Poetry Letters by Dan Dorman

Thanks to Burning House and Florence Lenaers for this and the amazing title art!


Speech always moves.

When a person speaks they drive lung fulls of air through disruptive muscles that vibrate the flowing air before it moves in an open space. Language on a page, however, is generally static.

Meaning, most people would have us read against the text rather than into it.

Because letters in English are only phonetic signifiers, which in no consistent way relate to their sounds, neither speech (an object in the all-being type of way) or the object to which they refer, written language actually doesn’t say a thing. Usually…

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Windows: A Self Portrait


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This slideshow is the result of two weeks of continuous writing on layered paper. It was an exercise in writing, forgetting, continuing, and exploring with no inhibitions. Only the final layer is accessible today, leaving the previous six layers forgotten except for their photographs of completed boards.

Windows #3

Piece #3

This piece is a result of completion of the larger Windows project.

The thought of writing with similar visual restrictions appealed to me for months after finishing the day in day out process. Being busy with a fall semester warm-up I needed to make the windows project smaller. Also, feeling very fancy in grad school, I thought I should make it look like it belongs in an art studio.

I put it on black paper and used art store black tape to bring about the effect of it being for an assignment from some austere reveree.

Light Wave



#physics #poets explain things  #node #anti node #wave #space is the thing that is moving #particle #quanta #religious experience #relative perspectives #the dog who caught the ball in the valley under the train #yin #yang #equilibrium #conceptual organix #breath of life acts #I’m no machine #john connor #using tools #saturday afternoon movie grooves #SoundCloud tunes #candle #fall #banana bread #stale ass bananas #how alive are you #too alive #too alive, already dead that’s how alive are i



time to slip by. mind wired on weird light. gods in sight just off a cliff. teenage dilemma tempting me the quit-fix. image intolerable of chance. restating happiness with just a glance. it’s all alright i swear it is. see me laugh? my prism shifts limitless systems around me sitting here all quizzical. ennui liquid fills this symphonic position where i can see the weary and dim ether of time and space depart like visions. and still i’m apathetic. and that’s a problem of mine. death is me. woe is my remedy. open parts broken into peaces still chatter in living breath to me. the whole story portioned out over old bones and buried deeds. hearth of a soul slabbed in a morgue. the dead talking through cold teeth.