--miscarry, repeat.
Dusks are my features bleeding. Holding a mirror over my shoulder
Eager to find myself in the eyes of stranger bodies.
This youth dismembered--decaying--haunts me. Repeat, until night comes, and
the fatigue.

Any  fault you find invisibly lonely in bed, lie
between ghosts reducing me to
symptoms of a failing mind.