Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Friday, November 11, 2011

PORTAL 11:11:11

this is the
the time is
this is the
the place is

c.Marlene Azoulai2011

Thursday, November 3, 2011

I Have Waited For This Time

I have waited for this time
this rising of voices
a chorus of resistance
of heart and action as one
against injustice and greed

I have waited for this time
when sparks of hope fly
in rooms where people listen
to each other speak
of hardships and dreams

I have waited for this time
when faith and struggle unite
where love and truth reign
and peace is a force
to be reckoned with

I have waited for this time
of power re-defined
by the oppressed
where a movement of the people
is a compassionate thing

I have waited for this time
of honoring lineage
of those gone before
who broke free of the chains
that held them down

I have waited for this time
I knew it was coming
like one knows the sound
of one’s beating heart
joining with others
beating the drum
of victory

c.Marlene Azoulai2011

Friday, October 21, 2011


(16x20 acrylic painting on canvas)

Thursday, October 13, 2011

Wednesday, October 12, 2011


Wednesday, October 5, 2011


Our collective head is spinning
The Universe isn't leaving us alone anymore
Our hermit-time has come to an end
Realizations are coming in one on top of the other
with barely the time to process
Everything has shifted into hyper-speed
The messages are everywhere
coming in so clearly
Not subtle or convoluted
but in your face true

It's the Light Network
People recognizing each other
Not even being sure why
Just knowing inside that there is
an appointment to be kept
It isn't feeling special
It isn't being tapped into
an elite kind of system
It's a heart-link between people
transcending all that society
has set up to keep us apart
It's a knowing-what-to-do
kind of thing

Those of us who've been moving
solitary through our lives
working through dark and light
tumbling finally into a smoothness
rough edges giving into compassion
We have gathered our tools
honed our skills
embraced our inner beasts
invoked their power
We come here humbled by the greatness
of what it is that has brought us together
We come here to bare our souls
to the task at hand
To heal this place Earth.


Tuesday, September 27, 2011


(acrylic painting on canvas)

"All men recognize the right of revolution: that is, the right to refuse allegiance to, or to resist, the government when its tyranny or its inefficiency are great and unendurable. " ~Henry David Thoreau

Honoring all those who are occupying American cities, speaking out against political corruption and greed in our government.
This painting is for sale--$200
all proceeds to be donated to OCCUPY WALL STREET.

Friday, September 23, 2011

for Persephone, on the Equinox

Persephone,my love
Take me with you to the underworld
Help me to see the darkness that is mine
... and to be at peace with my mysteries
Hold me in your arms while I cry
tears the color of pomegranate seeds
Tell me the stories I tried to forget
that I may see my self within them
and honor the one who survived
Remind me that after night comes day
in the never-ending spiraling of time
Teach me to stand in balance
between the dark and light of my self
and the world around me
Persephone, my love
make me whole


Wednesday, September 21, 2011



Sunday, September 11, 2011


"Hope is a waking dream." ~Aristotle

Monday, September 5, 2011



Women Walk The Night

Women walk the night
Talking with shadows
Buzzing grey in their heads
Their limbs like gnarled trees
Convulsing with the earth’s pulse

Their faces in the moon
Bile in their mouths
Women with teeth locked like gates
On the names of the dead

They walk in black robes
Inside bodies too small
Carving children from bones
Barely clothed in flesh

Women walk the night
Listening to voices
In boxes with blue-lit screens
A holocaust of pictures flashing
Victims, emissaries of desire

Their arms outstretched
Fingers reaching for things lost
Like fragments of melodies
Garlands of lights blinking

Women walk the night
Prisoners of war, in single file
Marching to the enemy’s camp
To sleep with soldiers
To save their skins

Singing their resistance
Singing their resistance
Singing their resistance
Until their voices
Are finally heard.


Sunday, August 21, 2011



i am on the edge of the precipice wishing i could be something more than the one standing here, asking why. (She was never meant to know why she was there). It has nothing to do with one fighting against another. It isn’t about warfare. The soul surrenders to someone bigger. Someone telling it what to say. To its human transport. The cacophony of voices goes silent to listen. (Don’t even try to resist this). The words come in too fast. I try to sort them in my head. It all gets lost. Trying to get it to mean something it wasn’t meant to. (She won’t know what you did in the morning.) I wants to disappear to my self . As a creature that thinks too much.
Going back to the precipice. ( There wasn’t one to begin with). It’s what i saw years ago. Looking over the edge. There was nothing down there. Nothing to fear, no evil face that could swallow me whole. Nothing that would kill me. So is there a reason for being here? Is it merely to know how far this can go. How far out of the way i can go to let that precious flow happen. The one we all want to ride. (She’ll tell you she doesn’t know who she is)
This world of illusion we live in. That we question as being worth staying in. The not real that surrounds us. Is this the work of some great imagination? Being tied up and gagged in a cell with no windows. Life held hostage by love and flesh. Those tools we’ve broken that we can’t put back together again. And the king’s men running around. Frantically not being able to fix things. (That place in her back starts closing up tight, for not letting the voice in.)
Is it you, Maya? Is it you?





Every 20 minutes, another species becomes extinct

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Saturday, August 6, 2011



Sunday, July 31, 2011




(assemblage---work in progress)

Saturday, July 30, 2011


abandoned milking parlor

Saturday, July 23, 2011

(assemblage sculpture)

I want to make
a girl with wings
Not like who
I was before
The father’s daughter
mummy girl
hanging from the ceiling
She swayed above
my father’s head
“What does that mean?”
he asked me once
“She is a part
of me that died,”
I answered him
with caution
I didn’t go further
to tell him why
not wanting then
to hurt him.
She was wrapped
in silver cloth
with silver eyes
that couldn’t see
a silver mouth
that couldn’t speak
and silver hands
tied down
Like leather belts
he wrapped me in
beyond recall
the silver welts
like battle scars
rising on my skin
He made me his
the mummy girl
asleep a thousand
I want to make
a girl with wings
who isn’t dead
and dry inside
who still can weep
but not for him
whose body bleeds
but not for him
whose skin belongs
to her alone
to do with
what she will
I want to make
a girl with wings
and teach her
how to fly


Wednesday, July 20, 2011


Hornet Nest---truly a work of art

Wednesday, July 13, 2011


A house is a woman. A place that holds people within it, as a mother does a child. I passed this house many times while she was 'alive and well', when I would drive into town. One night, she burned down. I bought a broken crystal chandelier from the family she had sheltered, when they were having a sale after the fire. I found out that, thank goodness, no one had been hurt. The chandelier is hanging outside at the entrance of my trailer. For a long time, the house stood burnt and abandoned. She spoke to me each time I drove by. Now she's once and for all been torn down. Today, one more time. she called to me ...


There was a rhythm in the dream
There was a place I lost control
There was a time I went to sleep
a long time ago

There are echoes in my blood
Now I never rest
There's an army of angels
all dressed in red

It's underneath my fingernails
like claws for the fight
A panther who would crack the skin
I wear for you

No more lady of this night
No more step across my back
No more howl into my soul
all the words you cannot say

I'm taking over now.
I don't need you anymore
I don't need you for the dark
to roll me to the dawn

I whispered and I cringed
and I smiled at you too much
You grabbed me by the ribs and said,
"Oh, babe, I like you small "

The panther's at my breast
She's suckled long enough
She is the night you fear in me
She is the sacred scream

It's running up my spine now
This long red thing
from the earth to the sky
from the east to the west

I don't need you to say yes
That it's going to be alright
I don't need you to love this place
where madness reigns

I don't need you to call me
by sexy names
To sit on my throne
and throw me crumbs in bed

It's too late to be nice
and I've come too far
I've climbed the mountain
and I’ve drunk her down

If you kiss me now
you will burn in hell
And you will love the flames
that lick me clean



Friday, July 1, 2011


stranger in my skin
salvaged from chaos
you walk the tightrope
drawn razor-sharp
over the chasm
of what is real
and what is not


Friday, June 24, 2011


(assemblage sculpture)

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

"All things are BOTH empty and existing." ~Tendai Buddhism

Sunday, June 19, 2011


(16X20 acrylic painting on canvas)
I am woman of the moon
dangling from my ear
Next to her a garnet
offering of blood
Pierced by tooth of cat
with many lives to live
Stealthily I slink
one shadow to the next
A chaplet made of mole claws
I wear around my neck
For digging through the dark
for feigning sleep uncovered
Feathers of a crow
are tangled in my hair
Cawing with a vengeance
shrieking in my head
The rattle of a snake
incites my bones to dance
Moon dangling from my ear
in wildermadness sways.


Saturday, June 18, 2011


Friday, June 17, 2011



There was no stopping him. I could feel him on my face. Coming from the inside. Lips curling back, in a snarl.The anger. The hatred. The need for revenge. Against what? Against whom? Against having to ‘keep face’ Keep on the face that makes folks think we’re alright in here. What does anybody know? Absolutely nothing. What we present to them is what they know. And how upset it makes them to hear that they don’t really know anything. We keep it all hidden for the sake of maintaining face. To maintain the status quo of who we need to be in this crazy world. This world that makes us crazy. There’s really no end to this thing. This farce. This masque-fucking-rade.
So, I came out last night to make it right. Slash your face one more time to show you who you really belong to. To me. Forever to me. Because I’ll always come back to remind you of who I am. Of the fact that I’m the one who’s kept you alive. You think you can talk about me, just like that? Like I’m some intellectual concept, some harmless little ditty that lives in your head, that you actually think you can control? With what? With mentioning me in therapy, and discussing who I really am? Whether I’m a child or an adult. Whether I’m really bad or not. You’ll never grasp what I’m about. Because the day that you do, I’ll be gone. And when I’m gone, there won’t be anyone in here who can keep you strong. Keep you defiant enough to win over these bastards. No one who will keep you playing the games you have to play to keep your act together, as they say. You really want to wake up one day, all clear and honest and FREE? Like some innocent? You’ll never get there. You were never there in the first place. You don’t even know where ‘there’ is. Maybe for a split second when you were born… But no, not even that, because you inherited their bile. You inherited the bain of their existence. You inherited how they saw the world. How they didn’t want to see it.. How they wanted you to make it all better for them. You inherited their plans to make themselves all better through you. So no, there wasn’t even that split second of innocence.
And now, I have to remind you of who you are. I have to brand you over and over to make sure you know that you’re mine. You think maybe you’ll take this and read it to that woman who helps you go inside your head? And you’ll both sit there like two poor pathetic slobs, trying to figure me out? I might even let you play, for a while. Play at being wise and knowing. Process this. Analyze that. I’m so beyond it all. Your attempts at taking me apart.
Just remember---I’m always there. In the curl of your lip, the snarl from inside. Me saying that there’s no escape. From me or what I can make you do to your self, in my name.

Monday, June 13, 2011

DEATH'S BRIDE, even in death


"There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature..." ~Rachel Carson

Friday, June 10, 2011

(assemblage sculpture)

To close my eyes
and see inside
To travel far
within my soul
To find the truths
that there reside...


Thursday, June 9, 2011


Last night, I dreamt of a Sacred Woman who saw spirits in the water. They glowed as they danced..

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

The Resurrection of Baby Bird

(mixed media)
Bird is one of the child alters of M-land

Saturday, June 4, 2011

(oil pastel drawing by mimi, an alter who is 5 years old)

This morning, I was writing in my journal about how I had awakened, feeling too frail to live in the world. About the pain of feeling like the world was always trying to pin me down. How vulnerable I felt---like a small child.
It was then I remembered my dream from last night---I saw woman go into the woods with a butterfly net. This made me very sad. Why try to capture such beauty, I asked my self? Why not just let it be? The woman came back with an indigo colored butterfly. Its wings were the most amazing hue---a deep purple blue. I asked her if she was going to pin the butterfly to a board. She said that no, she would just put it to sleep temporarily, allow it to wake up, and then she would set it free again. I thought this was a strange thing for her to do.
The child I was and still am does feel frail, like she’s made out of rice paper. Like the wonder of her could so easily be captured and pinned down, as it once was. I am the woman who has kept the child’s beauty safe within her, asleep. And now, the time has come to release her. To free the indigo butterfly…

Wednesday, May 25, 2011


I make my self
light as a feather
floating rivers
to find you


Monday, May 23, 2011


(16x20 acrylic painting on canvas)
I fear that one morning
I will wake up to find
that my life has dissolved
been rendered void of meaning
unsolved itself into nothing
and that this will not be
the diamond-pointed consciousness
of seeing through maya
but simply the period
at the end of a sentence
that made no sense
at all


Sunday, May 22, 2011


(36X36 acrylic painting on canvas)

Wednesday, May 18, 2011


(detail of assemblage sculpture)

Monday, May 2, 2011


Guardian Of The Mysteries


“I felt something like a divine urge to bombard that whole canyon of shadow..." ~Federico Garcia Lorca



(assemblage sculpture)

She lived in a dingy place.
Broken-down shacks all around
There were old men, carrying broken dolls
Dirty, old dolls they had found in the dirt
There was a pool of water
with a lot of garbage floating in it
There was screaming everywhere---
big people shouting, and babies crying
Her mother kept saying that some day
they would move to a better place
There was a better neighbourhood
just across the way
The little girl could see it
when she stood in the middle of the pool
She turned around and around
Standing there, on the water
she could see it all


Friday, April 29, 2011


(assemblage sculpture)

Thursday, April 28, 2011

LACUNA, Goddess of Amnesia

(assemblage sculpture)

She consumed me. All those years of who I was. A child here, a sister there. A brother somewhere with whom I grew up. Whole years erased but never quite. She left me crumbs to follow like dream fragments too frail to survive the day. Memories like stones thrown down a deep well. The muffled sound of them as they hit the black water at the bottom. The ripples caressing my skin with the possibility of being remembered. The lovers I misplaced, their outlines vague like objects in a fog. All those times I made love and wished it dead. She was always there, a presence in the wings, with her great maw open to swallow the one I left, when I metamorphosed into another who had never been there. Never being long in one place back then, being one with another human.. Always hovering over life, never making a landing long enough to feel anything deeply enough to make me stay. I whirled through my life like a cyclone, casting out all those I professed to love. Fragments of my history flying out all around me as if I’d never existed. She swept them all up, the shards of those selves I left behind. She buried them deep in caverns like firmaments filled with the whisperings of ghosts.Dressed in her white robes, empty eyes gazing out of her blank face, there is nothing of her I can hold . Nothing of her I can touch. She is Lacuna, the Goddess of Amnesia, and I am her forgotten child.


Saturday, April 23, 2011


(assemblage sculpture)

Wednesday, April 20, 2011


April 18, 2011

There’s a dividing line
We’re on the other side
There’s a different gravity here
The air is thicker
or is it thinner?
Ghosts wrap you in their wings
or are they angels?
There are voices all around
Are they inside
or outside?

We’ve all got scars here
Miles of red rivers, crimson like sin
Bodies pass us by
floating bloated on the red rivers
The ones we killed
or wanted to kill
The ones who got killed
who died on us while we weren’t looking
The ones we thought died
who rose again from the dead
Loss and fear so deep in our eyes
we’re afraid to look at ourselves
afraid we’ll fall in

All our words floating by
on red rivers
Words stretched out of shape
like pain
like sadness
like love
What we’re supposed to say
want to say, can’t say
don’t know how to say
are afraid to say.
Words like broken windows
in vacant houses, screaming

Invent something, will you?
Another way of
telling it.

c.copyright Marlene Azoulai2003

Sunday, April 17, 2011


(detail of assemblage sculpture)


(detail of assemblage sculpture)

Friday, April 8, 2011



(detail of assemblage sculpture)

Wednesday, April 6, 2011


(assemblage sculpture)

Sunday, April 3, 2011


(mixed media work in progress)