Showing posts with label queer street. Show all posts
Showing posts with label queer street. Show all posts

Friday, September 17, 2010

some kind of synopsis

in lieu of a "real" blog as i'm seriously time pressured, this is what i've been doing lately. me = producer & editor for feature art doco "queer street" with outsider artist christina conrad:

in her words --

Queer Street is a 75 minute documentary. 
An outsider artist takes us on a shocking journey.
She was an angry baby,
her mother fed her on boiled silver beet juice. 
she had no milk in her breasts 
her sister had sucked her dry. 
In the body of an obsessed child the artist wept into her oat porridge,
made islands in sour milk,
thus  provoking  prophetic words
from the mouth of her Mother.
Mark my words child 
you will land in Queer Street .
She was in Queer Street ,  
gas lamps  hissing. 
Weirdly lit shadows leapt down dark precipitous streets
their eyes whirlpools
their hearts strung on fetid cords  -
their minds hideously lit
floating in the brackish waters of
broken dreams.   

This story is told  - some times in bardic tongue, 
some times in childlike tongue. 
The artist tells of her quest to find that well of apocalyptic energy
She must find a way to conduct the flames of inspiration
Conduct the flames or die.  
Bound in a common cocoon, of moral, mental and psychic conditioning
instilled by paltry dictators within a punitive educational system
righteously subjugating the hearts, minds , of their victims
obstructing the natural flow of  inspiration.
the artist ruthless  in her obsession to birth legends of life, death, 
must find a way to express the horrifying split between
the Eternal Mother & the obsessed Artist,

Blinded by her obsession. The artist left her children, husbands, lovers
to hack an invisible jungle of lost ideas - the  bloody tracings of souls torment. 
To give body to the voices of  those whose lives were taken ,
who died without a name

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

song for victoria

ah Victoria   
you did bring a fire finch to my solitary tomb  

the soul flies in and out of the body 
the silver cord pulling tight
on a neck of darkness
   
victoria   
i send you a magic balm
winged in translucent thought  
 
Victoria
oft i  sit  
looking at Victoria
staring  at 
her river goddess face   
pale
pale 
green
river
a  circle
of pale
pale green jade
i did place on her white skin

ah pale green
river
river goddess
look thru
look thru
the invisible eye
in the center
 of
the circle

the circle
of pale green
pale green jade
i found for victoria

ah ah ah ah ah ah
victoria 
i weep
1 pale green tear


love
conrad

Friday, August 27, 2010

a good day in the office...

Ah Victoria
last night you n me lookin at
  Queer Street -  
  me wanting to tell
  Victoria
      of 
     the 
gleamin gratitude
hallowed homage
   i hold
    for 
  Victoria 
  
  wordless
  before
 her great
 pale green
    jade     
   moon
  on her 
   white
moon struck flesh

 in the broken courtyard
 the white oyster shells
     sing of the sea
     leaves we plucked
             sigh

- Christina Conrad [Homage to Victoria]

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

sunset boulevard

driving back from conrad's after a day of film post-production planning, battling with external hard drive formatting [we won], peppermint tea, a picnic of organic cheese, tomatoes, freshly baked bread with & shell collecting on the water's edge.


the feature has begun as the battle of the shape commences. queer street is reborn. the traffic hums. 

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

the mackerals call to queer st

ah victoria -
im home -
callin victoria -
callin callin callin callin
victoria aint there
not even her voice
inside telephone
no voice
 call me
freezin
in this house
outside
a huge mad sun
spins
i stay inside sweepin up
dust
sorrow
seepin
spillin over the blood red floor

speak  missy victoria
we make plan for
tomorrow about catchin de sun
in queer street
all those bloody little mackerals
waitin in de long tin with writin
writhin in oil
cryin out for missy victorias

no victoria in long tin
no victoria inside her ole telephone
just bloody little
mackerals
all about de life of
mackerals
nothin about missy victoria
very slippery missy victoria
escaped when de mackerals
got coaxed inside de tin with all de
writin
oil
mackerals callin for missy victoria
missy victoria
shut inside de telephone
tryin to immitate de mackerals

yea i laugh await your
mackeral message


- christina conrad