Christopher Calle

A dialogue of light and sound
Carbon credit NFTs
The only nonfungible thing
is time
and maybe an idea
except anthropologists believe canoes were independently developed
in different corners of this erstwhile flat village
until they wither, and fade, as any hustle eventually does
except real estate
and the corrupt
Who trade wealth for notoriety, and the legacy of an interesting tale;
The black-hearted artist iconized for their relevance, in history after death
Incentives
Wealth
Two arms lengths of compassion
I ask her why she paints the edges of the piece
I ask her why she doesn’t paint the edges of her piece
I ask myself if this is real
Is living between flashpoints a choice?
And if so, who chooses?

A Tiktok Meditation

She tells me it changed her life
That she has the profound secret to wealth

He tells me to call this cell phone number
if I am an Accredited Investor
And if not, to enroll in this class
for a limited time

I remember that people watch Facebook
to see videos of puppies falling off logs
And marvel at the highest, best use of freedom

Saving money is for suckers, I learn
Dude
You gotta put those stocks to work

The house pays for what you want
Wearing your Lambo
multifamily Ferrari
Checked shirt luggage in the front trunk

Baden Powell tells me it’s not about money
Self-indulgence or success
It’s about health and strength
And utility

Water and sun
A fishing pole
A splash of wine and ceviche

You can take that to the bank.

You gotta figure out a way to make it all work.
A symphony in two parts
The type of crescendo that leaves you wondering.
The type of connection that
Before the 30-minute happy hour couldn’t have been forecast at all.

Roll down the window.
A coastal breeze
Off the asphalt sea.
Dandelions crashing into the shore
Of 60 grit polishing wheels.
Open palm to the rush
And high five from god
To turn up radio math on the sundial
When I needed a push over the threshold to concentrate
In 4 week revolutions
Google says what the moon’s doing tonight.
And in colorful patches of day’s infinite possibility
We both see the backstop:
A wildcard.
Who at any moment
Could push all in.

wake up wet
head slung low, and stalking
a bolt of lightning
down the line
digging deep into tufts
of synthesized light
pumping ozone
into carbureted freedom
get with it man
no, i don’t
and i don’t
and then, i do
a catenary wave
progress, regression
these quickening exhibitions of lost control
to play and slay
a car on the railroad
chain of life

Check out how much stain this drier sheet caught.
If entropy had a color, it would be gray-blue.
I consider pristine white fiber.
Peaceful softness
Before being scoured of its fluffy edges.
Becoming dirty on the way to becoming clean
I want to believe there’s science here
That I am not second-hand victim to the patricians’ savvy;
To my own fool’s errand – principled endeavor
That it’s a small loss
And a meaningful win
And following harsh discord
Pull the lint catch
and roll off 2 feet of gray-blue tinder
Soft en route to the bin.

I’ll never unsee you, she says.
Desiring for a moonflower
In a barred mist fog
An Unbound cube
The pattern is chaos.
Then falling faster toward potential, or mass,
To settle upon a velvet leaf
Perfect potential is green.
An Unfurling tendril
A color with no name
A natural satisfaction.
I know you know, and so do I.
The mysteries of our construct
Space no matter for symmetry
Distance no heed for data
Entangled, the singing stars
Ours

The market is a wire-haired dog
A wild and untamed beast
Refined with time
The lovable lug
But also a bitch
What does Rover do all day?
excitedly ate
The contributions on her plate
And searched for more
She wandered around some
Walked the same path until it was bare
Barked at the neighbors to remind them she was there
Evidence says Rover is the capricious sort
Snuggling up close when you’re winding down
And shitting on your porch tomorrow
I wonder what I would think of her if we had never met
She’s the best breed
When her owner’s pronouncements define her
And in the cold air of night
When quiet rests its hand on the shoulder of the seeker
I realize she’s just an animal
We all are

The rain remembers her lovelorn ponds
See how they roll and babble
Speaking life to the trees and wind
Baptized in color
The smell of wet chlorophyll and lightning
A soothing mass lofts her mallards, skating effortlessly
While white cranes flicker
In soul’s blue embrace
Her comforting message
You’re home
The rain remembers.

I had a question I didn’t know the answer to,
So I asked google
What is happiness
Interviewing a design icon | bmw.com,
She tells me that people look at Facebook to watch videos of puppies falling off logs
She told me she didn’t feel connected
When I asked what was bothering her
When she was crying about her mom who died 5 years ago
She should interview a design icon
I should ride a bike
I should stop writing and start working
I should focus
I should set a desk
By a window
With a lamp
And a cathedral ceiling
White on white
Showered
And with clean sheets
I ask google
How do I inoculate to the stress and the noise
Stress Inoculation Therapy is a psychotherapy method intended to help patients prepare
themselves in advance to handle stressful events successfully
I want to care more
I want to be carefree in the good way
I should describe time as particles of rain and a moving car
I should test drive a bmw

Are there people who actually like brutalism?
Of course, she says, there’s some brutalist furniture that’s very expensive.
What about the architecture though? What does it say about someone that they like it?
It’s just a taste.
What does it say about you that you don’t?
I consider the question.
She starts naming brutalist furniture manufacturers and I think of her fondly.
All those times we disagreed about cheese, and why the drywall on the ceiling hasn’t
been sanded yet.
I wonder what other deep pools she hides.
What does revolting mean?
I wonder how things can elicit such a harsh reaction in a consciousness I feel I control.
Is the appeal to pure emotion really what lies at the core of quality art if the emotion is
unfiltered anger?
Nauseating, like disgust.
How do you cope with revulsion?
Satisfying the pace of conversation she adds, find something you like in it.
Just try a little at a time.
She hands me the phone, presenting a cultivated list of sculpture.
Iron, extruded square spikes, aged bronze, stained woods.
I scroll, carefully watching for judgement during a sleet storm of annoyance.
Seeking pleasure from a desk edge to the tendon – looking for something to like.
I think about the time I slammed my finger in the door twice.
It helps to objectify them I decide.