Conersations With Silence

John Harris born 1948 in London, England is a British painter and illustrator, best known for working in the science fiction genre. His paintings have been used on book covers for many science fiction authors, including Isaac Asimov, Frederik Pohl, Ben Bova, Orson Scott Card and Jack Vance. He currently lives in Devon, England. 

:-)

Liz Harris, Idea of a Door at Portland Museum of Modern Art

I’m 25 but am I alive? I feel the heat but don’t see the flame Lightening scars across my skin I guess that’s what you call living When we’re young we’re scared of the night Now monsters walk in the day Pick up your feet be on your way Before the storm moves in

I got the existence blues

Baby you’re not ugly everyone else is Branding judgement on our hides It’s fair to say some people are awful It’s fair to say some people are lost So pray to Nietzsche pray to Camus As if they ever had a clue The world will never know what it gave us And neither will we

Would I stare into the abyss and make it blink? Would I scream the name of god in the church of nothing? Would I sing hallelujah into the void? Would I push against the gravity surrounding? With my eyes closed With my arms tied back As honest as the hope in my gait Always

Would I skirt around the disciples crying rapture? Would I rearrange the fabric of the night? Would I bargain for the throne with the devil? Would I call out the parts that don’t make sense? With my legs bound With my back broken As honest as the blood in my handshake Always

Queen Venus at my window again She asks me how I am There are no hemispheres I wouldn’t touch But does that still make me a man?

Painted toenails under army boots Pressed leather over bone An innocent word under someone’s breath And I turn into smoke

I have never been under any illusions No surgeon’s photograph I am not my lovers piltdown man And I’ll take your polygraph

Oh my god how your gaze makes me nervous Such fear from the abyss So raise a pint to the apocalypse I was always made like this

tie me to the bed so i won’t forget the shape and space of everything the colours on your eyes

bathed in the lowlights arms tied back so tight shapeshifting and vibrating wrapped in shadow

in the lowlights it will never be your fault