religion of the pigeon

Preliminary proposal for pigeon dream analysis to aid sleep.

(Pigeon, it is just me and you now, lets go.)

Hey little lady ive got a back ally you could dump that in, so if you change your mind, just lemme know.
NO.
Nobody cares about pigeons, you should set up a charity and save lots of them.
NO.
Pigeon is an expression of yourself, you are the little pigeon little lady.
NO.
Dream analysis pigeon is this is not this and pigeon is not pigeon.
NO.
The pigeon IS you!
NO.

This pigeon is the last thing that is not me and if it is lost I will die because then there will be just me, and that doesn’t make sense.
I am getting sleepy now. Sad and sleepy.
And so when terrified like this the only thing which will lift me is the thought of an anonymous bird nested on a single branch somewhere in the rainforest. Ruffling about.
I am sleepy, I am tired. I am exhausted.
When I was a child and could not sleep, I’d remind myself that the other half of the world was in daytime, that people, somewhere, were awake. And then I could sleep soundly for a little while knowing this.

Pigeon let me do this now. Stay awake.
We’ll wirelessly communicate. Which is like wakelessly communicating.

And that is how religion of the pigeon was born.
Religion of the pigeon as dream analysis looks not for the continuum of ‘woken me’ in a dream, not a key, but instead for instances of this pigeon that lives on as I sleep—that is dream.
Making it me means staying awake and sure lucid dreaming and astro-travelling are cool but not all the time. I’ve got that tiredness where you can feel it in your stomach, over tired.

Dream is that which continues without me and despite me and is so a world I can sleep in and I thank pigeon for that.

Pigeon is poetry and a sigh of relief.

Who will look after all of this when I cannot?
Pigeon ruffles and repositions itself in non-response and then I go to sleep. 

(pigeon found carrying lullabies) 

Awake.

Uncharted territory.
Sean left some drawings.
many unfinished.
Idyllic landscapes with houses.
and then just white space.

I want to fill in the spaces.

the tip and slide into white space and you tag the air towards the edge:

takes me to that space under the bridge where all the colours collide. where the tags are overlayered in different colours, multi colours. it is amazing. maybe my favourite spot in town.

I want to work into your map...this one first...

I find an idyllic landscape painting in a charity shop. I begin cutting out and making a pastiche of maps to enter the terrain and to be attentive somehow, well what else is there to do?:

and then a little later my dad visits and shows me this photo I had never seen before and I feel a bit better:

flying fuck

"my kundalini will not surpass my first chakra and I don't give a flying fuck!"
- Sophia

ladies

I started this maze game but am bored now with it so wont be finishing this map.
that is, the ladies have left class. 

Today at the british red cross charity shop, on the wall were a constellation of pictures, 4 of which I took. I even paid attention to the 2's and 3's in the prices of each. The first that caught my attention was a photo of a vacant room with rows of chairs and an illuminated sign on the door in its background saying 'ladies'. the following three images I read in relation to the saliency of this mystery image, as though they were keys to it, and worked into them in attempt to sense make. The cures 'charlotte sometimes' is strong association.

Conclusion: I am bored of these symbol-stickers and shapes, I want now not the airy intellect as it speculates ad-infimum with its sticky shapes and lines but instead ethereal air because the body cannot bear its company in an Ernst Haeckel sketch.

nails painted shell and resting on soil as afterthought:

'so bored of maths class I painted my nails in the interval'
the ladies have left class and have not finished their coursework. 

izzys time travels

a reading at the spa

From fortitude to strength to lust to…


The point had hit the lion and the arrow was removed and the incision turning mouth when kissed drew out the poison full of pin pricking voices and took it into itself, with the sweet assurance that it can hold it all in its soft sloppy lining.

At first nirvannas drain you was playing; background music.
…chew your meat for you, pass it back and forth…
In a passionate kiss….
from my mouth to yours.
I like you………

And so took on your mottles
One baby to another
Breath to breath
Filling with colour, with opal
Spilling down into my base
And splashing
Concentrics
Pink spit
I can feel you circling there in the peach fluid
And my tongue rattles in my mouth when i am cumming  

Lion found
Arrow removed
Gently.
‘She’ is here.
A flurry of attentive hands
And heated mouths
Drawing out and drawing in
Kissing pores
Massaging out the tensions
With warmed oil
Its perfumes smell warm
And tending to you completely
Your body
Perfumed in warmth
You you you
And the background music now is the cures ‘just like heaven’
You soft and only

keys unlocking doors are the removal of arrows 

portrait of a male-mother

for my male mothers...

water rock

workshop

2 lions

ab uno umbrella

I write the sentence:



She opens her umbrella.

growing letters

Izzy with some cat grass:



Treat the paper like a flat spread soil bed
Then measure sections; an area for each seed
And then let hand sporadically unfurl the seed in its delimited space
Sow indoors
Each will be its own alien letter:

Divine holding locations/ re-arranging the stones:

Hand flowers opening: