I WAS NEVER YOUNG

2.8.2012

2012-02-08T18:51:00.005-05:00

2012-02-08T18:51:00.001-05:00

“There can no longer be any question of a devotion to a form of knowledge that, it is feared, might lead them astray from the path of bourgeois security. There can be neither devotion to learning nor the dedication of life to a younger generation. Yet the vocation of teaching—albeit in forms that are quite different from those current today—is an imperative for any authentic learning. Such a hazardous self-dedication to learning and youth must manifest itself in the student as the ability to love, and it must be the source of his creativity.”

W.B., “The Life of Students”

the predominant thought for the day

2012-02-07T17:28:00.001-05:00

LOVE, WERE GOING HOME NOW.

2012-02-06T10:08:00.000-05:00

Love, we're going home now,
Where the vines clamber over the trellis:
Even before you, the summer will arrive,
On its honeysuckle feet, in your bedroom.

Our nomadic kisses wandered over all the world:
Armenia, dollop of disinterred honey:
Ceylon, green dove: and the YangTse with its old
Old patience, dividing the day from the night.

And now, dearest, we return, across the crackling sea
Like two blind birds to their wall,
To their nest in a distant spring:

Because love cannot always fly without resting,
Our lives return to the wall, to the rocks of the sea:
Our kisses head back home where they belong.

-PABLO NERUDA

2012-02-06T10:07:00.000-05:00

2012-01-26T10:54:00.002-05:00

... i want the spring

2012-01-26T10:52:00.000-05:00

those who love.

2012-01-26T10:51:00.000-05:00

Those who love the most,
Do not talk of their love,
Francesca, Guinevere,
Deirdre, Iseult, Heloise,
In the fragrant gardens of heaven
Are silent, or speak if at all
Of fragile, inconsequent things.

And a woman I used to know
Who loved one man from her youth,
Against the strength of the fates
Fighting in somber pride,
Never spoke of this thing,
But hearing his name by chance,
A light would pass over her face.

Sara Teasdale

2012-01-24T19:12:00.001-05:00

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

Wallace Stevens

fox.

2012-01-24T19:08:00.002-05:00

October 1940. Moorhead, Minnesota

John Vachon for the Farm Security Administration

from it and was anew at that time

2012-01-24T19:03:00.001-05:00

What if I was
sleeping as you came
and I pushed and the birds
appeared. How they were strong
on the line
was salivating it appealed to me.
I thought of dusk.
However high
I appear to ride and moreover
the way the flakes rise
disarms me. As I stood
in a field it rose to yield me. All
the beliefs. You
on the road with the moon
by your side. The moon—how beautiful things had turned out.

Genevieve Kaplan

2012-01-24T18:58:00.000-05:00

How do we understand something? We understand something by approaching it. How do we approach something? We approach it from any direction. We approach it using our eyes, our ears, our noses, our intellects, our imaginations. We approach it with silence. We approach it with childhood. We use pain or embarrassment. We use history. We take a safe route or a dangerous one. We discover our approach and we follow it.

-Matthew Goulish

2012-01-14T11:49:00.001-05:00

lemuels blessing

2012-01-13T09:12:00.001-05:00

You that know the way,
Spirit
I Bless your ears which are like cypresses on a mountain
With their roots in wisdom. Let me approach.
I bless your paws and their twenty nails which tell their own prayer
And are like dice in command of their own combinations.
Let me not be lost.
I bless your eyes for which I know no comparison.
Run with me like the horizon, for without you
I am nothing but a dog lost and hungry,
Ill-natured, untrustworthy, useless.

My bones together bless you like an orchestra of flutes.
Divert the weapons of the settlements and lead their dogs a dance.
Where a dog is shameless and wears servility
In his tail like a banner,
Let me wear the opprobrium of possessed and possessors
As a thick tail properly used
To warm my worst and my best parts. My tail and my laugh bless you.
Lead me past the error at the fork of hesitation.
Deliver me.

From the ruth of the lair, which clings to me in the morning,
Painful when I move, like a trap;
Even debris has its favorite positions but they are not yours;
From the ruth of kindness, with its licked hands;
I have sniffed baited fingers and followed
Toward necessities which were not my own: it would me
An habitué of back steps, faithful custodian of fat sheep;

From the ruth of prepared comforts, with its
Habitual dishes sporting my name and its collars and leashes of vanity;

From the ruth of approval, with its nets, kennels and taxidermists;
It would use my guts for its own rackets and instruments, to play
its own games and music;
Teach me to recognize its platforms, which are constructed like scaffolds;

From the ruth of known paths, which would use my feet, tail
and ears as curios,
My head as a nest for tame ants,
My fate as a warning.

I have hidden at wrong times for wrong reasons.
I have been brought to bay. More than once.
Another time, if I need it.
Create a little wind like a cold finger between my shoulders, then
Let my nails pour out a torrent of aces like grain from a threshing machine;
Let fatigue, weather, habitation, the old bones, finally,
Be nothing to me,
Let all lights but yours be nothing to me.

Let the memory of tongues not unnerve me so that I stumble or quake.
But lead me at times beside the still waters;
There when I crouch to drink let me catch a glimpse of your image
Before it is obscured with my own

Preserve my eyes, which are irreplaceable.
Preserve my heart, veins, bones,
Against the slow death building in them like hornets until the place
is entirely theirs.
Preserve my tongue and I will bless you again and again.

Let my ignorance and my failings
Remain far behind me like tracks made in a wet season,
At the end of which I have vanished,
So that those who track me for their own twisted ends
May be rewarded only with ignorance and failings.
But let me leave my cry stretched out behind me like a road
On which I have followed you.
And sustain me for my time in the desert
On what is essential to me.

LEMUELS BLESSING // MERWIN

JOEL MEYEROWITZ

2011-12-27T18:40:00.001-05:00

just beautiful work...

+ +

2011-12-27T18:37:00.000-05:00

RANDOM SELECTION OF SOME OLD BLACK AND WHITES

this, today

2011-12-27T18:31:00.001-05:00

IF IT BE YOUR WILL

TAXI LUNCH

2011-12-27T18:23:00.001-05:00

SPRING 2011

the way back

2011-12-27T18:21:00.000-05:00

but i am not lost
anymore than leaves are lost
or buried vases
i would only give you second thoughts.

i know you must call me traitor
because i have wasted my blood
in aimless love
and you are right
blood like that
never won an inch of star

you know how to call me
although such a noise now
would only confuse the air
neither of us can forget
the steps we danced
the words you stretched
to call me out of dust

yes i long for you
not as a leaf for weather
or vase for hands
but with a narrow human longing
that makes a man refuse
and fields but his own.

i wait for you at an
unexpected place in your journey
like the rusted key
or the feather you do not pick up
until the way back
after it is clear
the remote and painful destination
changed nothing in your life.

THE WAY BACK // LEONARD COHEN

john cale // 12.1.2011

2011-12-16T18:47:00.001-05:00

11.14.2011

2011-11-14T20:49:00.001-05:00

10.19.2011

2011-10-19T18:41:00.002-04:00

i still draw a circle with a ball point pen above my thumb joint to remember
whatever things i will surely forget, and
by days end it will be a pool for lost ideas,
a worked hand with a faded childs circle

GOODNIGHT // LI-YOUNG LEE

2011-10-19T18:31:00.001-04:00

Goodnight
Li-Young Lee

You’ve stopped whispering
and are asleep. I go on listening

to apples drop in the grass
beyond the window. Earlier we tried to guess

each fall’s moment, but neither kept up
that little game of hope

or fear for long. Now your weight
against me is like … I was about to say

like no other, unmistakably
human, my son’s. But, truth is, you’re simply

heft. Burden like, say, grain,
your body brings my body pain,

your shoulders, knees, elbows, hands,
lumpy like sacked fruit, and

whatever concord is
actual between us is

not easily meant,
but is so only by our diligence.

I recall a far
season of flowers

when, for love, I crept to the edge of a roof to reach
a petal-decked branch.

It snapped, I
dropped, screaming down sky

and flowering. My father yelled
my name, ran out to find me sprawled,

dazed, gripping his crushed gift, thrust
at him in my bloody fist.

He plunges below us now, as we
fall soundless toward him, our bodies

crowded on your narrow bed,
my arm and leg gone numb, your torso wedged

between the wall and me.
You sleep uncomfortably,

though comforted by my
presence, for which you cry

some nights, and which you, such nights, endure.
Where did you, so young, learn

such sacrifice? Now
I no longer hear the apples fall. But how

they go! Incessantly, though
with no noise, no

blunt announcements of their gravity.
See!

There is no bottom to the night, no end
to our descent.

We suffer each other to have each other a while.

dear one absent thsi long while // lisa olstein

2011-10-19T18:27:00.001-04:00

It has been so wet stones glaze in moss;

everything blooms coldly.

I expect you. I thought one night it was you

at the base of the drive, you at the foot of the stairs,

you in a shiver of light, but each time

leaves in wind revealed themselves,

the retreating shadow of a fox, daybreak.

We expect you, cat and I, bluebirds and I, the stove.

In May we dreamed of wreaths burning on bonfires

over which young men and women leapt.

June efforts quietly.

I’ve planted vegetables along each garden wall

so even if spring continues to disappoint

we can say at least the lettuce loved the rain.

I have new gloves and a new hoe.

I practice eulogies. He was a hawk

with white feathered legs. She had the quiet ribs

of a salamander crossing the old pony post road.

Yours is the name the leaves chatter

at the edge of the unrabbited woods.

thats how strong my love is

2011-10-19T18:23:00.000-04:00

THE FIRST DREAM // BILLY COLLINS

2011-10-19T18:17:00.000-04:00


The wind is ghosting around the house tonight and as I lean against the door of sleep I begin to think about the first person to dream, how quiet he must have seemed the next morning  as the others stood around the fire draped in the skins of animals talking to each other only in vowels, for this was long before the invention of consonants.  He might have gone off by himself to sit on a rock and look into the mist of a lake as he tried to tell himself what had happened, how he had gone somewhere without going,  how he had put his arms around the neck of a beast that the others could touch only after they had killed it with stones, how he felt its breath on his bare neck.  Then again, the first dream could have come to a woman, though she would behave, I suppose, much the same way, moving off by herself to be alone near water,  except that the curve of her young shoulders and the tilt of her downcast head would make her appear to be terribly alone, and if you were there to notice this,  you might have gone down as the first person to ever fall in love with the sadness of another.



THE FIRST DREAM
BILLY COLLINS

10/5

2011-10-05T07:28:00.001-04:00

A leaf fluttered in through the window this morning, as if supported by the rays of the sun, a bird settled on the fire escape, joy in the task of coffee, joy accompanied me as I walked.

anais nin

coney island

2011-10-05T07:22:00.001-04:00

first time ever

TAX THE RICH

2011-10-02T19:14:00.006-04:00

WALL STREET PROTEST
NEW YORK CITY
SEPTEMBER 23. 2011

september 2011

2011-10-02T19:11:00.000-04:00

SEPTEMBER 2011

2011-09-19T17:29:00.001-04:00

geoffrey biddle

2011-09-19T17:20:00.000-04:00

2011-09-19T17:19:00.000-04:00

+

2011-09-19T17:17:00.001-04:00

photo by fred askew

love poem # 3

2011-09-19T17:14:00.000-04:00

love poem #3

1 i will put a bee under your bed 

2 every day for a year 

 3 so you do not perceive the increase  

4 of bees under your bed  

5 and become unconsciously accustomed to their activity 

 6 which at its culmination  a. (364 bees)  

7 will be substantial  

8 you will lay down over a large, undulating field  9 of meticulous noise  a. their dark purr will comfort you  b. you will require their delicate sludge to sleep  

10 until i sneak  a. secretly  

11 into your bed  

12 and take away the bees  

13 then you will sense a disturbance in your slumber  a. the solitude of the night will pierce your mind  like a piercing mind-knife of solitude  

14 and you will cry and sweat  

15 and produce other sad fluids in the night  

16 and roam the earth in distress  

17 until,  a. one day  

18 we finally meet  

19 and i say  

20 i am the man you’ve been searching for  

21 all your life  

22 and you say who the hell do you think you are  a. you are distressed, i forgive you  

23 and i say 

 24 i’m the man  

25 with all the bees under his bed

James Schiller

2011-09-19T17:10:00.002-04:00

2011-09-19T17:10:00.001-04:00

Because, because, and because. You
turned around to stare at me and I waved
back: I love you too. What an education:
poetry always demands all my ghosts.

2011-09-07T20:22:00.000-04:00

From this angle you’ve a rooster on your shoulder
A blue, cotton-polyester-blend sea, cocksure
At necktide, and my chest is a rookery
I’m all aflutter over your ears I’m sure are windows to something
Dark and beyond comprehending
I stub my toe. I bleed for months
It can get so foggy in our bathroom. Sometimes
I think we must be very old souls, or else very young ones
You were very young when you planted that sapling in my ribcage
Now its roots are so well-integrated
They’re indistinguishable from my nervous system
And I drink with my feet, now
Wish desperately that you would hang a tire swing from my arm
And in my left buttcheek carve the initials
Of some young, beautiful-in-love people inside a heart
So that I could not verify but have to trust you that they were there
Across plus signs from one another
From this angle your forehead is large and reflective
And your body looks so far away
Which makes me think that we are very very medium-aged
Souls, or very tall children, or else ghosts
Of very tall children

CAMERA LUCIDA Joshua Diamond

2011-09-07T20:01:00.000-04:00

WHAT YOU ARE NOW HOLDS TRUTH

THERE IS BEAUTY IN THAT FORM

hooolllyyyy shit

2011-09-07T19:55:00.000-04:00

Wooden Wand - Motel Stationary by FIRE RECORDS

2011-09-07T19:53:00.000-04:00

2011-09-07T19:52:00.003-04:00

The quest of man

In an open field it doesn’t exist

You presented yourself, a cave

How can I not enter?

2011-09-07T19:52:00.002-04:00

i want a house

2011-09-03T17:26:00.003-04:00

you can paint it any color you like

just as long as i can live with you

alton ellis... killing it.

2011-09-03T17:14:00.000-04:00

1500

2011-09-03T17:12:00.002-04:00

Detail from Garden of Earthly Delights - Hieronymus Bosch, c. 1500

PHRASES.

2011-08-31T13:19:00.003-04:00

this is for you, love

love

once the world has been reduced to a single dark wood for our four astonished eyes, and a beach for two loyal children, and to a musical house for our clear sympathy... ill find you.

when theres nothing on earth but a single old man, calm and handsome, surrounded by unheard-of luxury... ill kneel down and worship you.

when ive realized all your memories, when i am she who knows how to garrotte you... ill smother you.

when were very strong, whose backing down? very merry, who collapsed in ridicule? when were very nasty, what would they do with us?

adorn yourselves, dance, laugh... ill never be able to throw love out the window.

my friend, beggar girl, monstrous child, how little it all matters to you, these unhappy woman and these machination and my embarrassment.

fasten yourself to us with your impossible voices, your voice! sole flatterer of this vile despair.

RIMBAUD

SARAH

2011-08-31T13:17:00.000-04:00

SARAH

MONTAUK NEW YORK // JUNE 2011

IN THE MIRROR

2011-08-31T13:15:00.001-04:00

FORT TILTON NEW YORK // JUNE 2011

TO A REASON

2011-08-31T13:12:00.002-04:00

a tap of your finger on the drum releases all sounds and initiates the new harmony.

a step of yours is the conscription of the new men and their matching orders.

you look away: the new love!

you book back: the new love!

change our fates, shoot down the plagues, beginning with time, the children sing to you.

build wherever you can the substance of our fortunes and our wishes, they beg you.

arriving from always, you'll go away everywhere.

RIMBAUD

PAINTS

2011-08-31T13:11:00.000-04:00

KEVIN FARLEY AT HOWL

2011-08-31T13:10:00.000-04:00

HOWL FESTIVAL 2011

FRAGMENTS OF FOLIO 12.

2011-08-31T13:06:00.002-04:00

an overcast morning in july. a taste of ashes floating in the air, a smell of wood sweating in the fireplace, flowing steeping, walks spoiled, fine drizzle of the canals in the fields, why then no toys and incense yet?

i stretched ropes from steeple to steeple, garlands from window to window, gold chains from star to star, and i dance.

the high pool is always steaming. what witch will rise up on the white sunset? what purple foliage will descend?

while public funds flow into fraternal holidays, a cloak of pink fire strikes the clouds.

stirring up a pleasant taste of india ink, a black powder rains gently down on my sleepless night. i lower the gaslight, i throw myself onto the bed, and turning toward the dark, i see you, my daughters! my queens!

RIMBAUD

BEN AND HIS GIRLFRIEND

2011-08-31T13:04:00.001-04:00

MY FRIEND BEN AND HIS GIRLFRIEND

NEW YORK CITY // JUNE 2011

YOUTH // SUNDAY

2011-08-31T12:56:00.002-04:00

once we put our calculations aside the inevietable descet of the sky and visiting memories and the seance of rhythms occupy the home, the head and the world of the mind.

stung by the carbonic plague a horse is off and running on suburban turf, bordering cultivated fields and tree farms. somewhere in the world a distraught woman in a melodrama sighs over unlikely desertions. desperation does yearn for the storm, drunkenness and wounds. children choke back curses along the riverbanks. lets resume studying amid the clamor of the devouring task that is once more forming and rising up among the masses.

RIMBAUD

TWO PORTRAITS OF MY FRIEND AND HER DAUGHTER

2011-08-31T12:54:00.001-04:00

JENNIFER AND HER DAUGHTER, SUMMER

NEW YORK CITY // MAY 2011

SEASCAPE

2011-08-31T12:52:00.002-04:00

silver and copper chariots

steel and silver ships bows

hammer the foam

heave up stumps of brambles

the currents of the heath

and the huge ruts of the ebb tide

swirl toward the east

toward the pillars of the forest

toward the timbers of the pier

whose angle is struck whirlpools of light

RIMBAUD

2011-08-31T12:50:00.001-04:00

JUNE 2011 // MONTAUK

almost fall

2011-08-26T12:59:00.000-04:00

last fall 2010

a photo of me and my sister ally, circa 2006.

2011-08-26T12:58:00.000-04:00

oh hell yeah.

2011-08-26T12:57:00.001-04:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dljqOxgQa3Y

stunning

2011-08-20T18:11:00.001-04:00

R & R

The curve of her hip where I’d lay my head,
that’s what I’m thinking of now, her fingers
gone slow through my hair on a blue day
ten thousand miles off in the future somewhere,
where the beer is so cold it sweats in your hand,
cool as her kissing you with crushed ice,
her tongue wet with blackberry and melon.

That what I’m thinking of now.
Because I’m all out of adrenaline,
all out of smoking incendiaries.

Somewhere deep in the landscape of the brain,
under the skull’s blue curving dome—
that’s where I am now, swaying
in a hammock by the water’s edge
as soldiers laugh and play volleyball
just down the beach, while others tan
and talk with the nurses who bring pills
to help them sleep. And if this is crazy,
then let this be my sanatorium,
let the doctors walk among us here
marking their charts as they will.

I have a lover with hair that falls
like autumn leaves on my skin.
Water that rolls in smooth and cool
as anesthesia. Birds that carry
all my bullets into the barrel of the sun.

Brian Turner

2011-08-20T18:00:00.000-04:00

2011-08-20T17:59:00.000-04:00

“Conformity is the jailer of freedom and the enemy of growth.”

JFK

2011-08-16T18:23:00.001-04:00

oh darlin, how contrary

a-hum

2011-08-16T18:22:00.001-04:00

jon levitt

2011-08-16T18:16:00.002-04:00

jon levitt has some incredible photographs

beautifully inspiring.

thanks jon.

the kiss.

2011-08-13T21:43:00.000-04:00

The Kiss

My breasts are small and my eyes round.
Your legs long and cool as the freshet
that runs down from the fountain.
I bite your neck,
it’s sturdy, still not yet ripe,
like a walnut that has just now fallen.
You clamber on top, start kissing my middle,
strew wet wavelets all over my skin,
now up here, now down there,
like the first fat drops to fall before
the storm starts, splat, splat, splat.

We’ve gone to sleep back to chest,
the way lips rejoin
after sighing.

Kirmen Uribe

writing with both hands

2011-08-13T21:40:00.000-04:00

Alighiero e Boetti, Writing with Both Hands, 1970, Photo by Paulo Mussat Sartor

to have and to hold

2011-08-13T21:38:00.003-04:00

a mountain

a little house

a garden

a line for clothes

a man to love

children in the yard

2011-08-13T21:36:00.001-04:00

"I tell my piano the things I used to tell you."

Frédéric Chopin

THE LITANY OF DISPARAGEMENT

2011-08-13T21:27:00.000-04:00

The Litany of Disparagement, Dick Allen

I drove, but I didn’t turn.
I spoke, but I didn’t learn.
I warmed, but I didn’t burn.
Pray for me now and then.

Cards held too close to my chest,
I loved the roads running west,
Old shoes and a leather vest.
Pray for me now and then.

I never reached my floodmark.
The dog is a distant bark.
The tunnel whirls in the dark.
Pray for me now and then.

The nurse bends low over me.
With hands and skeleton key,
She opens Death’s mystery.
Pray for me now and then.

Pray, for the willows must shake.
Ripples must die in the lake.
I am the life I forsake.
Pray for me now and then.

UPDATE

2011-08-13T21:25:00.003-04:00

CURRENTLY MY COMPUTER IS NOT ACCEPTING DISKS AND

I AM ONLY PRINTING MY PHOTOS.

LOTS OF NEW PHOTOS TO COME

LOVE // LOVE

the shipfitters wife

2011-08-13T21:03:00.000-04:00

I loved him most
when he came home from work,
his fingers still curled from fitting pipe,
his denim shirt ringed with sweat
and smelling of salt, the drying weeds
of the ocean. I’d go to where he sat
on the edge of the bed, his forehead
anointed with grease, his cracked hands
jammed between his thighs, and unlace
the steel-toed boots, stroke his ankles
and calves, the pads and bones of his feet.
Then I’d open his clothes and take
the whole day inside me — the ship’s
gray sides, the miles of copper pipe,
the voice of the foreman clanging
off the hull’s silver ribs. Spark of lead
kissing metal. The clamp, the winch,
the white fire of the torch, the whistle,
and the long drive home.

Dorianne Laux

men with the heads of eagles

2011-08-13T21:01:00.000-04:00

holy shit this rocked my insides

Margaret Atwood, “Men with the Heads of Eagles”

All these I could create, manufacture,
or find easily: they swoop and thunder
around this island, common as flies,
sparks flashing, bumping into each other,

on hot days you can watch them
as they melt, come apart,
fall into the ocean
like sick gulls, dethronements, plane crashes.

I search instead for the others,
the ones left over,
the ones who have escaped from these
mythologies with barely their lives;
they have real faces and hands, they think
of themselves as
wrong somehow, they would rather be trees.

ribbon lighting

2011-08-13T21:00:00.000-04:00

2011-08-13T20:59:00.001-04:00

Defining the Problem by Wendy Cope

I can’t forgive you. Even if I could,
You wouldn’t pardon me for seeing through you.
And yet I cannot cure myself of love
For what I thought you were before I knew you.

2011-08-13T20:58:00.001-04:00

"You still don’t understand? Throw the emptiness in
your arms out into that space we breathe; maybe birds
will feel the air thinning as they fly deeper into themselves."

Rainer Maria Rilke, from “The First Elegy

raspberries

2011-08-13T20:56:00.000-04:00

Kate Clanchy: Raspberries

The way we can’t remember heat, forget
the sweat and how we wore a weightless
shirt on chafing skin, the way we lose
the taste of raspberries, each winter; but

know at once, come sharp July, the vein
burning in the curtain, and from that light
- the block of sun on hot crushed sheets -
the blazing world we’ll walk in,

was how it was, your touch. Nor the rest,
not how we left, the drunkenness, just
your half-stifled, clumsy, frightened reach,
my uncurled hand, our fingers, meshed,

-like the first dazzled flinch from heat
or between the teeth, pips, a metal taste.

sleepin mud baby

2011-08-10T17:38:00.001-04:00

2011-08-10T17:25:00.001-04:00

baby I'm a pool girl but I don't worry about it none

2011-08-06T19:00:00.002-04:00

life is beautiful.

2011-08-06T18:59:00.001-04:00

work to beach to work to beach to home to beach to home to sleep to beach to sleep

2011-08-06T18:58:00.001-04:00

mozarts magical flute

2011-08-06T18:56:00.002-04:00

stage set design for mozart’s magic flute by german architect and painter Karl Friedrich Schinkel.
1815

thou.

2011-08-03T19:09:00.001-04:00

The question I am left with is the question of her loneliness.

And I prefer to put it off.

It is morning.

Astonished light is washing over the moor from north to east.

I am walking into the light.

One way to put off loneliness is to interpose God.

excerpt from THOU by ANN CARSON

smart man

2011-08-03T19:02:00.001-04:00

rilke. brilliant.

2011-08-03T18:53:00.003-04:00

There is probably no point in my going into your questions now; for what I could say about your tendency to doubt or about your inability to bring your outer and inner lives into harmony or about all the other thing that oppress you - : is just what I have already said: just the wish that you may find in yourself enough patience to endure and enough simplicity to have faith; that you may gain more and more confidence in what is difficult and in your solitude among other people. And as for the rest, let life happen to you. Believe me: life is in the right, always.

i really wanna play some basketball. someone, please come try to beat me, but fail miserably

2011-08-03T18:48:00.000-04:00

jesus christ fuck yes

2011-08-03T18:47:00.000-04:00

2011-08-03T18:38:00.001-04:00

"We’re all susceptible to it, the dread and anxiety of not knowing what’s coming. It’s pointless in the end, because all the worrying and the making of plans for things that could or could not happen, it only makes things worse. So walk your dog or take a nap. Just whatever you do, stop worrying. Because the only cure for paranoia is to be here, just as you are."

Meredith Grey

Rengim Mutevellioglu

2011-08-03T18:29:00.002-04:00

I am insanely inspired by Photographer Rengim Mutevellioglu

who documented an isolated turkish community that was originally sent to live in

Kirghistan and Kazakhstan during Stalin’s reign.

Some really beautiful stuff.

petit chaton

2011-08-01T16:55:00.001-04:00

viens ici petit chaton

THIS IS ME.

2011-08-01T01:38:00.002-04:00

DEAR BLOG READER FRIENDS FAMILY LOVERS

I AM UNDER GOING MANY CHANGES.

INSIDE OUTSIDE THIS WAY THAT WAY

EVERY WAY.

I AM EXPLORING ULTIMATE OPENNESS AND CONNECTIVITY WITH THE WORLD.

EMBRACING CHANGE IN A NEW WAY.

A WAY THAT IS REVERENTLY HONEST BOLD TRUE AND STRAIGHT.

MY BLOG IS AN EXTENSION OF ME, THEREFORE YOU WILL BE EXPERIENCING IT BY CONTINUING TO EXPLORE INTO ME AS YOU ARE BY BEING A PART OF THIS ENDEAVOR.

THIS IS YOUR CHOICE.

AND THIS IS MY CHOICE.

I HOPE WE ALL STRIVE TO REACH A LEVEL OF UNDERSTANDING AND TRUTH AND LOVE THAT

OUTSTRETCHES JUDGMENT AND PERSONAL FEARS.

IM PUTTING EVERYTHING I WANT UP.

WRITINGS PHOTOS ART MUSIC INSPIRATION, AND

I HOPE YOU LIKE IT.

IF NOT, DONT LOOK.

THIS IS ME.

WELCOME

I LOVE YOU ALL

LOVE LOVE

SUPER LOVE

SUMMER

secrets

2011-08-01T01:33:00.000-04:00

where you are

2011-08-01T01:31:00.001-04:00

I THINK THE REAL TRICK IS TO FIND OUT WHERE YOU ARE WITHOUT EXCUSING WHERE YOU ARE. LEAVING YOURSELF OPEN TO THE FACT THAT, YOU MIGHT BECOME BETTER THAN YOU ARE.

DAVID MCREYNOLDS 1969

july 31

2011-08-01T01:25:00.003-04:00

MY MOTHER WAS BORN TODAY.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOTHER.

WHEREVER YOU ARE.

2011-08-01T01:24:00.002-04:00

LOVE FEARLESSLY

jungle cat, baby

2011-08-01T00:52:00.004-04:00

i am spending the night in boys boxers breast out

as my momma would always say... "they just jealous baby girl...one day youll understand"

wringing my hips and turning in my thighs to athena and donna like some primitive jungle cat woman

smiley eyed smiley faced tip toed cat woman

bright pink lp movin and groovin around my table, nag-champa swirling in the night air and a rose pink bandana doin its best to keep this mane of hair contained while i drop my head to my chest and shift my shoulders around draggin my long arms up by my face belly twistin the fears away

im a jungle cat, baby

my body is hot heated steaming boiling my inside guts right away... im swingin around just to cool me off.

my heart is beatin like an atom bomb

my mind is reeling like speed devil dealer dealin a deck of vegas cards

squirmin and wormin all ballerina sex cat my mouth my heart my limbs my toes my belly

three billion light years away to some other nebulous planet that looks the way pink floyd sounds

7/31

thanks, bob

2011-07-30T18:49:00.000-04:00

“Let’s face it, you’re either serious about what you’re doing or you’re not serious about what you’re doing. And you can’t mix the two. And life is short.” -dylan

I WAS NEVER YOUNG

2.8.2012

the predominant thought for the day

LOVE, WERE GOING HOME NOW.

those who love.

fox.

from it and was anew at that time

lemuels blessing

JOEL MEYEROWITZ

+ +

this, today

TAXI LUNCH

the way back

john cale // 12.1.2011

11.14.2011

10.19.2011

GOODNIGHT // LI-YOUNG LEE

dear one absent thsi long while // lisa olstein

thats how strong my love is

THE FIRST DREAM // BILLY COLLINS

10/5

coney island

TAX THE RICH

september 2011

geoffrey biddle

+

love poem # 3

hooolllyyyy shit

i want a house

alton ellis... killing it.

1500

PHRASES.

SARAH

IN THE MIRROR

TO A REASON

PAINTS

KEVIN FARLEY AT HOWL

FRAGMENTS OF FOLIO 12.

BEN AND HIS GIRLFRIEND

YOUTH // SUNDAY

TWO PORTRAITS OF MY FRIEND AND HER DAUGHTER

SEASCAPE

almost fall

a photo of me and my sister ally, circa 2006.

oh hell yeah.

stunning

R & R

“Conformity is the jailer of freedom and the enemy of growth.”

a-hum

jon levitt

the kiss.

The Kiss

writing with both hands

to have and to hold

"I tell my piano the things I used to tell you."

THE LITANY OF DISPARAGEMENT

The Litany of Disparagement, Dick Allen

UPDATE

the shipfitters wife

men with the heads of eagles

Margaret Atwood, “Men with the Heads of Eagles”

ribbon lighting

Defining the Problem by Wendy Cope

"You still don’t understand? Throw the emptiness in your arms out into that space we breathe; maybe birds will feel the air thinning as they fly deeper into themselves."

raspberries

Kate Clanchy: Raspberries

sleepin mud baby

life is beautiful.

mozarts magical flute

thou.

smart man

rilke. brilliant.

i really wanna play some basketball. someone, please come try to beat me, but fail miserably

jesus christ fuck yes

Rengim Mutevellioglu

petit chaton

THIS IS ME.

secrets

where you are

july 31

"You still don’t understand? Throw the emptiness in
your arms out into that space we breathe; maybe birds
will feel the air thinning as they fly deeper into themselves."