RELIX ~ THE RETURN OF DIGX
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Poetry Written & Performed by Laurence Fuller
Collaborations including Kopfgestaltung, Jonas Pfeiffer, Saeed, Daniel Martin, and Von Doyl.
A poet banished from the city,
Creates in exile; a story.
When the tablets were smashed in fragments ~ DigX sent en echo throughout digital art, that lasted years to come. Its myths lay buried amongst ruins, until they were found again by a poet in exile.
Cinematic sculptures carved from scriptures: Each piece is a ReliX ~ a poet’s journey through banishment, myth, and rebellion.
This collection is a poem.
A cinematic poem by Kopfgestaltung x Laurence Fuller
The return of DigX: the fifth collaboration between poet Laurence Fuller & audio-visual artist Kopfgestaltung. A blue star falls from the sky’s rim ~ an omen. A pillar of salt once stood solid ~ now dissolves into radiant blue, leaving behind only a circle, split in two: a symbol of fracture and eternal return. The Amulet.
A pillar of salt,
Burning through the past,
The blue star fell from the sky’s rim,
And the dawn was dim,
Flowers burning by either side of the forest path,
Warmed their feet and glowed their hearts,
And I would have them know that I walk with the stars.
What rock was left?
A pile of salt,
Dissolves in too,
A radiant blue.
What’s left,
A circle, in two.
Amulet.
~ LF
Banished I : the new beginning of the ReliX Odyssey, following DigX ~ the moment the poet is cast from the halls of tradition and thrust into the wilderness, for the danger of imagination itself.
In this defiant epic, the poet becomes the outlaw prophet, punished for wielding the pen like a blade, daring to challenge the gods with visions too immense to be contained. What begins as scorn becomes fuel. The wilderness becomes workshop. Exile becomes consecration. And what ornaments he finds there become ReliX.
He takes up the quill like Odysseus takes up the bow ~ and from that posture, unleashes arrows of incandescent language across the courts that disowned him.
The gods, speaking in broken symbols, let their wisdom fall in drool and dust ~ but the poet picks it up, reforges it in ink, and fires it back with prodigal force.
And when the myth deepens in Banished II & III, we descend into the psychic underworld ~ a dream-haunted childhood home now stalked by devils, volcanoes, and fig-laced omens. It is a confrontation not just with exile, but with legacy ~ with ancestral wounds, cosmic wrath, and the alchemy of shame into power.
Together, these works do not seek forgiveness. They mark the beginning of an age.
The gods exiled him.
But the poet replied with thunder.
BANISHED I ~ cinematic poetry by Laurence Fuller
I imagined,
And for those thoughts I was scorned
Scorned for what I thought
Because it was the greats,
And the Gods with whom I fought,
I sought triumph
And a freedom from the reins,
When they sought restraint,
I had done the most dangerous thing of all,
More dangerous than wield a sword
Held by any mortal man,
And as for my pen,
This magic could much further extend.
My words unto visions and then back again.
Though it cast me out unto the wilderness,
I would stay there, with my fire, my art, my talent,
And this witless magic that was the empty vessel for my mind to fill.
As much as the empty page,
Quill and ink of my poetry journal,
They all inspired to express this;
My will.
~ LF
Banished : the new beginning of the ReliX Odyssey, following DigX ~ the moment the poet is cast from the halls of tradition and thrust into the wilderness, for the danger of imagination itself.
In this defiant epic, the poet becomes the outlaw prophet, punished for wielding the pen like a blade, daring to challenge the gods with visions too immense to be contained. What begins as scorn becomes fuel. The wilderness becomes workshop. Exile becomes consecration. And what ornaments he finds there become ReliX.
He takes up the quill like Odysseus takes up the bow ~ and from that posture, unleashes arrows of incandescent language across the courts that disowned him.
The gods, speaking in broken symbols, let their wisdom fall in drool and dust ~ but the poet picks it up, reforges it in ink, and fires it back with prodigal force.
And when the myth deepens in Banished II & III, we descend into the psychic underworld ~ a dream-haunted childhood home now stalked by devils, volcanoes, and fig-laced omens. It is a confrontation not just with exile, but with legacy ~ with ancestral wounds, cosmic wrath, and the alchemy of shame into power.
Together, these works do not seek forgiveness. They mark the beginning of an age.
The gods exiled him.
But the poet replied with thunder.
In the daliences of my day,
I had supped the sweetest,
And taken his name in vein.
The first fires of Prometheus lit my way,
As I began to paint, from shame.
I could not believe what it was that I did make
A world of my own fate
I recognized memory and form ripped from the fading dawn
Of my curiosity which stuck my hands into the fire to find
A power, greater than mine
The tool created
I was impelled by all,
The ghost spoke through my fingertips.
With the power of a God.
I have tasted the nectar.
~ LF
Banished : the new beginning of the ReliX Odyssey, following DigX ~ the moment the poet is cast from the halls of tradition and thrust into the wilderness, for the danger of imagination itself.
In this defiant epic, the poet becomes the outlaw prophet, punished for wielding the pen like a blade, daring to challenge the gods with visions too immense to be contained. What begins as scorn becomes fuel. The wilderness becomes workshop. Exile becomes consecration. And what ornaments he finds there become ReliX.
He takes up the quill like Odysseus takes up the bow ~ and from that posture, unleashes arrows of incandescent language across the courts that disowned him.
The gods, speaking in broken symbols, let their wisdom fall in drool and dust ~ but the poet picks it up, reforges it in ink, and fires it back with prodigal force.
And when the myth deepens in Banished II & III, we descend into the psychic underworld ~ a dream-haunted childhood home now stalked by devils, volcanoes, and fig-laced omens. It is a confrontation not just with exile, but with legacy ~ with ancestral wounds, cosmic wrath, and the alchemy of shame into power.
Together, these works do not seek forgiveness. They mark the beginning of an age.
The gods exiled him.
But the poet replied with thunder.
The devil has found his way
To my Grandmother’s home,
And is writhing around in there
As marbles dropping down the stairs
He bellowed through the halls;
“What have you done?”
The devil has made his home
And he crushed those little mud figures, for the fig
A red volcanos burning in the dark,
Cast a shadow across the whole world
It was the flame of a falling star
That dropped like tears from the cosmos
Into a pool of flame, reflecting who we are.
~ LF
A cinematic poem by Jonas Pfeiffer and Laurence Fuller.
A gift horse, a giant,
Striding in its own might,
Falling hooves of a Titan,
We have prepared a gift for you,
It’s made of the finest metals,
And timbers we did hew,
We spent years to give it the beautiful polish of truth,
To see its shine in your eyes of youth,
Don’t you see, its image we made in you,
He looks into its reflection,
“Yes it does, look like me”
“And this whole sculpture, I can keep?”
“Yes, that’s what we made it for”
“It’s so beautiful I want to weep”
“Keep it”
That night, the moon rose high up,
The sky, it glowed over all of paradise,
And the King looked out of the window,
At the gift that had arrived.
Finally, at last, he was represented to be true,
To be good, it was beautiful.
“So wonderful!”
The praise was so wonderful,
He didn’t ask for it, but it was just what he needed,
This gift was so wonderful.
He rest his head, the night overwhelmed the castle,
There was a sacred note,
That rung out, across the courtyard,
He woke; “Ding”
From its belly they approached,
“Ding”
That sound, that sound,
THAT SOUND ~ LF
A cinematic poem by Saeed and Laurence Fuller.
Following Saeed's first place win of the 'Redemption' competition and ReliX Collection comes Lotus.
When we arrived by the river,
The colored disks floated on the transparent clear water,
They lit up the bank,
My brothers were pulled in, until they sank,
And throughout the wood there was a croaking,
We forgot the perils of our journey,
The battles that lay before us,
Were as the ground,
For the flying feet of a new ballet,
Our thoughts did piruet,
Before a liquid sunset,
Which dripped in glow,
The tingling filled our mouths like the taste of snow,
Our hearts burst like bubbles,
And our souls jumped from one to another,
Our whispers floated through the air like pollen,
And we found our true selves again in the depths of color,
Conquest took new meaning,
Conquest was now a feeling,
Conquest was poetic,
The fruits that tumbled in our laps,
Lizards dripped with tree sap,
The parrots now had lips that flapped,
And the breeze did give us gifts,
Human touch now had a sound,
And greatness did abound.
~ LF
A cinematic poem by Laurence Fuller and Von Doyle.
Never like this had I seen the stars,
So close I was to destiny.
The fall like a sheet in front of me that I could part,
A waterfall of light fell from the stars.
Running through the coursing fire of time which licked the planets,
With a tide of roaring embers climbing the heavens staircase.
I came closer to the washing winds which made me happy and alive.
I had the feeling there were centuries passing me by above,
And I was merely waiting to be born.
~ LF
A cinematic poem by Daniel Martin and Laurence Fuller
A rose once came to me.
Its presence emerged from the shadows,
like a sprouting seed.
Its petals then lit up flames
from inside its bud.
There was an infinite furnace.
It could not be stopped
however much I tried to dull its flame,
to quell its heat; I could not.
Each time I tried to squash its hope;
It burned my fingers,
It singed my skin,
And onto poetry it did sing.
I could not understand why the flames did not dull,
And the flames burned my thumb.
When I returned sometime later,
The rose had grown to be much greater.
It filled the room to the ceiling,
And I breathed its perfume.
~ LF
A cinematic poem by Laurence Fuller
The falling figs of youth;
Split on the ground and melted.
With melted gold in each half.
We’ve never felt the whole in our palms,
Until this moment.
The beasts growl through the calm,
Larks that dive from the sky into the pockets,
of those who pass by.
It is written in dust.
The furious unfurling thrusts in the air,
From the poetry pages we tear,
The torn strips that were there,
We reach for them,
To try put them back together again,
We reach for them.
But it’s black and untethered,
Falling into puddles,
Rolling all of a sudden,
The temptations.
And desecrations.
He has burnt every ripened fig.
The dried fig of harvest above the door,
Plucked them all in baskets;
Read and purple and white,
Sticky white sap dipped and dripped,
More and more.
The wasps hovered like the law,
And dove in with their stings,
Into its paws,
Stripped the bark,
Caught the flower buds,
Threw their petals into dusk and butter,
Embraced in lapis lazuli.
Called was the scepter,
But upright stood the King,
Figs melted for dinner,
Across the tables of honey and sin,
And he was asked to give,
The Golden fig,
To the most beautiful…
~ LF
A cinematic poem by Laurence Fuller
Wrapped around her fingers,
She did hiss,
Wrapped around her fingers.
Pull of an endless thread,
That ran from his chest to her finger,
Pulled it like a string,
Wrapped round her fingers they did hiss,
Pulled from out the drift now into bliss,
Wrapped around her fingers.
Welcome to the whirlwind,
Storms swirl by her wrist,
Wrapped round her fingers they did hiss,
And lines that were stated,
Were as the lions instigated,
To roar by the ring on her finger that directed.
And all the world because it was her wish,
That did make it.
Until he bowed out.~ LF