TV in the Woods

“TV in the Woods”

An installation by Marshall James Kavanaugh, with assistance by Willow Zef, Andrew Galati, Scott Bickmore, Rachel Mueller, Megan Whalen, Courtney Blue, Eric Clark, Eileen Lillian Doyle, and a few more.

I have to say, there is nothing greater than gathering a group of close friends together and watching TV in the woods. Like moths to the fire the entire neighborhood was turned on by this spectacle of foreign delight. All had to stop and wonder as they passed this pop up tent of mystical light and alien technology in an abandoned lot two blocks from my house.

It’s a mad, mad world and we sat right in the thick of it watching our favorite shows.

A critical review by Willow Zef, borderlinefictions.com:

“Last night marshall moved his living room into an abandoned lot creating a psychedelic city fire. galleria ex-terra. kind of like a march hare & mad hatter’s tea party. with bowls and beers and a tv stack simmering embers of static & ash. the police rolled by (twice) with curiosity. they left feeling stunned saying “oh shit christ.” neighbors and friends joined the soirée giving their compliments. strangers stopped to have a look. and a crackhead came thru whoring herself for a quick few minutes of smack. she left when she got a cigarette. stretching and gnawing her jaw though. made her look like a skull bone. so many worlds colliding, intensifying. a hodgepodge of humans in a powwow. a modern day hooverville, obamatown. artists and bums experiencing the shit & grit of kensington. having a good ol’ time transcending the norm via art. making ash of the veil revealing what’s realer than real. i think i heard ginsberg snapping.“

Photo by taken by Willow Zef.

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Good morning, Maine

To all the beavers swimming past
The water snakes shedding skin
Fish big and small hopping into the wind
The bald eagles flapping heavily
The mournful loon echoing through the trees
The geese gliding gallantly
The icy water that is everywhere
The fog rising up thick like outstretched arms
The mountains in and out of consciousness
The water bugs
The floating flowers
The dog sleeping in the cabin
The crickets
The daddy long legs
The bat with a broken wing
To all of you and everything else
To every single one of you I want to say
Good morning
Good morning, Maine
Good morning and hurrah! hooray!

We went to Maine and all we found was the American Dream

We went to Maine and all we found was the American Dream.

Camped out on a lake in the mountains
Swam and canoed in the clouds in the morning
Felt the stillness, the subtelty, the cool-breeze warmth of this raw American dreamland and then rested a little till early afternoon.
There is where there were trees floating in fog that swayed like men
And men standing nearby that settled down like the trees on the horizon
With leaves changing all the shades of red and orange.
Islands only approachable during low tide.
Whole areas of land rustic and uncivilized
Small hill tops
Water like glass
Heaven’s playground
Hop to and fro
Gallop like a goose
In the honky tonk air
This is how simple life could be
Fashion yourself a rich pilgrim
And climb into the ease of the earth
Don’t think too deeply
Just imagine you are there
And there you will be
The American Dream
Opening up wide at the seams.

To The Person Who Left Their Four-Leaf Clover In A Book Of Wordsworth I Found In The Thrift Store

To the person who left their four-leaf clover in a book of Wordsworth I found in the thrift store,
First of all, thank you.
You have reminded me that today I am very lucky
To be able to breath
In and out
Intentionally
For to be alive is such a wonderful mystery
And so much a journey

I wonder if it was your intention to have the clover found
By me, a stranger
On page 254,
In the section of miscellaneous sonnets
Next to a poem to the poet John Dyer
“The Bard of the Fleece”
Or if you placed it there randomly
And let go of the book absent-mindedly.

I wonder who you were and where you were from
And how came you upon this noble treasure.
Was it during a hike up in the Appalachia?
Or a gift from a sweetheart in the city?
Currently the clover appears old
And the book appears much older.
Come to think of it
I can’t quite remember how long it is I who has owned it
Or where exactly I first acquired it
Without opening it to this very page until now.
I’m uncertain if I’ve ever even read from this volume
Or if I just carried it around for the aesthetic pleasure
Its leather-bound form placed upon my bookshelf.

You see, it was Thoreau, and then Whitman as well
Who just now made me think recently of retracing my own studies
To this master wordsmith that is Wordsworth
Their words and experiences so dictated by the romance of his language
Also his playful tongue in cheek
And this pleasant synchronicity
Only adds to my current enlightened state of mind
Transcendental and flowy
Like a breeze through tall grass
And summer dandelions
I thought I must write a poem immediately
And try to reach out to you somehow

And yet where are you now?
Or where have you been?
Are you old and withered like the clover
Worn and water-stained like these paginated musings
Or have you gone underground
To join Wordsworth in his romanticized heaven?

Oh, to be alive in this great fantasy
I can count the times I’ve found a four leaf clover
On a single hand
Having not searched for them outright
Since a young boy
But this is the first time I’ve found
Such a thing
In a book of poetry
And I can’t even begin to express how lucky
This must be
A joyful reminder from serendipity
It is a gift to be alive and awake in this dream!

Ma Ja Ka at Artscape in Baltimore

“COLLAGE HELP WANTED!”
a performance by Ma Ja Ka at Baltimore’s Artscape.
vine shot by Lee Tusman

This has to be the most celebrated experience I’ve had thus far with Ma Ja Ka. He has gone from a sad unicorn born into this reality to a truly jubilant dream body dancing to his own inner rhythm. To have these kids dancing with me was so incredibly fun. They kept saying things like, “Yo, is he real?” and “Yo! There’s a man inside that mask!!”. I took the one kid’s attempts to whack my nose as really having a hard time believing there was a real unicorn dancing in front of him. Unicorns, man. Far out stuff.

Awareness and Accountability are only just the start

My newsfeed this morning is full of war, death, and homeland attrocities. Friends, the power for revolution is within us all. Awareness and accountability are only the first step to change. We must move forward in our own private revolutions if we would ever like to see this world a better place.

Step outside, take a moment to feel the warmth of this beautiful morning sun, breathe in the fresh warm air of a new day rising, and learn to live lucidly.

 

via Humans of New York
“Life is a miracle. It’s not a mystery to me. It’s simple. Humans can shape their environment, but they can’t create anything. All we can do is put together what is here. But I challenge any man to try to make some life. Actually, forget life. I challenge any man to try to conjure up some dirt.”

In The End, There Are New Beginnings

In the end, I think my funeral will resemble that Truffaut film
That one where the playboy dies
And all of his past loves appear to see him off
Then the film retraces his life through their stories

In the end, all the women of my life will be there
Some will be crying in misery
Others won’t be able to hold back the urge to spit on my grave
They will be unsure of exactly why they even came
But something pulled them all together in this precious ballet
My mother will be there too
And she’ll be proud of how many friends I made
While I lived
Sharing a handkerchief with the one’s who I loved the most
As far as friends, I guess she is right
We were all friends at some point before I died.

Iin the end, they will all be surprised to see me go
They will all be surprised about who else is there
Their stories will reflect upon both my positive and negative attributes
But mostly how I left them wanting
Some will have wished to marry me
While others will have wished to watch me die
A thousand times.
And in the end, I don’t think any of them will feel satisfied.

In the end, I don’t think I will have really died
Instead, I think this will have been just a new beginning
All ties freshly cut and new horizons possible
With everything I have learned up until this point
Stuffed into my pockets
I think, in the end, I will be able to finally rebuild my life
The way I should have lived it all along.

Where The Water Meets The Wind

This one goes out to my main man, Walt Whitman! But also Ben Frank and Betsy Ross who keep equal watch over this resourceful river front in Philadelphia. And to Marian McLaughlin and Ethan Foote for sharing this awe-inspiring adventure with me today. And my buddy Matt Bennett for first putting the terminology of how a forest first finds it’s roots onto my periphery. Peace and love. Peace and love. Peace and love, my friends!

Where The Water Meets The Wind

Hold fast, my dear
Hang on for dear life.
The breeze that pushes against the sails of your soul
And gives you flight
Is also what stirs the butterflies
Fluttering their little hopeful hearts
Careening down the stream
A warm vibration
Across the river top
Making eddies and waves against this abandoned pier

Hold fast, my dear. Hang on for dear life.
In the abandoned land of industry
Lies a quiet revolution
Slowly growing
Making waves of its own
As well as peaceful eddies
For us to find our balance in.

There one can spread out fully
In a meadow
Surrounded by sunflowers
Slowly growing
In the cracks of urban decay
Replacing destructive habits
With a new reality.

It was the muse who first brought me here
When I was still finding my way
Now that I am back again
I see what I have been missing all along
Even in a city,
There are places where things still lie still
Where flocks of gold finches
Fly neon yellow wings in the summer sun
And crickets sing their tribal chorus
In tall grass made to lie upon
Where local herbal remedies
Slowly grow naturally
Repopulating what was once arid
With a truly holistic scene.

See, let it be still.
Let the earth take root.
Let it gain some energy.
And soon enough,
Along the side of the long eroded jetty
You can find the magnificent color
Of purple thistle
Hanging on to the wind
Where it meets with the water.

And now, a love poem

Long golden locks
Collecting the sunlight in their amber
Curls I could get lost in
With my fingertips
Interweaving my life force with yours
Soft relaxed breath
Salutations of my heart
Beating against your backside
We drift to sleep
Complimenting each other’s personalities
Being impressed by what the other has done with their life
I dream the compliments continue empathetically
And through our skin so close we vibrate fondness
From the way your body rests wrapped up in mine
You say,
Thank you for being the being that you want to be
Your freshness emanates hope for the rest of us
And I hold you tighter to me saying,
Thank you for being the being that you are
Without you and all that you do
Things would fall apart
There being no hope to muse upon
We drift further into REM
Our bodies final ode
A simple chorus
Thank you for being.

Today I am all poetry

Today I am all poetry.
Some days, not so much.
But today everything I do is poetry.
Everything I feel is poetry.
Everything I write is poetry.
Today I am all poetry.
And these are the kinds of days I look forward too.
The morning starts with pleasant dreams
And a humble dance with bedside literature.
When I finally venture out, the warm sun is there to greet me.
Blue skies and playful clouds
Turning from one recognizable shape into the next
The birds chatter and without anything better to do
I hike in a park and climb a mountain
The city rolls away from me
Along with its depression
Instead there is only the earth and me
And today I am all poetry
These are the days I look forward to.