Friday, December 25, 2020

Yellow Buffalo Survival Tape #5

This "Yellow Buffalo Survival Tape" starts out with a song on the big drum. "Song For Homeless People" I didn't relieze that it was 6 minutes long but it's a prayer and besides I got to practice my warble during the song so hang in there. This isn't a video for short attention span. Then I do a 20 minute "kitchen talk" about some of the issues and processes of the sacred healing work and the challenges during these times. I finish the video off with a clip using video of watercolor paintings in progress, running paint looks cool, and the song, "Voices: A Desert Song" from 2012, which originally appeared as a video on YouTube nine years ago. Enjoy!

Thursday, November 12, 2020




Sumi ink and gold ink on rice paper

13 x 9.5 inches | 33 x 24 cm

February 14, 2013

Stratosphere Vibrations

In the punch drunk mudra of cloud reality

Rambling across the sky like a poet

Drifting down narrow passages

To far away places

Without the memory of Cold Mountain

To save us from emptiness

As the air oscillates between vibrant

And windy gusts of icy fog

And we are here for the first time

And the last time


Oliver Loveday © October 18, 2013 3:20pm EDT

Saturday, October 17, 2020

“Cloud Bones”

“Cloud Bones”

Sumi ink and gold ink on rice paper

13 x 9.5 inches | 33 x 24 cm

February 6, 2013

I am becoming

I am awake

I have awakened

This and personal

This and personality also

Person and reality combined

I am awake

I am becoming

Variables in the realm of possibility

I arrive in the manner of transition

I become something new to myself

I become someone new from within

Reality remains the same | every changing

I become

I am becoming

I am reintegrated now

Oliver Loveday © February 9, 2013 6:20 pm EST


Saturday, October 10, 2020

Saturn Moments

 “Saturn Moments”

Sumi ink and gold ink on rice paper

13 x 9.5 inches | 33 x 24 cm

February 2, 2013

Whiter Sky

Ages of vintage aging marring infinity

Silence roars in like a butterfly

Stepping across the abyss into nothing

The sky is greener when it is dry

Lacking the shoulder of charcoal memory

I etch into another plastic reality

Frozen in stipulations of indecision

The sky is bluer when it is free

Lurking in the corridor of forgotten dust

Raking the garden in the snow

Knowing space without temporal chains

The sky is whiter above the airborne crow

Oliver Loveday © February 2, 2013 6:30 pm EST

Thursday, October 8, 2020

Bull Run Field Report 2020

O Si Yo

Identity and ego are not the same thing. A healthy ego is a function of survival. Beyond that it becomes pride and vanity which are unhealthy traits. Humility is an aspect of a healthy ego coupled with a clear identity. A person who is gifted with the ability to have insights; visions, is more effective in fulfilling this role in society when they have a functional identity and humility. As such, a person who serves in this role isn’t going to be an aggressive person. People who function in the role of a visionary aren’t going to argue with you about their vision. They will just shut up and follow the merits of their insight. Like if they get a premonition about a forest fire and no one listens to this insight. “No one knows the future.” A vision isn’t carved in stone when related to the future but it should be considered as an insight of some merit. That’s one of the roles of our Elders. This current society devalues our visionaries and Elders who would evaluate the merits of an insight. This will be changing soon. Love.

October 3, 2020 1:57pm

As I sit here on this Thursday evening, October 8, 2020, and reflect on this years Bull Run there are a number of things that need to be talked about. It's been four days since the Run. I was told many years ago to hold off talking about ceremony for four days and I understand why now a little better than I did when this was related to me. There is post-ceremonial depression that comes with the crash of having been in ceremony and that feeling that comes with it. There was a lot of resistance that was coming through before this year's Run. There is always a lot of resistance to ceremony, both individually from the person participating in ceremony, and the outside forces that don't want it to happen. That is because ceremony changes things and there is always resistance to change. That was especially true this year in the middle of a global pandemic, COVID-19. There was a question as to whether I should even host the Run this year but three people chose to brave the risks and attended the Run, so it happened with more than just me. A big thank you to Maggie Loveday, John “Caterpillar” Kasiah, and Andy “the half baker” Weatherly for participating in the Run this year. When I did the spirit plate offering for breakfast after the Run I related in that prayer how grateful I was to be doing this ceremony with people that I enjoyed doing ceremony with.

This was a very important aspect of this year's Run because there have been many times when I was doing the Run with people that I didn't enjoy doing ceremony with. I was in a learning curve and trying to be tolerant but I'm not functioning at that level any more. I'm still learning a lot about ceremony and will continue  to do so for the rest of my life. It is important to note that my tolerance level has gone way down though. Even so, I am a lot nicer than many of the medicine men that I've met over the years. We get old and have pains that become a distraction. Pain changes one's personality and I've been riding out a lot of physical pain these past few years. The topic about how I'm a grouchy old man now came up during the proceedings on Saturday night. One thing that I'll say about that is that from my personal experience I found that most medicine men were a lot less grouchy when they found out that I was willing to help out with chores and make their life easier when I was around. The protocol is that a traditional host has to make folks feel at home and that gets taken advantage of a lot. I'm guilty of taking on a lot of the work before ceremony over the years and that isn't going to happen any more. If people are under the impression that they can show up for ceremony after all the work is done and enjoy the fruits of the labor they are in for a big shock. Sometimes a person has a good reason to show up at the last minute, as happened this year, but that same person has showed up many times in the past and helped out, so that is understandable.

One of the things that needs to be pointed out again is that the Bull Run is a young person's ceremony. It is time to pass the torch on to a young man to facilitate in the Bull Run and function as the leader in order for this ceremony and vision to continue. I've put in a lot of time and energy into making this ceremony accessible to young people from the beginning, so it isn't my fault that this hasn't happened yet. I keep praying that someone will have a good dream that will show them the merits of serving the people in this manner. Perhaps this will happen. I'm not one to go out and recruit people so if it happens before my time is up, great! I will say that during the past few days after the Run I have been sitting in the dark riding out the post-ceremonial depression and seeing that there are a few young men that could be serving in this role who have been part of the Run since they were teenagers. If they are getting the calling and don't step up, they might not be with us very long. It is sad to say this but that is what I've been seeing. Pray for them. It isn't over yet. The insight is that the young people will be coming around soon and that paragraph at the top of the report is for them especially.

I've been somewhat casual in some regards over the past four years and five Runs. Basically I've been doing the bare minimum in order to honor the vision. That is okay. What could be done to honor the vision goes way beyond what has been done thus far. But it is time to tighten it back up, no matter where the next Run is held. This came through this year because I forgot my smart phone with a camera on it this year. I'll confess that one of the reasons I was taking photographs and posting them to social media starting in 2016 was two fold. One, I wanted to let some folks know that I was going to continue to honor the Bull Run vision from where I was right now as a call out to everyone who had taking part in the Run in the past that they could be honoring the vision from where ever they were. That call to action became very important this year with the pandemic and social distancing. The second reason was to announce to those who sought to stop this ceremony that their best efforts had failed. They know that now. Ha! But that phone. I had walked the route a few weeks ago and knew that a tree had fallen over the space where we had planted our sticks last year. As I walked over to see if it was still possible to plant my stick there, Maggie said, “There's a Little People trail over here.” She said it twice. So I diverted from my course of action and went to where she was standing. Little People trails are barely visible if you know what to look for. Maggie has been walking along Little People trails since she could walk. So we took the Little People's trail and followed it to a good place to plant our sticks. I kept suggesting that Maggie take a photograph of a tree root that was very “Little People” but somehow that never happened. And when it was realized that this never happened no one went back. The Little People are willing to help us out with the continuation of the Run because of this. That means no more photographs during the Run. No more casual conversations during the Run. It's time to get back to normal during the Run. That is the most important message coming from this year's Run.

A few minutes after we had planted our sticks we heard a kitten talking it's distress call. Maggie went looking for it. I had to abandon the search and keep moving because I started having dizzy spells. I get dizzy spells. I've had MRI's and blood work and all that and there doesn't appear to be a reason for the dizzy spells. I figure they are being projecting upon me from outside forces. If so they'll go away. After we (the men) had been back at the apartment a few minutes and wondering if we should start cooking or wait on Maggie, I called her. She had the kitten and would be back to the apartment in a few minutes. When she walked in and I looked at that kitten I knew immediately what it was doing here. The Bull Run is a healing ceremony and it was part of the healing. The Cherokee Boogie Man Dance used a “two face” mask. The Boogie Man Dance was a ceremony to ward off the Boogie Man. The Boogie Man was believed to be what stole the breath of the infants. SIDS. Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. Of all the things that I have done in this life time, I would have to say that the most incredible one was to bring Maggie back from SIDS when she was 16 months old. This happen in the afternoon after the Run in 1994. We had gone to a friend's house to rest for a few hours before going out to eat. I started hearing Maggie cry out in my sleep. It took a minute to wake up. She was already blue. I sat her up and started rubbing her and singing a medicine song. It took a few minutes before she took a breath and came back. Whew! The teachings tell how an infant isn't attached so strong to their body until they are around two years old. They can cut out and go back if they don't dig the scene. I totally get that. I've apologized many times to Maggie for things being so hard this life time. That kitten showed up to tell me it was okay. I don't know if I should pass on how to respond to SIDS to those young people that are ready to learn how to become medicine men and women. It's a heavy responsibility to mess with someone's karma like that. Part of me says to let them go back and try again next time. And stop being so negative around infants. Dig it!

John stuck around for an hour or so after Andy and Maggie left and we smoked the Bull Run Pipe. At the end of the Pipe Ceremony I popped the pipe against my right palm to knock the ashes out. When I closed my hand and opened it back up the ashes formed something on my palm. Sometimes I see a buffalo or a bird. It is always a sign being given. This time it was I  M. Capital letters. I double space M. Both John and I read it to say “I AM”. I am here. I am real. I am present and accounted for. All the above. That means something. Now I've told you. Love

Oliver Loveday October 8, 2020 9:07pm

Wednesday, October 7, 2020

Passion Flow

“Passion Flow”

Sumi-e ink and gold ink on rice paper

13 x 9.5 inches | 33 x 24 cm

January 26, 2013

Passion Flow

This energy explodes forward

Into the abyss

Dancing into infinity

From the heart

From compassion

All things enjoined

In the Sacred Beauty

As the heart opens

To this flow of passion

Oliver Loveday © October 17, 2013 4:30pm EDT


Sunday, September 27, 2020

Ventures In Nothing


“Ventures in Nothing”

Sumi ink and gold ink on rice paper

13 x 9.5 inches | 33 x 24 cm

January 20, 2013

Ventures in Nothing

Outside the gates of bliss

Resides the money changers

Ready to assist in the gleaning of materialism

Like Wall Street smoke and mirrors

The paper dream scurries across the landscape

Elusive as carbon

Elusive as gold

In the illusion

While the pilgrim invests

In ventures in nothing

Oliver Loveday © October 16, 2013 3:08pm EDT

Saturday, September 26, 2020

Nothing Unmarked


“Nothing Unmarked”

Sumi ink and gold ink on rice paper

13 x 9.5 inches | 33 x 24 cm

January 20, 2013

Nothing Unmarked

She blows in like Woody Herman and His Thundering Herd jazz jam wail across the abyss woolen skies wrapped up in shades of black or gold in between the nothing of whiteness where there is no mind left to dream only float like a cloud as we look down into the slant of silence marked and measured with inches of splash or brush marks punching holes in the sky between what is left and what was never imaged in the fragile edge of rice paper maps of where we were and where we can never be again against the wind of patterns escaped deleted spindled and mutilated

Oliver Loveday © October 16, 2013 1:45pm EDT

Wednesday, September 23, 2020

Bliss Dance


“Bliss Dance”

Sumi ink and gold ink on rice paper

13 x 9.5 inches | 33 x 24 cm

January 20, 2013

Bliss Dance

Aching in the moment

Swirl of awareness

Like the madman

Seeking the stability of concrete reality

But it is all in flux

And there is nothing

But the pain and beauty

Of this bliss dance

Between atom and energy

Between galaxy and fertile nebula

Time and space

Against the empty

Oliver Loveday © October 16, 2013 12:40pm EDT

Tuesday, September 22, 2020

“Wind over the Bridge”


“Wind over the Bridge”

Sumi ink and gold ink on rice paper

13 x 9.5 inches | 33 x 24 cm

January 5, 2013

Wind over the Bridge

Arriving through the clouds

Passing beyond Cold Mountain

The pilgrim looks down into the valley

Where the land of empty fields lies beyond

A river between this and nothing

A bridge that challenges all fears

And in the sky

The winds flow freely

Oliver Loveday © October 16, 2013 11:10am EDT

Tuesday, February 18, 2020

Dionysius Burn

In the trademark musicality of Dionysius Burn myrtr burn brain screaming words faster than I can slam them into the keyboard of syntax digital binary encodement of computer flat screen seen or unseen beyond capillary renderings of blood and fire muse gleanings smashed against the old bones of geriatric renderings while the reality of place and time corrupt the Doors song into “the whores creep past my window/with a sonic vacuum”.

A neighbor stopped by yesterday and asked me to sign a petition protesting the activity of prostitutes in this small cul-de-sac with me signing it although they never bother me for who knows why but the reality is that I've never paid for pussy in my life. That surreal chasm between discarded needles and somewhere in this world there's a #metoo movement protesting the sexual harassment of women by powerful men in society. What's next? Porn stars accusing producers of porn movies of taking advantage of their position of power for sexual favors? The whores come around. They're on their way to a neighbor's apartment as I go check the mail or drag my garbage can back from the street on trash day. They talk to me like it's another day in the neighborhood. “You'll get sick running around with bare feet in this weather”, she said as though she cared about my health and well being. That's how the whores in this neighborhood treat me. The artist with no money. I feel like Toulouse-Lautrec but this is no Paris. This is not Paris.
This is Morristown Tennessee. Home of the Trojans. The second largest distribution network of illegal drugs east of the Mississippi River operates out of this town. Where back in the 1920's a couple of young men went out west to Saint Louis and robbed a bank. They evaded arrest and one of them used his winnings to buy a car dealer franchise when he got back home. In 1986 I met a young woman from Switzerland who was here teaching German at one of the high schools. She invited me to visit her one Sunday afternoon in the spring. I had just finished an oil painting. “Surface Information”. A still life. The challenge was to do the table so that there were no visible table legs underneath it but it didn't look like it was floating. I created the illusion of nothingness no one noticed. The final mark was a splash across the canvas going through the wine bottle. I put a piece of paper over the wine bottle to give the illusion of the splash going through the bottle. The splash of oil paint landed perfectly. It left hair standing on end. I was ready to get out of the house and decompress for a few hours. Talk to another human being. Ground. Recompose from the Dionysius Burn muse gleanings. Underneath the surface was multiple layers of paint from the effort. Left on the surface was the markings of Samsara. No one knows the depths. There were no photographs of the work in progress. I followed her directions to the house where she was living up on Crockett Ridge above Morristown. Home of the grandson of the bank robber. She took me into his study to introduce me to him. He was bent over some bookkeeping ledgers in the years before Excel. He nodded his acknowledgment and we retreated to her basement apartment to discuss education and her background of attending the Waldorf school in Switzerland. Later she told me that I couldn't park my pickup truck out in front of the street of the house because of what the neighbors might think. I never parked my truck out there again. Dionysius Burn.

She had me meet her in the parking lot of the K-Mart a few hours before she flew back to Switzerland. It was a brief goodbye. A hug and a peck on the cheek. I went home to finish up the works for the upcoming show at the Mayor's Gallery in Knoxville in July, 1986. I was riding out the stress of anticipation related to allegations of sexual abuse my ex-wife would be reporting. She had already reported the allegations to the Child Abuse Hotline in Chicago alleging that a married couple there had been participants of the alleged sex abuse of my sons. “Allege” becomes a word of common usage as I grappled with this Brave New World of Dionysius Burn. I installed one of the best one-man art shows of a living artist up to that point. Nothing sold. I cancelled my plans of using the money to go to Switzerland. The allegations were reported to the law enforcement here in Tennessee. They were found to be unsubstantiated. They succeeded in accomplishing their goal of stopping me from ever having visitation with my sons without supervision (twice). Now she could tell our sons that they could never come back to Tennessee to live with me. Dionysius Burn

The whores walk past my window. They can see me washing dishes through my kitchen window. This reality where I am an open book. That is my reality TV audience. Exiled in Morristown. Foreclosure back in 2007. I lost the farm. Dionysius Burn. Now I am reduced to living in an efficiency apartment in the projects. I do my painting out back. The car died almost four years ago. I sold it so I could buy a new Iphone. Now I am walking or riding the Housing shuttle. A year ago I was walking to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting at a church in downtown Morristown. As I was walking past a church across the street a block up from my destination a vehicle came out of the parking lot and hit me in the back. I was thrown off the side of the vehicle and it drove off. It stopped and came back. I laid on the street in the rain and watched it back up half a block and stop a car's length from my body. I got a ride to the emergency room where they did CT scans and determined that I would live. I walked back to my apartment in the rain. The Morristown police issued a citation of improper crossing. I contested it. The hearing was a farce. It didn't matter that I wasn't in the business district even if I had been crossing the street, there were no witnesses that testified that I was crossing the street in front of the church, not even the alleged driver, who was so senile she didn't even remember what kind of vehicle she had allegedly been driving. Whomever was driving that vehicle hit me intentionally and then hid and let the passenger take the blame. I had to pay the ticket. $102. The judge said that the woman wasn't at fault because I was somewhere that I shouldn't have been. So the tax payers footed the medical bills as the citation blocked me from suing the alleged driver. Dionysius Burn

A year later and the statue of limitations is up. Someone got away with running me down and leaving me lying in the middle of the street to die. They should have killed me while they had the chance. This is Morristown Tennessee where the whores walk past my window. Money doesn't just talk. It controls those who have it and who don't have it. It's a scene played out like the early morning hours when a pack of dogs come across a lone dog and take turns fucking it in the ass. Only I out ran the dog pack but I didn't out run a moving vehicle. I got up and kept going in spite of the pain and throbbing headache from the traumatic brain injury. I think about my audience. What is it that I can pass on through my art that will demonstrate these moments of wisdom and insights into the Deep Nothing? The cars hiss by my window. My head explodes with mindfulness. I am awake. I have awaken. The teachings are too thick with fancy talk. Or the teachings are lost through genocide. Humanity roams the streets at dawn in search of a lone dog to fuck. My fingers are numb from nerve damage. I am an old man. Dionysius Burn. My audience walks past my window and asks what I am cooking. Here are my rantings of art work. Here is what I have left of the torturing inspiration of muse gleanings. Here is what I have left of a life where I refused to be burned at the stake. Dionysius Burn.

Oliver Loveday © February 18, 2020 3:10pm EST