mead of a woman/breath of spring

we cook lentils, and stay in the studio on a cold day. we work we work we work.

WHERE YOUR BALLS AT?

miss lonelyheart

she prints for 7 hrs today.

something told me it was over

luckily i found this video and it reminded me of the bigger/better things.



heal the broken heart w beyonce.

a glass of water, filled to the rim, how i feel.

katia!


kate and i used our living room today. that felt so good.
scallops, daikon and curry for dinner.
biked east, south and north of center city against the wind. probably 1 mph! thighs are weak, but i cant wait to go running through the cemetery tomorrow.

i've got access to all this nice and free photo paper so i am thinking i want to work on making some huge prints of images from div iii. it's great to feel super connected to that work, but i did not think i would be working so extensively on it (editing, editing, editing, re-writing and re-writing).

new work to debut soon though- summer specials and the philadelphia era.


today i paid a visit to sonya, augusta, and rory's studio. beautiful place. a little home.

am i reaching full bloom?

we gotta go some where
you and i

terror in the possibility of love

j. conrad

"The artist appeals to that part of our being...which is a gift and not an acquisition - and, therefore, more permanently enduring." and then goes on to say "The art that matters to us - which moves the heart, or revives the soul, or delights the senses, or offers courage for living, however we choose to describe the experience - that work is received by us as a gift is received....The spirit of an artist's gifts can wake our own. The work appeals to a part of our being which is itself a gift and not an acquisition."

lemon grass eye

desires of 2009

-touching fake breast
-well rested
-jungle rug, leaf junge scene
-no parking tickets
-make a film about national grass forest
-try to room with mark bitman
-canoe

is it true? a photograph of my soulmate in 1982

i am drunk tired

so naked but not really because its so fucking cold i wear my uggs to sleep.

the closest you will ever get to my soul

not apathy, not anything

expected value, error of value, expected possibility, error of possibility, expected gain.

this time tomorrow, what will we know?

Woke up at 8 a.m. - rage.

"big city so shitty"

breaking the mail, not the reply i wanted. staying away from the city for the time being, until next weekend. visiting my eggplant, seeing oldies but goodies, hanging w. sonya (who is the best). in the mean time, help hang a (disappointing) show, but the opportunity to curate (some good, and some disappointing) photographs. also asked to be a p.t. photo teacher. s'pose thats good news in the basket, but too bad i got a dart in the heart. at least there is my own warm (by the radiator) bed.

can't wait til MAY.



someone said i had a high voice yesterday... is this true?

i do

dead dick b. 1981, b.1983

it feels so good, pissing in the wind

i've been throwing and catching catch up emails, here is an excerpt. one that i must note:

"I'm sad i never got to move around the country like you have. i wish i
could have done that. i might have an opportunity to move with T
once he get his graduated school stuff together but I'm not sure how
W will take that. I'm not sure i really want to go...but... i
just see it as a way for me to see and be in a new place a different
environment. T says I'm always invited to move with him. that
makes me feel really special.

its funny how we always do our best to make each other happy despite
the fact that we are no longer in a realationship together."

more than i could have known and an awesome photographer


Two Points for Philadelphia

1. will steacy
2. hank willis thomas article

i love sax

last night i dreamt that my love was a crime.



Nightclub

You are so beautiful and I am a fool
to be in love with you
is a theme that keeps coming up
in songs and poems.
There seems to be no room for variation.
I have never heard anyone sing
I am so beautiful
and you are a fool to be in love with me,
even though this notion has surely
crossed the minds of women and men alike.
You are so beautiful, too bad you are a fool
is another one you don’t hear.
Or, you are a fool to consider me beautiful.
That one you will never hear, guaranteed.

For no particular reason this afternoon
I am listening to Johnny Hartman
whose dark voice can curl around
the concepts on love, beauty, and foolishness
like no one else’s can.
It feels like smoke curling up from a cigarette
someone left burning on a baby grand piano
around three o’clock in the morning;
smoke that billows up into the bright lights
while out there in the darkness
some of the beautiful fools have gathered
around little tables to listen,
some with their eyes closed,
others leaning forward into the music
as if it were holding them up,
or twirling the loose ice in a glass,
slipping by degrees into a rhythmic dream.

Yes, there is all this foolish beauty,
borne beyond midnight,
that has no desire to go home,
especially now when everyone in the room
is watching the large man with the tenor sax
that hangs from his neck like a golden fish.
He moves forward to the edge of the stage
and hands the instrument down to me
and nods that I should play.
So I put the mouthpiece to my lips
and blow into it with all my living breath.
We are all so foolish,
my long bebop solo begins by saying,
so damn foolish
we have become beautiful without even knowing it.

– Billy Collins

cold rushes little feet acting out

"this place i want to come home to was false to women in an intellectual sense. it was false" - susan howe


language is a wilderness, gaps and traces is where you find yourself, testify to the violence of erasure