ARP – THE WORKS OF ARIEL RIVEROS PAVEZ

Field theory of the senses. autotheory: noumenology of psychosis, chronesthesia as pre-diagnostic association prose, poetry

Latest Posts

  • Short story – Outcastings I

    dedicated to Shelley I don’t know how she dreams but the faces seem clear. Her room is inhabited by 19th century white cloth, brown furniture arriving decades later and sundial mossed over with the patina of cognition. There’s a small… Continue reading

  • Sombrenatory

    In the salt of your surfaceaccount was made for the lost loverwho even coming to sensesafter taking steps awayfirst aloof aloft on the roofat night, without tearsor maudlin songs of watermillsworking with only the sound of chains and gearsunder a… Continue reading

  • A prose poem

    layers of tunnels – long horizontal, partial and interrupted, entwined and overlapping conceptually speaking. embedded in bedding, wedded in webbing. the faith in love of this traversable earth of maze beckons visions – tempts hopefuls to rush – makes visions.… Continue reading

  • The Fish of Wisdom

    carpe diem but not too much yet with full gusto take, savour the middle path! don’t be excessive though all things in balance even balance and when you fall do it all the way and fall face first but safely… Continue reading

  • green kurraba point ferry

    fast of rope and fish in the sump and the whole whiff of salt wood and spur make broad motor heave, beam crack and the cable zings in the cross breeze. the prow drops and we lurch at the handbars,… Continue reading

  • Just getting out of the house

    After the loathingof leaving care unfinishedand then for the nextto the next I walk out as a childgoing to schoolwith focuscovered by thebenign wool of parents as I turn the first blockI broadly smilea decade olderwith beach and pop music.… Continue reading

  • Rooms I've Lived In

    Every life framed by floor and wall and doorways being boundary for distinct sets of events. Here I breathe, mutter to myself receive oblique traffic noise and reminders of happy hour where loveless stink in reverse cycle will count for… Continue reading

  • Untitled

    The work left undone bybedtime digs at mycaged cavity planting seeds of lavaand the spat simmerof volcanos hammering away the haptic labourof debt and deadlinecrisscross the capillaries in planetary facesface value to the drunkmeans nothing but a chance forchecking coat… Continue reading

  • Poem upon having my solitude excluded

    me and John Forbes are suntanningin Annandale, “John what’s your take on Baudrillardat Lightning Ridge?” we sip our wets, actifed CCi think of my childhood “have a swig of this”“thanks, so much better!” “How many Mark O’Connorswere there? or were… Continue reading