BIO

 

Greyson Meyer is a Mathematics PhD candidate at UC Santa Cruz & card-carrying member of the College de Pataphysique who straddles the abstract explosivity of geometric group theory with sanity-flattening surrealist poetry.

 

Through collaboration with Alex Calderwood, Greyson has tapped into the power of neural networks and vectorized language to take Tzara’s cut-up dreams to unfathomable poetic heights.

 

Greyson is a prolific poet, a chameleonic maximalist with hundreds of poems under his belt-- poems that take the shape of instructions for unbuildable objects of unbridled psychedelia, surrealist hypnosis scripts, nature-based wander-thoughts, animalistic what-ifs, and every other sort of otherworldliness that he can wrestle onto the page.

 

When not doting over his precious deformation retracts of yet-unpublished Artin group presentation complexes, or woodchipping Bob Kaufman poetry & hypnosis scripts into outer-dimensional word-portals, Greyson enjoys the simple things like: making bolo ties from antique ephemera; spherifying cocktails, then embedding that sphere into another cocktail sphere, and then embedding that sphere into…; cheering on Ura at every sumo basho; and scheming on the construction of the most recent surrealist object to pop out his noggin.

 

ARTIST STATEMENT

 

Greyson Meyer writes words — 

Words that take on unforeseen forms —

Words that are the fruits of an illusory life —

Words determined to create colors from anything — 

Words that grasp at the edge of sanity, in parallel —

Words that turn to orioles that, when perched upon your shoulder, give you the sensation of being crushed by boulders & filled with a sobering electricity all at once —

Words that come with a side of fried God —

Words that follow flowers instead of remedies —

Words that cause the bodies of all false-cinderellas to hiss spontaneously —

Words used as darts aimed at the ham hock of conventional poetry —

Words that put Dada and the I Ching under the same veil like two contradictory waterfalls of blank checks —

Words trapped in syntactic masquerades —

Words that cause the artist’s legs to wrap around the nearest landscape at a moment’s notice —

Words that fulminate against gatekeepers of importance —

Words that stuff just enough Ubu between the ions —

Words burdened with infected buttonholes that necessitate the swallowing of artistic flowers —

Words used to beg artists to find the silent blue angel within each of them, put fun glasses on it, and set it delicately into a crypt adorned with magnificent bells —

Words with the right to broad & joyous astral spasms.