even more shearing festival, fabius, ny
31 may 2009 // miss you gill
29 June 2009
a special thank you to jeff hamada for posting my work on his wonderful art blog booooooom! this morning.
28 June 2009
26 June 2009
25 June 2009
swinging a credit card like a scythe
through the meadows of golden merchandise.
today is the day she stops looking at faces
and starts assessing the labels of purses;
so let it begin. let her be dipped in the dazzling bounty
and raised and wrung out again and again.
and let us watch.
as the gods in olden stories
turned mortals into laurel trees and crows
to teach them some kind of lesson,
so we turned into americans
to learn something about loneliness.
// excerpt from "at the galleria shopping mall" by tony hoagland
found in the july/august 2009 issue of 'poetry' magazine
23 June 2009
21 June 2009
John Baldessari, Solving Each Problem as It Arises,
1966-68. Acrylic on canvas, 59 x 46 inches. from here
saw waking life on thursday for the first time since freshman year, its really strange how differently ive perceived it this time. honestly the first time i saw it i dont think i got much out of it. this time, however, its interesting to reflect on what i perceived and which parts i really related with. i think this is due to my being more acutely aware of what matters to me, allowing me to focus in on these parts.
i like this part because they discuss photography in relation to god and holiness. i often find myself caught up in these holy moments, i think thats why i am so quiet most of the time and so drawn to the mediums of photography and cinema and the constructs of buddhism for they all allow you to reflect and submerse yourself in these moments to a larger degree.
i also like this part for the way in which the woman describes her view of her life as if she is observing her life from the perspective of an old woman about to die - thats exactly how i feel about my life almost all of the time, ive never been able to explain it as clearly as she does here. i often feel like i have already lived and am about to die - i think thats why i feel this immense urgency to do things, and sometimes i feel viscerally jolted when i realize i am only 20 and can actually influence what is going on in my present surroundings.
20 June 2009
't was a long parting, but the time
for interview had come;
before the judgment-seat of God,
the last and second time
these fleshless lovers met,
a heaven in a gaze,
a heaven of heavens, the privilege
of one another's eyes.
no lifetime set on them,
apparalled as the new
unborn, except they had beheld,
born everlasting now.
was bridal e'er like this?
a paradise, the host,
and cherubim and seraphim
the most familiar guest.
// xv. resurrection by emily dickinson
17 June 2009
i was watching cnn today + was really fascinated when they began talking about the conflict regarding the iranian election whilst showing video clips civilians had posted to facebook, youtube + twitter. im not sure why it was so jolting to see a mass communication news network showing amateur video that were posted to these sites, its just seemed really strange to me that the paths of two strikingly different things crossed in such a big way. it really gets you thinking about the role of 'trained' photographers + videographers in mass journalism in the (very near) future, is there still a demand for this? who really knows for sure.
16 June 2009
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
What ever you see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful---
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
What ever you see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful---
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
// 'mirror' by sylvia plath
15 June 2009
11 June 2009
i like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,
and you hear me from far away and my voice does
not touch you.
it seems as though your eyes had flown away
and it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth.
as all things are filled with my soul
you emerge from the things, filled with my soul.
you are like my soul, a butterfly of dream,
and you are like the word Melancholy.
i like for you to be still, and you seem far away.
it sounds as though you were lamenting, a butterfly,
cooing like a dove.
and you hear me from far away, and my voice does
not reach you:
let me come to be still in your silence.
and let me talk to you with your silence
that is bright as a lamp, simple as a ring.
you are like the night, with its stillness and constellations.
your silence is that of a star, as remote and candid.
i like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,
distant and full of sorrow as though you had died.
one word then, one smile, is enough.
and i am happy, happy that it's not true.
// xv i like for you to be still. by pablo neruda
mmmm yes yes yes.
and you hear me from far away and my voice does
not touch you.
it seems as though your eyes had flown away
and it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth.
as all things are filled with my soul
you emerge from the things, filled with my soul.
you are like my soul, a butterfly of dream,
and you are like the word Melancholy.
i like for you to be still, and you seem far away.
it sounds as though you were lamenting, a butterfly,
cooing like a dove.
and you hear me from far away, and my voice does
not reach you:
let me come to be still in your silence.
and let me talk to you with your silence
that is bright as a lamp, simple as a ring.
you are like the night, with its stillness and constellations.
your silence is that of a star, as remote and candid.
i like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,
distant and full of sorrow as though you had died.
one word then, one smile, is enough.
and i am happy, happy that it's not true.
// xv i like for you to be still. by pablo neruda
mmmm yes yes yes.
07 June 2009
"but who cant sleep like a log in a solitary cabin in the woods you wake up in the late morning so refreshed and realizing the universe namelessly: the universe is an angel - but easy enough to say when youve had your escape from the gooky city turn into a success and its finally only in the woods you get that nostalgia for 'cities' at last you dream of long gray journeys to cities where soft evening will unfold like paris but never seeing how sickening it will be because of the primordial innocence of health and stillness in the wilds - so i tell myself 'be wise'"
excerpt from 'big sur' by jack kerouac
my summers all seemingly fall back into the beat movement
excerpt from 'big sur' by jack kerouac
my summers all seemingly fall back into the beat movement
04 June 2009
one collapses and surrenders
not out of choice
or lack of intelligence
or bad teeth
or bad diet
one surrenders
because that's the BEST MOVIE
around.
once i was so disgusted
with the working of things
that i dialed the time
and listened to the voice
over and over again:
"it's now 10:18 and 20 seconds
it's now 10:18 and 30 seconds..."
i didn't like the voice
and i didn't care what time it was
yet i listened.
satisfied now
i'm glad somebody stole my last watch
it was so difficult to read
satisfied now
i've got a new one
it has a black face and
white hands
and i sit there and watch
the second hand
the minute hand
the hour hand
as outside
caterpillars crawl my walls
and finally fall
like empires
like old dead loves
and new loves
fall.
night's best
with my black-faced watch
with white hands.
// 'time' by charles bukowski, from the book "what matters most is how well you walk through the fire"
03 June 2009
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