The rules are posted: only the toughest
habiliments, the superego
of raiment can take such agitation.
And only the poor are invited to endure
the sneezy powders and clean resentment.

digital nikon still broken,

at least it gives me time to update from the past.

silver linings and all that.

but progress is being made, today the l.c.d. screen flickered at me. woo.

oh the heat, oh the rain, wait- does savannah have a monsoon season? 

a garden grows in the hood.

burritos again, bestiality, upwords.

my dig camera short circuited today. 

 fuck. 

seriously? this shit really happens? 

and last week my 35 lens decided to stop staying attached.

(oh, and the economy is failing and i can't find a job.)

fuck.

man,

fuck it.

playing art, eating burritos, and brainstorming pizza toppings...

With both hands snap the fetters you made with your own heart chords;
Take to your breast with a smile what is easy and simple and near.
Today is the festival of phantoms that know not when they die.
Let your laughter flush in meaningless mirth like twinkles of light on the ripples;
Let your life lightly dance on the verge of Time like a dew on the tip of a leaf.
Strike in the chords of your harp the fitful murmurs of moments.

savannah on fire

Sing the song of the moment in careless carols, in the transient light of the day;
Sing of the fleeting smiles that vanish and never look back;
Sing of the flowers that bloom and fade without regret.
Weave not in memory’s thread the days that would glide into nights.
To the guests that must go bid God-speed, and wipe away all traces of their steps.
Let the moments end in moments with their cargo of fugitive songs.

so, i'm grateful for the 4 hours a day it's dangerous to be outside,

it gives me much time to read and read and read.

i take books as lovers and cannot inhabit the real world until our affairs are over.

just finished divisadero by michael ondaatje; a quiet but forceful book, it tore me open and

 sewed me back up by the end; a supremely satisfying read if you're into good books.

now an excerpt from a rainy day past, its def not any close to this weather now- but it's nice to remember

beautiful day to be at the beach here in savannah, 

but where am i going the spend the next 12 hours?

oh yeah, in the inkjet printing lab staring at a computer.

not quite the same as being outside...

I should have begun with this: the sky.

A window minus sill, frame, and panes.

An aperture, nothing more,

but wide open.

california

i dreamed i drank an arrow shirt
and stole a broken
pail

...but we live by the grace of the simple fact that our bodies take good care of us.  It's in this sense that I tell students that they have to be able to trust themselves.  What we all have to do is to use this bodily wisdom, staying close to the kinds of processes and ideas and emotional anchors that are most appropriate to our feelings, to ourselves.  You can't evade your ideas, which are precious to us, but micromanaging our ideas can be as much of a hinderance as they are a great help. 

... When we are young we are self conscious, we think about what people think about us.  As artists, the more we think about our audience and what we are trying to present, the less, perhaps, we are in touch with the physicality of the experience, the particulars, the minute details of our experience.  

Emmet Gowin, talking to John Paul Caponigro

You wanted happiness, I can't blame you for that,
and maybe a mouth sounds idiotic when it blathers on about joy
but tell me
you love this, tell me you're not miserable.

P.S.

I close my eyes and see 

a seagull in the desert,

high, against an unbearably blue sky.

There is hope in the past.

I'm writing to you

all the time,  I am writing

with both hands,

day and night.

What made me cover that which I could not have?

I’ve felt undeserving. In this bright land

that changes from yellow to green and back to yellow,

I remember seasons, things I bring with me from far away

and things that hold their breath as if for shame.

Carol Frost, from Matins

ps: look what i found through the magic of the internet. nothing ever goes away it just floats around forever in the goo of the web... uhm, 2006? maybe?

Sackdresses dyed the sun

as sun passed through, making a brash stained glass

against the leading of the tenements,

the warehouse holding medical supplies.

I waited for my bus by that window of trusses

in Caucasian beige, trying to forget

the pathological inside.

I was thinking of being alive.

Alice Fulton, from Industrial Lace