“the valenshrine whipping post”

the world seemed up for grabs,

and towing close behind

the tools of sound, passionately.

under a wash of stardom,

between aisles of lackluster wheels,

with enough time to know.

something rolls a layer back,

it’s underbelly now exposed,

showing bare bones and goodness knows.

untimely pebbles splash,

snakeskin streets skipped upon,

picking free a jewel here and there.

understand this connection.

twice more kissed by seduction,

manicured handsomely beneath wraps,

letting the pale ivory gleam.

extracting the sap of a day

made for nothing more than this,

st. vincent’s cold tomb in remembrance.

channeled grand visions,

prerecorded future games and prints,

some kind of honing inward,deep.

locked by golden hinges swing,

palpitating gray river indifference,

and winning the whites of outer iris space.

sometimes in all the time

with no time to spare.

copywrite:jeremy szuder

Sergio Mendes

ink on paper by Jeremy Szuder

psychic dancehall

mixed medium on canvas by Jeremy Szuder

“plug into Dub”

acrylic on canvas by Jeremy Szuder

“Andre 3000″

acrylic on canvas by Jeremy Szuder

Dirty Projectors

ink and photoshop by Jeremy Szuder

large idiots

you were right poet,
there are large idiots
under every nook
and over exposed cranny.
they are plump,
and they are in the way.
let us point them out
with our own crooked fingers.
it was the idiot eyes
that peeled back the lies
and left our skin
shed on the ground.
poet,understand something,
we all leave room
for growth.
it seems vital
we should overcompensate,
just to leave some
breathing room
for the well taught,
the urban dwellers,
the judges,
the grudges,
and the large idiots
everywhere.
05.23.05
copywrite:jeremy szuder

font bear

acrylic, mixed medium on blank Qee Bear by Jeremy Szuder

Chan Marshall sketch

pen,ink,markers on paper by Jeremy Szuder

cat power

a piano and a guitar are taking drinks under the red lights of the stage. they each take turns whispering the forlorn felonies of love and carefully straining them through the sandy mesh of red velvet and silk. the helpless crowd of youthful quietness,shudders. to be living amongst the dead is a call at arms for the heart to cry one million jaded tears. the piano and guitar both agree; she is obviously not human. and still they both carried her out over the clouds, out of the skies. 02.22.05 copywrite:jeremy szuder