Thursday, March 14, 2013

One more burst of color...

to relieve the restlessness of one's heart.

Sarah Moon

All the Difficult Hours and Minutes

All the difficult hours and minutes
are like salted plums in a jar.
Wrinkled, turn steeply into themselves,
they mutter something the color of sharkfins to the glass.
Just so, calamity turns toward calmness.
First the jar holds the umeboshi, then the rice does.

Sarah Moon for Grey Magazine

Because I want a little color,
sometimes I just need it.
This appeals to my girlish nature
and my love for Sarah Moon.

Wednesday, March 6, 2013

cruelty has a human heart

Gustave Doré's (1832-1883) illustrations and Dante's Divine Comedy

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

I would have followed you forever

Hipstamatic TV shots of John Duigan's Head in the Clouds.

Monday, March 4, 2013

a dialogue with a friend

A Collaboration with George Angel 

his words, my image

Heap Is the Punctuation of Tumbling

"Ask a drum to expectorate.
Hammering has made me
As stupid as a reflex.
Dust is the grey matter
I am left with.

Blockages of breath,
The debris of honking,
Make radios almost pastoral.

Leaps to connect minutes.
Like voices calling out to each other,
Across mounds of shoveled noise,
They stutter and fall short
Into rubble.

Trembling, muted by syllables,
Spaces drilled into
What is opened out of, rubbish."

--George Angel

my image, his words

"I carry the street in the rain in my hands.
The sun had fallen out like an unspun bulb,
Like butter icarussed down into my bowl.
The valley in autumn another nestle just,
Glistens the shatter of a frame, shadowed
My brow, the falling away of the street
In the rain, the facades thicken my fingers,
Seal me away beneath a silent gaze,
Its pane of milky light between us.
To balance a membrane mesmer,
Meander your attention over the motif
Light curdles out of the surface
Of the air spilling between houses
Where I carry the street in the rain."

    --George Angel