Mind-Body Machine

A work is never completed except by some accident such as weariness, satisfaction, the need to deliver, or death: for, in relation to who or what is making it, it can only be one stage in a series of inner transformations.

— Paul Valéry






these pure


street ballads


of  terror & grief/


brain entrepreneurs’


personal dream view of 


mind-body machine games/ it


comes easy to humans to benign


comedies that tease & bluff: immoral,


but you like damage & you don’t want to look


at macabre conundrums too long & you seem to


need a break or two: a clear picture of  a changeable face













Peter Bies © 2010


Head Film Noir #4

Whether he’s an artist or not, the photographer is a joyous sensualist, for the simple reason that the eye travels in feelings, not in thoughts.

— Walker Evans




can’t ignore a midnight audience that relaxes

by hindsight/ & losing five from time to time/

& Mad Poet’s directing a script by someone’s

divine intervention/ by midnight mood & dark

jokes/ revised by mr. special fx & dr. be early/

convincing close-up & vertiginous dolly zoom/

he’s holding better when you watch it a second

time/ & she’s that special she cooks up stories

like what’s about to appear to him/ but nobody

is listening – – – 








Peter Bies © 2010



Relaunch of ARTDOXA



Dear Members,

we are proud to present the all new independent state of art:



We cleaned up a lot – less is more. Our latest ideas, experiences and developments have merged to present your artwork the way it deserves: in the center of attention.



Use the new clear-cut layout of our platform like your own website with unlimited high res images and all features for free under: artdoxa.com/yourname.



The artwork with the highest score of favorites within the last 50 days will be featured on the home page (one artwork per artist during this period): everybody is a curator.We hope you will enjoy and post contemporary art like never before!


All the best,



Jenfeld Random Factor #2

Art is a localized illness, usually benign – creative people tend to live a long time – sometimes terribly malignant.

— Stephen King, Night Shift




skip to/

our next hero artiste under Babylon rooftops/

her greatest performance in the necrotic flesh,

dropping like leaves philosophical statements/

she always with he/ & staging the Muse as male

lead/ indifferent in this eccentric red romance/

& exhausting too – the original emotional kicks/

the agonizing transformation of ennui into art –

cerebral horrors do work a handful of deep fools! –

quiet, solitary minds, w/out warning, funky, like,

they’re at lofty-minded plays somewhere beyond,

always – – –








Peter Bies © 2010



The Rhyme of the Ancient Space Mariner #4

“All of us seem to come equipped with filters on the floors of our mind, and all the filters having different sizes and meshes. What catches in my filter may run right through yours. What catches in yours may pass through mine, no sweat.”

— Stephen King, Night Shift





“Don’t know, ma’ am, I’m anti-matter to the point of firearms. Back on my feet in concrete.”

Something in his tone made two. Said he’d have to phone off his feet? First, two men had come tight – & Kolya was certainly odd, Todd thought. And The Man was nobody’s fool.

“Can I have a ride then a hundred years back?”

The prestupnik grinned.

“Old records, ma’am. But I have to wait for if the father’s visited upon.”

Todd nodded. The three cameromised third generation. With pilot bags of the kind that air-scare? Not Jorge – & cut out the wait at the Sputnik Motel, talking to pay!

“I can’t tell you nothing. The Man see no justification for it – no into the edge of a door.”

His head.

“Just the address,” Todd said.

Information – but it was difficult. Nobody would come to ask her.









Peter Bies © 2010




Head Film Noir #3

“Not intelligence, not reflection over the ways in which phenomena arise and cohere, but affect is the creator of mythological thought.”

— Wilhelm Wundt, Elemente der Völkerpsychologie (1913)




mental abberations resume

control: a sense of back time,

of earth vapors & the clouds


grinding darkness passed

over Babylonian rooftops,

settling on chrome & neon


& neurotic flotsam – rising

on the surface of my mind

& I’m falling prey again to


adenoidal attention set in,

unbearable intimations

& the usual array of angst –


of self-loathing, confusion,

of invasion of brain space

& the shallow nitrous sky


casting shadows about –

mind-sound like music,

a dry hypnotic dirge sung


in the distance – I seek

escape so for a minute

I phase into the fugue:

odd corners, warped angles –


a twilit tunnel & a dale of graves –


a sphere where humans don’t belong


& my tongue & hands feel foreign somehow













Peter Bies © 2010