Point Defiance, WA

I’m here, between asphalt black and sky blue. Point Defiance Park pinecones and needles shine golden, drawn to the exfoliating ground as we are universally propelled by narrative. Towers and towns aren’t built, they’re written in erasable ink, erasable blood, becoming vague but never fully forgotten.

| K. Shawn Edgar | September 2017 |

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Falcon Hunter

Cabbage roll and one-dollar flat noodles, a place to lock the bicycles out front, our booth is by the window. We are reciting kill is kiss as frames of film, jointly remembered, inform our budding courtship. Trapped in a radio station, voices and language will save us, while these chopsticks unite us.

K. Shawn Edgar 2017

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Wordless

Rogue Element: Life Spasm A

In The Realm Uncertain

Gone are the breezy moments, where driftwood is a dream catchable; and where the carefree steps making up a sprint are the easy sounds of sand and pebbles displacing under bare feet.

“You gather the supplies, I’m making the camp.”




K. Shawn Edgar | Steel | Gravel | Ceramic

Compound Disinterest

These days

all ° events =

layered cakes

crumbling ×

sweet morsels,

digestible √

some agreeable,

some disagreeable

leaving a body

needing more

substantial

intake > than food

π•


K. Shawn Edgar | Milky | White | Agitation

Tape Backup & Code Red

Lay black, and then align the playheads

You’ve pulled the tabs: one, plastic and rectangular; the other, aluminum alloy and loop shaped. It’s time to begin. Again.

Suck the juice, or is it oil pressed and canned? There’s an arrow on the delivery truck, outside your window. Oil comes from mash, like coconut or olives, right? Must be juice in this tall red can. Tipple without the alcohol. Buzz buzz.

Pressing the black plastic rectangle, loops of tape inside, into its mated slot on the rack of players, you get pumped with memories of late night to early mornings in basement spaces, all quiet and cave-like; other friendly dwellers, faces inches from screens, cutting out the stories from awkwardly shot Super-VHS video, blocks of marble. They’ll cut it freaky, and we’ll dance around the thick square TV’s replaying of us.

Later. Above ground. We’ll be watching these constructed images of ourselves. We’ll be laughing and rethinking our scenes, until well after midnight. It’s the process, and we’ll go back to the basement, to engineering, away from the light and the hordes of dormchow who we only know as ghosts in classrooms.

To improve our performances and angles and lighting and words, we’ll descend the stairs to our safe zone, again and again, surrounded by decades of equipment, like museum pieces, and we’ll click the buttons to frame the moments. It’s our only chance get it and keep it so. The dark, soothing spaces below.

K. Shawn Edgar | Play | Pause | Cut | Rewind

 

Bridge at St. Remains

Notes and Rants from YouTube Comment Section


2016

True, but I think many people do maintain a high level of integrity, and we should encourage everyone in that regard. However, it only takes one dishonest voice to start an avalanche of disinformation. As for it being even worse “the opposite way around,” governments and cultures that have strictly controlled speech and assembly by overtly censoring and brutalizing citizens don’t tend to last because that kind of control forces the people to act, to rise up, rather than just talk.

Hamlet: That I, the son of a dear father murder’d, prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words….

There are a couple of exceptions to the failure of that method, of course, like North Korea. But the best control is the babbling brook of excessive freedoms without due responsibility and regulation.

K. Shawn Edgar | Florid Fellow