I am taking a small break from machinima filming, and just hoping to let my poetic muse run free, with no constraints or molds… free to run like the blood that is inside, in constant movement keeping us alive
When I was helping DB Bailey get his Stanford show together, I revisited his photo stream, (David Denton Architect Photostream) to download and then upload about eighty images to be shown. I am always moved deeply by these photos, but the favorite color group, the one I most resonate to, is the group of blood red. This is what these photos say to me, and I invite you to listen to my recording of the poem to the beautiful music of Era’s “E Lucevan Le Stelle”. I know this is a little more complicated than a YouTube but please just click on this link below and hopefully listen to the audio .mp3 while you read along and let the illustrations transport you into the story. Enjoy!
“Blood Red by Karima Hoisan.mp3”
The party quickly got out of hand, guests trampled the welcome mat as they ran out the door,
plates and glasses smashed and scattered, the bent and broken silverware lay strewn upon the floor,
tables tipped and over-turned, plumed hats sailed by like ruby leaves caught in a whirl-wind gust.
Oh, what was this riot really? Was it just about the ordinary human themes of sex and betrayal, jealousy and lust?
The city was a crimson fishbowl of transparent intrigue, nothing could be hidden, for few and far between were any solid walls.
Sunset was a time to warm up dreams and fantasies, to spy on neighbors, as they strolled the wide and open halls.
The archaic interwoven with the growing up, the innocence of new, this urban structure mimicked in almost every way, the residents inside.
Widowers stationed in their windows, lost to fantasies of youth, watched the flowing nubile fillies, going out for fresh air and a ride.
Hari Kana was a rose in bloom that walked the penthouse floors, perfuming the very air around her, doing her daily chores, washing heavy carpets in a sink.
Just a servant of the household, just a girl with dreams of white embroidered wedding dresses, then later on, some tiny pattering feet of pale blue or pink.
She never left the confines of this high perched loft of style, and the first rays of purple dawn, caught her working, scrubbing, serving.
Her unblemished beauty alone, should have gifted her a much more suitable life, taking Hari far away from the drafty winds that blew, for she was so much more deserving.
Everyday in fuchsia’s morning light, he stood wrapped in the shadows of his room, peering up through floors of glass to watch her day advance.
Hari Kana had caught his eye, he was obsessed with every move, he traced and followed her graceful steps, composing love letters in his head of sensual romance.
He knew she was a bit too young to care for him and those desires he had pounding in his loins and heart.
Her look would be of shocked surprise, if ever once declared, these day dreams through an open window, that made his blood-flow stop and start.
On Tuesday she took all the rugs and beat them with a wire whisk, for Saturday would be the party. The penthouse had to be in spotless, crisp perfection.
Her ruby lips were full and filled his opera glasses, lens pressed tight against his open eyes, now all he saw was their moist rosebud reflection.
She was so completely unawares, of the hours and hours that he spent, in quiet, focused, love-sick adoration, night and day.
Her mind now occupied its time thinking of a handsome boy, who standing in the open door, captured her heart as she signed for a package, before she sent him on his way.
When dreams collide instead of harmonize, the air turns dangerous with twists and timing, bad links are clicked into their place, and then are set in motion.
She imagined a waltz when no one thought to see what she was doing, perhaps outside the kitchen door, staring into stars and that young man’s magic eyes, the color of the ocean.
But the one who came up to her face, in the open archway, who timidly did greet her, was not the young man she had wished and dreamed for,
instead it was the towering figure of a large -set man who took this opportunity, and found himself invited to the suite where Hari Kana stood, receiving hats and coats, on top the welcome mat inside the door.
As luck would have it, the party which was in full celebration on that fateful Saturday, at the penthouse, high above the harbor and the narrow dockside streets,
was hit with the first few tremors of an earthquake rolling, shaking every floor beneath, swaying in jarring vibrations that tossed many off their feet.
As the intensity increased, Hari Kana was thrown into the loving arms of the unknown, and held tight to a stranger’s chest, just as the panicked guests flowed out and down in a fearful tidal wave.
Many died and fell into the harbor, with the twisting girders, frames and floors, but some, they say, fell on top of strangers they had never seen before,
who with just their bodies, protected them from impact, and were nameless unsung heroes, quick and brave,
Hari Kana was allowed to live her dreams, for she was one of those, who miraculously survived to tell her story, and was saved.
Nov. 15, 2011
Linc Island Renacer SL