Sunday, August 03, 2008

A bit more disorganization, a bit more roving, a bit less cogent, a bit more like this.

one twenty-three in the year two thousand and eight at eight fifty-three in the morning... it was three-twenty on the twenty-first day of the first month when... do you recall, one day past a score in January at five to nine... one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, count to ten, breathe... now three weeks into the two thousand and eighth year... fifty-eight past nine am nearly february but not quite, before noon but after the sunrise sitting or standing when you came in and lasting until you were done is when you interrupted me.


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Saturday, May 17, 2008

Many-Colored Glass

Many-Colored Glass May 12, 2008

the seminal Dusseldorf academy...
incommensurable sensibilities...

a brief, trenchant moment...

lofty nexus of art and society...

cheap fabric designs, and other desultory sources...

sardonic elan...

painting: an art dismissed as moribund...

something of a serial monomaniac...

rectilinear buildings...

his spiritual bias is pantheistic...

arcane historical sources...

iconophilic style...

a wash of aurate illumination...

spots of disrupting opacity...

flat and lapidary mosaic forms...

stylistic pastiche...

Art Nouveau...

an anodyne tincture of churchiness...

laconic linear arabesques...

Monday, March 24, 2008

The World of Make-Believe

Aaron and I used to play school in the winter. My room was the classroom and I was in charge of reading, writing and arithematic; Aaron's room, right next door, was the gym, or the cafeteria, or the music room, whatever we needed at the time. We carried armfuls of stuffed animals between the two rooms, plopped them down and lined them up in rows before singing out a bell and gathering the giraffes and the dogs up again and carrying them back again.

The intellegence says that kids learn to be adults through play. Our make-believe school was practice for the 9 to 5 work world. On the other hand, now that I am grown I play at my job and I wonder, do you do the same? Is it a fantastic grown-up version of make-believe? And is that why I'm still in love with the little nuances of life -- the visits to the grocery store, the paying of bills, the sales meetings -- why? because it is not surrounded by the limits of Simon Says but still full of the possibilities of the world of make-believe.

Sunday, March 23, 2008

The Bellybutton

Clean me out every month
because
before I shrivelled up
,introverted
,demured
you forget I was a gateway
to life
supplying nutrients, sustenance
while she read good night, moon, to her belly
while he pressed his head against, pressed his lips to her bellybutton
,to you

before I was cut short I was
maybe even a tunnel for love