Line Out Music & the City at Night

Friday, November 11, 2011

Eleven:Eleven 11/11/11

Posted by on Fri, Nov 11, 2011 at 11:11 AM


Eyes connect to the brain by nerves. Brain to heart by veins
Sounds to ears by feet on stairs. Smells to nose through memory
Ions. Old wood. Candles just out

Your breath breathes centuries

A match in the dream is struck. The movement stirs up dust on a sill
The particles float and spread

One particle of dust is different, and ventures the four corners of the room
Its float has a movement all its own

It’s 1889, inside the room of a mental asylum in Saint-Remy, France. A painter
Named Vincent paints, it's what he does. Untitled stars in the night
He hallucinates. It's the glycoside taken for his epilepsy mixing
With the absinthium he drinks. The particle of dust lands in a fresh wet yellow
Star on his canvas. That's what it does. The yellow hardens
And the particle of dust becomes encased in the paint

One hundred twenty one years later, a woman named Eleven is standing
In front of the painting at a gallery in New York. Elements have withered
The paint down over time and the particle of dust becomes free
From the canvas it’s been trapped in

From the painting, the dust floats again

It goes out into the new air until it lands in a fold of Eleven’s sweater
Eleven is also is a painter, who’s never had a piece shown in public. Inspired
From the gallery, she goes home and paints. Then eats salmon.
It’s what she does. As she’s eating, the particle of dust floats out
From her sweater, lands on her fish, and is consumed

Eleven hallucinates, then goes back to her canvas, and paints an X-ray
Of her chest that was taken because a scalpel had been left there
When she had open-heart surgery. She calls the painting The Knife in My Heart
Amber in hue, with the silhouette of the scalpel melding into the shape of a shark

The Knife in My Heart goes on to hang in that same gallery in New York
Next to the Van Gogh, along with a collection she paints of other people’s
Forgotten, sewn in, X-rayed surgery tools melding into the shape of things:
Tweezers into a dragonfly’s wing, a bone-chisel into an M16 assault rifle
Forceps into a willow tree. The knife in her heart brings Eleven immeasurable
Wealth and happiness, that’s what it does

From one canvas-night-century breath to the next
Dust floats and non-jagged lines intertwine
Coloring in the creatures of occurrence such as this


Comments (5) RSS

Oldest First Unregistered On Registered On Add a comment
Masi 1
Everything makes sense now. Thank you.
Posted by Masi on November 11, 2011 at 11:17 AM · Report this
Masi 2
I had salmon for lunch today. Does this mean I'm not here?
Posted by Masi on November 11, 2011 at 11:19 AM · Report this
I want to drugs. Right now.
Posted by Lots of them on November 12, 2011 at 10:53 AM · Report this
Anna Anna Anna 4
Damn Trent. Beautiful. You are on to it. Chemistry.
Posted by Anna Anna Anna on November 12, 2011 at 12:44 PM · Report this
Anna Anna Anna 5
I showed this to some people at a party I had tonight. One guy read it and said, "This is in a blog?" In a condescending tone.

He came up to me an hour later and asked me to print it out for him.
Posted by Anna Anna Anna on November 13, 2011 at 12:56 AM · Report this

Add a comment

Most Commented on Line Out


Want great deals and a chance to win tickets to the best shows in Seattle? Join The Stranger Presents email list!

All contents © Index Newspapers, LLC
1535 11th Ave (Third Floor), Seattle, WA 98122
Contact | Privacy Policy | Terms of Use | Takedown Policy