hello america & friends,
this year's holiday hopes are dashed on the rocks of cheapness and poison foreign milk. but, you can still buy american and float on the curds & whey of change.
that's right laydees & gennelmen, this year i'm selling things i've made with my own two hands on the livingroom floor to the sounds of running water and frolicking felines. sometimes i use a table.
you can contribute to the cats' food & my newly blossoming rubber stamp habit. (wow are rubber stamps awesome)
i've made an etsy shoppe: http://oilcanpress.etsy.com/
but what? what could it be?
boxes. containers. the empty within.
i've lately been covering empty cigar boxes with pages from the encyclopedia britannica (ca. 1880). these wooden boxes are ideal for keeping yr notecards in, or your toy soldiers, seashells, stones & acorns. jewels, jujubes & typewriter ribbons.
and, billy-be-damned, they're purty.
also, in existence to be acquired: BOOKS
2 books of poetry by edgar oliver with art by a variety of brigandly bohemians.
'SUMMER'
&
'a portrait of new york by a wanderer there'
aaaaand, 'ursus horribilis or ernest & the demon bear' a poem & art by me. with additional art by jeff burns.
custom colors or concepts for boxes are gladly solicited. if you want sevral boxes a bundle can be composed and price reductions instituted.
it's art. it's vaguely useful. it's for you.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Saturday, November 8, 2008
easter island
Windblown grassland and rockiness are the portrait of the sad, grey & dreary tropical isle worn thin. A tribe of natives wear reed and grassen outfits in bird motifs adorned with shiny seashells and feathers. They are the Birdman cult; subscribers to the dominant belief system of Rapa Nui. Wherein control over the council of tribal chiefs is determined by a race/competition.
All the Birdmen gather in the sacred ceremonial village of Orongo among many carvings and paintings of stone illustrating the Birdman motif and wholly representing religiosity.
Each chief chooses a representative Hopu to climb down the cliffs of Orongo to swim the channel to the tiny isle of Boko Maru with the aid of a reed bundle floatie. The waters between the main island and its smaller wristbone-shaped counterpart absolutely teem with sharks.
The contestants who survive the swim and get to the island must gather the first egg of the Manutara (or sooty tern) and return the way they came with egg un-broken in a little reed basket tied round the neck. Some hide out in caves for days to wait for the bird to lay down an egg that serves as a sacred offering after precarious transport. That white and speckled oblate spheroid in a seabird’s nest lies in play. Is a fresh-laid egg softer at first?
The victor presents the unbroke egg to his chief and the chief is the Birdman for the year. Hard to tell why the guy who actually performed the feat isn't the one in charge. Hard to tell if it’s the first egg.
The island of Rapa Nui is nearly completely deforested. The ecosystem is tight. Two kinds of trees are extinct. There are a few small imported coconut palms, some bushes and the final native tree species. A palm protected by a small outlandish cult of savage conservationists.
Other smaller things, less important to me and you, (because trees are important to us right?) have gone extinct on this tiny remote rocky island. Bushes, birds and lizards. Grass, moss and worms.
There are Moai, mountainous monumaniacal monolithic monuments to man, in all directions. A thousand or more. Perhaps forty percent have been toppled in tribal skirmishes. Things so sacred become so quickly toppleable.
The ancient originator of the art of shaping tuff, the stone of compacted volcanic ash, askt his friend’s opinion on the first crude Moai sculpture. After sleeping on it the friend answered ‘make it look like a man, man.’
So, the style of Moai carving progressed to become more familiar.
The Buddha askt his likenesses not be in his likeness. So he is oft-portrayed portly to signify his spiritual wealth; as the rich are known to match the fatted calf of excess.
Many Moai are decorated and painted with a variety of natural pigments: powdered corals, rat blood, guano, roots.
Flaming Moai: wasteful decor.
Most of the island's resources were spent on the construction and transportation of this enormous ignematic statuary. But they sure dress up nice.
A band of rat-killers clad in ratskins shoddily sewn together with ratgut pass nearby the large Birdman outing. Their hats resemble ratheads. What might be the brainpan of the rathead is a secret chamber wherein lie the seeds of the island's few remaining palm trees. The rats find these palm nuts an exquisite delicacy. So exquisite it drew the rats to migrate thousands of Polynesian miles by sea when they got the bulletin in the rodent trade journals.
All the Birdmen gather in the sacred ceremonial village of Orongo among many carvings and paintings of stone illustrating the Birdman motif and wholly representing religiosity.
Each chief chooses a representative Hopu to climb down the cliffs of Orongo to swim the channel to the tiny isle of Boko Maru with the aid of a reed bundle floatie. The waters between the main island and its smaller wristbone-shaped counterpart absolutely teem with sharks.
The contestants who survive the swim and get to the island must gather the first egg of the Manutara (or sooty tern) and return the way they came with egg un-broken in a little reed basket tied round the neck. Some hide out in caves for days to wait for the bird to lay down an egg that serves as a sacred offering after precarious transport. That white and speckled oblate spheroid in a seabird’s nest lies in play. Is a fresh-laid egg softer at first?
The victor presents the unbroke egg to his chief and the chief is the Birdman for the year. Hard to tell why the guy who actually performed the feat isn't the one in charge. Hard to tell if it’s the first egg.
The island of Rapa Nui is nearly completely deforested. The ecosystem is tight. Two kinds of trees are extinct. There are a few small imported coconut palms, some bushes and the final native tree species. A palm protected by a small outlandish cult of savage conservationists.
Other smaller things, less important to me and you, (because trees are important to us right?) have gone extinct on this tiny remote rocky island. Bushes, birds and lizards. Grass, moss and worms.
There are Moai, mountainous monumaniacal monolithic monuments to man, in all directions. A thousand or more. Perhaps forty percent have been toppled in tribal skirmishes. Things so sacred become so quickly toppleable.
The ancient originator of the art of shaping tuff, the stone of compacted volcanic ash, askt his friend’s opinion on the first crude Moai sculpture. After sleeping on it the friend answered ‘make it look like a man, man.’
So, the style of Moai carving progressed to become more familiar.
The Buddha askt his likenesses not be in his likeness. So he is oft-portrayed portly to signify his spiritual wealth; as the rich are known to match the fatted calf of excess.
Many Moai are decorated and painted with a variety of natural pigments: powdered corals, rat blood, guano, roots.
Flaming Moai: wasteful decor.
Most of the island's resources were spent on the construction and transportation of this enormous ignematic statuary. But they sure dress up nice.
A band of rat-killers clad in ratskins shoddily sewn together with ratgut pass nearby the large Birdman outing. Their hats resemble ratheads. What might be the brainpan of the rathead is a secret chamber wherein lie the seeds of the island's few remaining palm trees. The rats find these palm nuts an exquisite delicacy. So exquisite it drew the rats to migrate thousands of Polynesian miles by sea when they got the bulletin in the rodent trade journals.
The Launch:
They are loaded into a spacebus with nice lines strapped onto one of the largest things that moves; oh, most certainly the largest thing that flies. And oh how it flings these things with rocket boosters. And all of this rests on the biggest thing that moves on land: The shuttle crawler. The moving platform with multistory tanktracks and a maximum speed of not even a handful of miles per hour. Whereas the shuttle ends up being the fastest thing made by man. Ever. And there’s somebody inside.
Astronauts wear pressurized suits primarily for comfort in exit and entry. The comfort of survival. These highly stressful things, getting into and out of the gravity well, the atmosphere, are the most difficult and dangerous operations of any spaceflight.
Science as adventure. As in sitting in a hard uncomfortable squeeaky chair in a cold drafty library where you are constantly shushed for the squeaks and it’s too damn cold to sit on the floor. As in remembering to write everything down. As in empirical measurement.
As in imagining how that fossil lived and drawing a picture of it. If a skeleton is a sketch like that of a fish in stone. An idea of what would be there were the meat not missing.
Science as adventure. As in riding the fastest vehicle to the highest heights. As in, outside the atmosphere.
Astronauts wear pressurized suits primarily for comfort in exit and entry. The comfort of survival. These highly stressful things, getting into and out of the gravity well, the atmosphere, are the most difficult and dangerous operations of any spaceflight.
Science as adventure. As in sitting in a hard uncomfortable squeeaky chair in a cold drafty library where you are constantly shushed for the squeaks and it’s too damn cold to sit on the floor. As in remembering to write everything down. As in empirical measurement.
As in imagining how that fossil lived and drawing a picture of it. If a skeleton is a sketch like that of a fish in stone. An idea of what would be there were the meat not missing.
Science as adventure. As in riding the fastest vehicle to the highest heights. As in, outside the atmosphere.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
a cosmic interview: art in the void
the spaced shuttle
or a void in need of a brain
These climbers of Zero G ladders through nothingness to nothing. In the great blackness they come up against too much wonder. Too little earth to compensate for how much nothing they've seen.
Not much wind in the void. Not much air. Not much time to measure in nothing. It bends like light past mysterious supermasses.
So little to get in your way in the void. Nothing moves at a crawl til there's gravity and friction.
-Here we are with renowned Cosmonaut Viktor ... umm... I dont think I can say your last name on television without a fine from the FCC. Viktor, like certain Spacemen before him has turned to art as well as science to explain the universe.
Cosmonaut: You must think bigger to maintain your human strength in zero gravity. You move and imagine much larger things breaking down psychical cobwebs and expanding the breadth of your movements. To justify these large earthly muscles and bones. You become more attuned to gravity. Where do you think angels came from? They lived in the void before there was a firmament or any kind of separations.
-How does this relate to your art Mr. Cosmonaut?
Cosmonaut: It is all drawn from larger thinking. The larger being of the void. The great big bigness.
-I'm sure it makes more sense in Russian.
Cosmonaut: I doubt it. Only Pushkin & Mayakovsky make any sense in Russian.
-Why do you use space junk?
Cosmonaut: I can't seem to get my hands on a comet.
-Really?
Cosmonaut: Also, I am a very firm believer in recycling… repurposing. Space junk is special to me. I am so close to it. Closer than but the tiniest percent of a percentile of all humanity. It really is a great sensation to make art of things discarded. So expensively transported to space and flung aside to spin in irregular orbits.
-Is it dangerous?
Cosmonaut: Is what dangerous?
-Is sculpting space junk dangerous?
Cosmonaut: Of course it is. Spacewalking hour after hour with tools and adhesives.
-Could it be dangerous to others?
Cosmonaut: Others? No. Never. If something has a descending orbit it eventually falls out of; it burns, burns up in the atmosphere. A flicker in the heavenly host. A falling star. A meteor.
-so, yr a romantic?
Cosmonaut: No, I am a pragmatist. The great ancient slavistanian poet padbunnyghozin said many unintelligible things about love, perky and ponderous breasts and the heavens. Most importantly, stars, he said, are best viewed from the field of numbers. The meadow of mathematics. The orchard of ordinates. The grove of geometry. Lest you climb the spiral ladder into the void.
-Wow. I wonder if that's better in Russian.
Cosmonaut: You should see it from up there. It comes from the original slavistani. It is no mere Russian.
-I’ve seen space in all the vids.
Cosmonaut: vids is not same. Is not entire cosmos whirling through infinity. It’s mere pickles. Ones and zeroes stacked nexto each other in endless briny barrels.
or a void in need of a brain
These climbers of Zero G ladders through nothingness to nothing. In the great blackness they come up against too much wonder. Too little earth to compensate for how much nothing they've seen.
Not much wind in the void. Not much air. Not much time to measure in nothing. It bends like light past mysterious supermasses.
So little to get in your way in the void. Nothing moves at a crawl til there's gravity and friction.
-Here we are with renowned Cosmonaut Viktor ... umm... I dont think I can say your last name on television without a fine from the FCC. Viktor, like certain Spacemen before him has turned to art as well as science to explain the universe.
Cosmonaut: You must think bigger to maintain your human strength in zero gravity. You move and imagine much larger things breaking down psychical cobwebs and expanding the breadth of your movements. To justify these large earthly muscles and bones. You become more attuned to gravity. Where do you think angels came from? They lived in the void before there was a firmament or any kind of separations.
-How does this relate to your art Mr. Cosmonaut?
Cosmonaut: It is all drawn from larger thinking. The larger being of the void. The great big bigness.
-I'm sure it makes more sense in Russian.
Cosmonaut: I doubt it. Only Pushkin & Mayakovsky make any sense in Russian.
-Why do you use space junk?
Cosmonaut: I can't seem to get my hands on a comet.
-Really?
Cosmonaut: Also, I am a very firm believer in recycling… repurposing. Space junk is special to me. I am so close to it. Closer than but the tiniest percent of a percentile of all humanity. It really is a great sensation to make art of things discarded. So expensively transported to space and flung aside to spin in irregular orbits.
-Is it dangerous?
Cosmonaut: Is what dangerous?
-Is sculpting space junk dangerous?
Cosmonaut: Of course it is. Spacewalking hour after hour with tools and adhesives.
-Could it be dangerous to others?
Cosmonaut: Others? No. Never. If something has a descending orbit it eventually falls out of; it burns, burns up in the atmosphere. A flicker in the heavenly host. A falling star. A meteor.
-so, yr a romantic?
Cosmonaut: No, I am a pragmatist. The great ancient slavistanian poet padbunnyghozin said many unintelligible things about love, perky and ponderous breasts and the heavens. Most importantly, stars, he said, are best viewed from the field of numbers. The meadow of mathematics. The orchard of ordinates. The grove of geometry. Lest you climb the spiral ladder into the void.
-Wow. I wonder if that's better in Russian.
Cosmonaut: You should see it from up there. It comes from the original slavistani. It is no mere Russian.
-I’ve seen space in all the vids.
Cosmonaut: vids is not same. Is not entire cosmos whirling through infinity. It’s mere pickles. Ones and zeroes stacked nexto each other in endless briny barrels.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
edgar oliver play: 'east 10th street: portrait with empty house'
East 10th Street: Self Portrait with Empty House
written and performed by Edgar Oliver
November 6 – 22, 2008
Thursday – Saturday at 8:00 pm
$15 Adults/$10 Students/Seniors
axiscompany.org
Axis Company presents EAST 10TH STREET: SELF PORTRAIT WITH EMPTY HOUSE, a new play by and about Downtown performance icon Edgar Oliver and directed by Randy Sharp. This look at a life on the fringes of New York's Lower East Side comes on the heels of what could be Oliver's breakthrough role in the upcoming film from Napoleon Dynamite's Jared Hess, Gentlemen Broncos (opposite Sam Rockwell), as well as a national advertising campaign for mobile phones in Ireland that has become a cult phenomenon.
In EAST 10TH STREET: SELF PORTRAIT WITH EMPTY HOUSE, long-standing, downtown theatre icon Edgar Oliver takes the audience on a fantastic voyage through the strange rooms of the apartment house where he has lived since his first years in New York. Inhabiting the dark, mysterious halls of an East Village tenement building are a dwarf Cabalist, a possible Nazi, the landlord's former wet nurse who apparently lives in a nest of rags, and many other memorable persons. Edgar leads the audience up to the final room, his own, at the top of the derelict stairs, wherein lie the secrets of his own family and the unbelievable odyssey that brought him there. This incredible cast of characters illuminate the sad, funny, brilliant and deeply personal story.
Georgia native Edgar Oliver started performing in New York at the Pyramid in the mid-1980's alongside artists including Hapi Phace, Kenbra Pfahler, Samoa and playwright Kestutis Nakas. As a playwright, many of Oliver's plays have been staged at La MaMa and other downtown NYC theatres, including The Seven Year Vacation, The Poetry Killer, Hands in Wartime, Motel Blue 19, and Mosquito Succulence. As a stage actor, he has performed in countless plays including Edward II with Cliplight Theater, Marc Palmieri's Carl the Second, Lipsynka's Dial M for Model, and numerous productions at Axis including A Glance at New York (Edinburgh Festival & NYC), Julius Caesar, USS Frankenstein, Hospital, and Seven in One Blow. Edgar is also one of the most beloved story tellers at The Moth. His film roles include That's Beautiful Frank, Henry May Long (directed by Axis' Randy Sharp) and Gentlemen Broncos. His published works include A Portrait of New York by a Wanderer There, Summer(published by oilcan press) and The Man Who Loved Plants (published by Panther Books).
The Launch:
The Launch:
Every mission is a remarkable feat. The orbiters carry remarkable persons and remarkable cargoes. Astronauts. Men and women who’ve worked harder and harder to experience the inestimable privilege of super-supersonic space adventurers: zealous dreamers, explorers, scientists & the adventure of reason.
Weightlessness. A look at the void, a view of earth from above, a look at the whole of it instead of one tiny parcel at a time. There it is spinning like an illustrated dinnerplate.
No one involved in a launch is a character, a specific individual; all parties are tiny cogs in a much larger automated process. Gears in an enormous cukoo clock.
The Space Shuttle, NASA's Earth Orbiter is getting old to be cutting edge technology but they keep getting to space & back. The Shuttles define High Technology with the most extensive research & the most rigorous testing. Some companies report having made no profit on Shuttle technology. Shuttles carry the largest payloads & the most people. The space shuttle is still the best thing to & from space. No matter how ye slice it. No trip to space is cheap.
Are we just supposed to wait for someone else to show up here from out there and we haven’t even been trying?
The tension is routine by now for the fastest humans. They go thru hundreds upon hundreds of checks, double-checks and triple-checks by rote. The routines must be followed to execute a successful liftoff. When things aren’t right: disaster.
Hate to be the result of human error. Poof.
The crew are strapped in their seats. The gantry is enormous beside the shuttle. Most of its aspects are disengaged just before launch: the nosecap that fills the giant orange tank and the footbridge the Astronauts cross to the orbiter.
Tiny men gobbled up by the enormous machine. The entire thing, crawler & shuttle assembly, is the largest thing that moves. The shuttle, tank and boosters are the largest thing that flies and the fastest. 4.5 million pounds at launch. Mach 26.
Tiny men inside the enormous machine. Tiny organisms in the great big mechanical bird. Veins and arteries of power, controls, nerve impulses. A skin composed of plates laid together. Bricks laid in rows like scales: armadillo, snake, horny toad, lizard, dragon, water bear; glued together with a mucosal mortar. Hold together bricks, scales, skin. Be armor. Hold together interlocking components of an exterior. Be Armor.
Once the nosecap and footbridge are free a deep rumble roars through the shuttle. The crew go through their routines. Each has a book of procedure that tells them when flips switches and recite statistics aloud.
The cockpit contains four Astronauts: Commander, Pilot, Flight Engineer & Mission Specialist. The mid-deck, below, holds three more Astronauts.
That enormous rumble. Total body rumble. Deep resonant earth-shaking rumble. Every iota of every Astronaut rattles like a million billion chimps in a million billion cages jumping up and down screaming and shaking the doors of their cages simultaneously.
The heartrates of astronauts skyrocket when the engines start.
The Space Transportation System consists two solid rocket boosters & the enormous orange External Fuel Tank, which fuels the Orbiter vehicle's main engines with liquid oxygen and liquid hydrogen.
The crew are rattled in their strapped-in seats. The engines all blow full fire for liftoff. The enormous cloud soon obscures the gantry & shuttle. Hundreds of thousands of gallons of water are sprayed allover the crawler and Mobile Launch Pad in less than a minute by the sound suppression system.
The Space Shuttle Main Engine nozzles gimbal to both steer & thrust during takeoff to confound gravity. The shuttle is off the ground. The largest thing that flies moving at hundreds of miles an hour at first to be far enough from the surface to go faster.
Once clear of the tower the shuttle performs a roll that places the orbiter toward the earth and the external tank and boosters toward orbit. The shuttle gains speed & as quickly loses weight as fuel is expended & it is able to go even faster.
Nary an Anvil Cloud for 600 miles in any direction. Got to have a clear clean day because of the enomous con-trail that could electrically connect the shuttle to the ground in the case of a lightning strike.
Two minutes into flight the solid rocket boosters are released via explosive bolts. The boosters deploy parachutes and fall safely to the Indian ocean where they are reclaimed. By this time the shuttle is moving many thousands of miles per hour. Not long after, when the liquid fuel is almost used up, the External Tank is released with its explosive bolts. The remaining fuel in the tank causes it to explode in the heat of reentry & rain smaller fragments on the Indian Ocean.
& they are largely there. They have crossed the highest height, leapt the greatest leap, stept the greatest step. Spaceflight. Broke free of the gravity well.
Out the windows of the shuttle Atlantis for this lady and gentlemen to see: Stars, all those shining things. Galaxies. Flashing passing meteors. Comets. Luminous gas clouds. Black nothingness. There’s a lot more nothing than there is something in the universe.
Turn away from the stars. The fars away. The blacks & whites. The inexplicable colors. The lack of twinkle for most lights.
Look at that dancing dinnerplate. Illustrated mesmerizing spinning disc. Look to home Astronauts. Our delicious apple of an earth.
Every mission is a remarkable feat. The orbiters carry remarkable persons and remarkable cargoes. Astronauts. Men and women who’ve worked harder and harder to experience the inestimable privilege of super-supersonic space adventurers: zealous dreamers, explorers, scientists & the adventure of reason.
Weightlessness. A look at the void, a view of earth from above, a look at the whole of it instead of one tiny parcel at a time. There it is spinning like an illustrated dinnerplate.
No one involved in a launch is a character, a specific individual; all parties are tiny cogs in a much larger automated process. Gears in an enormous cukoo clock.
The Space Shuttle, NASA's Earth Orbiter is getting old to be cutting edge technology but they keep getting to space & back. The Shuttles define High Technology with the most extensive research & the most rigorous testing. Some companies report having made no profit on Shuttle technology. Shuttles carry the largest payloads & the most people. The space shuttle is still the best thing to & from space. No matter how ye slice it. No trip to space is cheap.
Are we just supposed to wait for someone else to show up here from out there and we haven’t even been trying?
The tension is routine by now for the fastest humans. They go thru hundreds upon hundreds of checks, double-checks and triple-checks by rote. The routines must be followed to execute a successful liftoff. When things aren’t right: disaster.
Hate to be the result of human error. Poof.
The crew are strapped in their seats. The gantry is enormous beside the shuttle. Most of its aspects are disengaged just before launch: the nosecap that fills the giant orange tank and the footbridge the Astronauts cross to the orbiter.
Tiny men gobbled up by the enormous machine. The entire thing, crawler & shuttle assembly, is the largest thing that moves. The shuttle, tank and boosters are the largest thing that flies and the fastest. 4.5 million pounds at launch. Mach 26.
Tiny men inside the enormous machine. Tiny organisms in the great big mechanical bird. Veins and arteries of power, controls, nerve impulses. A skin composed of plates laid together. Bricks laid in rows like scales: armadillo, snake, horny toad, lizard, dragon, water bear; glued together with a mucosal mortar. Hold together bricks, scales, skin. Be armor. Hold together interlocking components of an exterior. Be Armor.
Once the nosecap and footbridge are free a deep rumble roars through the shuttle. The crew go through their routines. Each has a book of procedure that tells them when flips switches and recite statistics aloud.
The cockpit contains four Astronauts: Commander, Pilot, Flight Engineer & Mission Specialist. The mid-deck, below, holds three more Astronauts.
That enormous rumble. Total body rumble. Deep resonant earth-shaking rumble. Every iota of every Astronaut rattles like a million billion chimps in a million billion cages jumping up and down screaming and shaking the doors of their cages simultaneously.
The heartrates of astronauts skyrocket when the engines start.
The Space Transportation System consists two solid rocket boosters & the enormous orange External Fuel Tank, which fuels the Orbiter vehicle's main engines with liquid oxygen and liquid hydrogen.
The crew are rattled in their strapped-in seats. The engines all blow full fire for liftoff. The enormous cloud soon obscures the gantry & shuttle. Hundreds of thousands of gallons of water are sprayed allover the crawler and Mobile Launch Pad in less than a minute by the sound suppression system.
The Space Shuttle Main Engine nozzles gimbal to both steer & thrust during takeoff to confound gravity. The shuttle is off the ground. The largest thing that flies moving at hundreds of miles an hour at first to be far enough from the surface to go faster.
Once clear of the tower the shuttle performs a roll that places the orbiter toward the earth and the external tank and boosters toward orbit. The shuttle gains speed & as quickly loses weight as fuel is expended & it is able to go even faster.
Nary an Anvil Cloud for 600 miles in any direction. Got to have a clear clean day because of the enomous con-trail that could electrically connect the shuttle to the ground in the case of a lightning strike.
Two minutes into flight the solid rocket boosters are released via explosive bolts. The boosters deploy parachutes and fall safely to the Indian ocean where they are reclaimed. By this time the shuttle is moving many thousands of miles per hour. Not long after, when the liquid fuel is almost used up, the External Tank is released with its explosive bolts. The remaining fuel in the tank causes it to explode in the heat of reentry & rain smaller fragments on the Indian Ocean.
& they are largely there. They have crossed the highest height, leapt the greatest leap, stept the greatest step. Spaceflight. Broke free of the gravity well.
Out the windows of the shuttle Atlantis for this lady and gentlemen to see: Stars, all those shining things. Galaxies. Flashing passing meteors. Comets. Luminous gas clouds. Black nothingness. There’s a lot more nothing than there is something in the universe.
Turn away from the stars. The fars away. The blacks & whites. The inexplicable colors. The lack of twinkle for most lights.
Look at that dancing dinnerplate. Illustrated mesmerizing spinning disc. Look to home Astronauts. Our delicious apple of an earth.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
easter island international airport
Astronauts often spend the night before a spacewalk in the airlock to lower the pressure in themselves and allow the Nitrogen to escape. They can wake, don their suits & step out the airlock into infinity.
Viktor & Gary wake in the airlock. It is the 131st day of the year. Their watches work on Greenwich Mean Time. That ancient astronomical & nautical measurement guides them through their days and connects them to something concrete, something with gravity, a place on earth that is the base of time. Those traveling astronomers viewing transits, comets & eclipses had to have a way to remind themselves that their observations could possibly mean anything relative to their home. & surely home still existed if they could see that Greenwich means time. They wake at 0530 GMT
Cosmonaut: Alexei Leonov was the first to perform an Extra-Vehicular Activity. There is nothingness out there. Nothingness & micrometeoroids. One cuts throughout your soul. Other cuts through space suit.
Gary: Shit, Vik, you're a riot before anything dangerous. I know they make these things out of Kevlar & nonex & meshes & foils for more than one kind of protection. Maybe more people just died in Soviet Space.
Cosmonaut: Leonov was the first. He said: It was an extra ordinary sensation. I never felt anything like it before. I was free above the earth & saw it rotate majestically below me.
Gary: It's even better out there than here in the ISS. It's all bigger.
Gary rustles out of his sleeping bag held to the wall with Velcro and bungee bands that hold the sleeper's body against the wall to halfassedly simulate laying in an actual bed. Humans are unaccustomed to sleep when they can't tell which way is down. Allowances must be made to help fool the body.
Cosmonaut: I always think of Alexei Leonov when I walk in space. He nearly died any variety of ways. His space suit overinflated because of the lack of pressure. He could barely move.
Gary: Our suits are much better.
Cosmonaut: How can you be sure?
Gary: We just used them the other day.
Gary preps some breakfast. He manipulates specially designed bags of liquids, tins of semi-solids & wafers. The Cosmonaut slithers out of his sleeping bag to the tune of tearing Velcro They have Russian tins of appetizing appetizer to accompany their freeze-dried eggs. the coffee must be cold because the hot water is located in another module of the Space Station.
They slurp liquids from nippled bags & nosh 'eggs' & appetizing appetizer.
They will be out there a long long time & the Cosmonaut likes to start with a full stomach & work his way into a stride & rhythm of work. Nothing worse than trying to perform sensitive, life-threatening, dangerous operations in space on an empty stomach.
With a belch the Cosmonaut realigns himself after his meal. He turns one up to down and concentrates on the space walk preparation.
Cosmonaut: Leonov is also an artist. A great Soviet err... Russian Space hero & an artist. I think of this. Leonov had to violate protocol to survive the vacuum.
Gary: I'm pretty sure violating procedure got him into that mess. You ate too many propaganda berries as a child.
Cosmonaut: He is a Hero.
Gary: Yes, he is. Just don't say he's a hero for reasons he isn't. He was the first one out there.
Cosmonaut: His art...
Gary: Maybe more of us should make art.
Cosmonaut: Definitely, more perspectives from this perspective.
The Cosmonaut floats to the next module to verify the preparations of the suits which appear as ready as before the travelers went to sleep.
They don their fancy suits.
14 layers or more of protection from micrometeoroids, lack of pressure, cold, heat, solar wind & cosmic radiation. A backpack contains climate control equipment. Air to breathe & cool the suit. That many layers provide serious insulation. It's cold in the nowhere.
Space Suits support Extra-Vehicular Activity up to 7 hours. Yes, they also provide for excretion of bodily wastes.
Cosmonaut: Alexei's paintings are beautiful representations of the cosmos. His understanding of the vastness is always growing.
Gary: Houston's gonna get mad at you talkin about Alexei Leonov all day. They've heard that story. They really don't like it when you talk about danger.
Cosmonaut: We are special. We have special luck. Special circumstance. We have Cosmos & possibility to understand how it is made.
Gary the Astronaut & Viktor the Cosmonaut are nearly into their suits. They check each other's seals & equipment positions.
Gary: Houston, this is Sparrow. Ready for migration.
Houston: Kzzt. Roger, Sparrow.
The Astronaut & Cosmonaut attach their helmets for so to venture into the night.
Secured in their suits the air in the airlock is removed to holding tanks to equalize the pressure with that of the vacuum so they aren't violently flung from the craft when the airlock door is opened. All parties are in constant communication: Spacewalkers, ISS Control & Mission Control in Houston.
Viktor & Gary wake in the airlock. It is the 131st day of the year. Their watches work on Greenwich Mean Time. That ancient astronomical & nautical measurement guides them through their days and connects them to something concrete, something with gravity, a place on earth that is the base of time. Those traveling astronomers viewing transits, comets & eclipses had to have a way to remind themselves that their observations could possibly mean anything relative to their home. & surely home still existed if they could see that Greenwich means time. They wake at 0530 GMT
Cosmonaut: Alexei Leonov was the first to perform an Extra-Vehicular Activity. There is nothingness out there. Nothingness & micrometeoroids. One cuts throughout your soul. Other cuts through space suit.
Gary: Shit, Vik, you're a riot before anything dangerous. I know they make these things out of Kevlar & nonex & meshes & foils for more than one kind of protection. Maybe more people just died in Soviet Space.
Cosmonaut: Leonov was the first. He said: It was an extra ordinary sensation. I never felt anything like it before. I was free above the earth & saw it rotate majestically below me.
Gary: It's even better out there than here in the ISS. It's all bigger.
Gary rustles out of his sleeping bag held to the wall with Velcro and bungee bands that hold the sleeper's body against the wall to halfassedly simulate laying in an actual bed. Humans are unaccustomed to sleep when they can't tell which way is down. Allowances must be made to help fool the body.
Cosmonaut: I always think of Alexei Leonov when I walk in space. He nearly died any variety of ways. His space suit overinflated because of the lack of pressure. He could barely move.
Gary: Our suits are much better.
Cosmonaut: How can you be sure?
Gary: We just used them the other day.
Gary preps some breakfast. He manipulates specially designed bags of liquids, tins of semi-solids & wafers. The Cosmonaut slithers out of his sleeping bag to the tune of tearing Velcro They have Russian tins of appetizing appetizer to accompany their freeze-dried eggs. the coffee must be cold because the hot water is located in another module of the Space Station.
They slurp liquids from nippled bags & nosh 'eggs' & appetizing appetizer.
They will be out there a long long time & the Cosmonaut likes to start with a full stomach & work his way into a stride & rhythm of work. Nothing worse than trying to perform sensitive, life-threatening, dangerous operations in space on an empty stomach.
With a belch the Cosmonaut realigns himself after his meal. He turns one up to down and concentrates on the space walk preparation.
Cosmonaut: Leonov is also an artist. A great Soviet err... Russian Space hero & an artist. I think of this. Leonov had to violate protocol to survive the vacuum.
Gary: I'm pretty sure violating procedure got him into that mess. You ate too many propaganda berries as a child.
Cosmonaut: He is a Hero.
Gary: Yes, he is. Just don't say he's a hero for reasons he isn't. He was the first one out there.
Cosmonaut: His art...
Gary: Maybe more of us should make art.
Cosmonaut: Definitely, more perspectives from this perspective.
The Cosmonaut floats to the next module to verify the preparations of the suits which appear as ready as before the travelers went to sleep.
They don their fancy suits.
14 layers or more of protection from micrometeoroids, lack of pressure, cold, heat, solar wind & cosmic radiation. A backpack contains climate control equipment. Air to breathe & cool the suit. That many layers provide serious insulation. It's cold in the nowhere.
Space Suits support Extra-Vehicular Activity up to 7 hours. Yes, they also provide for excretion of bodily wastes.
Cosmonaut: Alexei's paintings are beautiful representations of the cosmos. His understanding of the vastness is always growing.
Gary: Houston's gonna get mad at you talkin about Alexei Leonov all day. They've heard that story. They really don't like it when you talk about danger.
Cosmonaut: We are special. We have special luck. Special circumstance. We have Cosmos & possibility to understand how it is made.
Gary the Astronaut & Viktor the Cosmonaut are nearly into their suits. They check each other's seals & equipment positions.
Gary: Houston, this is Sparrow. Ready for migration.
Houston: Kzzt. Roger, Sparrow.
The Astronaut & Cosmonaut attach their helmets for so to venture into the night.
Secured in their suits the air in the airlock is removed to holding tanks to equalize the pressure with that of the vacuum so they aren't violently flung from the craft when the airlock door is opened. All parties are in constant communication: Spacewalkers, ISS Control & Mission Control in Houston.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
easter island international airport
"The most important scientific revolutions all include, as their only
common feature, the dethronement of human arrogance from one pedestal
after another of previous convictions about our centrality in the
cosmos." -- stephen jay gould
Space. The void. A dark confusion, a definite system of spin. The Cosmonaut looks out the porthole of the International Space Station. Into the void. Occupying the lack of...
In space there is a cold, unforgiving lack of anything. A vacuum, a dark indiscernible circumstance, a myriad of constellations, points of light in the long far gone; further than over the river and thru the woods.
The Cosmonaut has logged too many thousands of hours in space: Tiny capsules, Soviet Space Stations: The Salyut series & Mir; real predecessors of the ISS. American Space Shuttle missions, private space ventures, innumerable tests. Trips on the undeployed Soviet Space Shuttle ripoff. A stream of journeys back & forth. Earth & Space. Celebrate Secret Missions: success & failure.
Imagine a fungus in space. Toxic Mold in a tiny Space Station. This limited space with 4 Cosmonauts working on experiments. The first gun in space was on an early Soviet Space Station. Longly precedent to the Chinese battering ram satellite.
Always amid the void, Viktor the Cosmonaut finds whatever it is he uses to define or find himself. The great big nothingness shows an unending litany of discovery & dazzle. The infinite universe provides unabridged possibility & observation; an encyclopedia of thought and being. Events witnessed, recorded & reported are science, clearly. Open books of what's been going on in the great big up there. The heavens way past the left field fence, out beyond the far pond, on the other side. presentation of fact and very little fancy. Accounts balanced in the void.
The Cosmonaut sees Earth from afar. Each time is as beautiful as the last. Mystifying and crisp. Wisps of clouds are entire weather fronts. landmasses are browns and greens with a few silver ribboning stripes. 74 percent of the globe varies shades of blue. Oceans wide & deep in subtle hues. By day a few human creations can be seen from space. Passing over the night side of earth shows all those twinkling electric bulbings below. Cities, suburbs & roads. Parking lots, runways, dog tracks, casinos & amusement parks adding their glim to the glamming night.
The Cosmonaut breaks his gaze and makes his way to choose his stowed meal of the day. He sticks to the choice listed on the calendar on the door to the ISS fridge. His food is more supplemental mixtures than any distinguishable foodstuff with some color differences and odd crispy wafers of varying sweet and savory distinctions to provide a sense of texture. Texture is an issue the Cosmonaut discovered, despite the perfectness of these formulated foods, needed be addressed for long stays in small spaces. One can carry fresh fruit to last only so long in space.
The Cosmonaut heats pseudofood in the table mounted heating device of the Mir-like Russian-built space station module.
He has a spacewalk coming up tomorrow. A journey into the beautiful out there. The beautiful nothingness. A chance to gaze and be lost in the celestial host. A tiny taste of power as one has from any height.
The Cosmonaut eats the perfect food. He spoons it up & occasionally dips some with his wafers. There are probably certain additives in this perfect spacefood to encourage its enjoyment. addictive properties perhaps. It must taste good but not too good lest they run out of spacefood should a spacesick newbie fall to depression binge eating.
As he eats he considers spacewalking activities ahead of him. He must move some small pieces of equipment left on previous spacewalks to more secure locations outside the ISS. He will be joined by an Astronaut who will assist moving a larger piece of equipment with the 55 foot long Canadian robot arm. it can be controlled from both within and without the ISS. The Cosmonaut will discuss certain subtle aspects of extra-vehicular robot arm control with the Astronaut joining him. They will move and secure this experimental equipment to be installed by the next mission with additional components yet to be launched.
The Cosmonaut rises from his meal & floats to prepare his spacesuit. He moves himself in ways that use his muscles most fully to begin his warmup.
He follows the checklists closely to put all the pieces of his spacesuit in order where it sits from the previous day's Extra-vehicular Activity. Seals seal properly. Radio test checks out. Oxygen is operational.
The Cosmonaut has brought his sleeping bag from his sleep station to install in the airlock where he'll sleep the night before his space walk with the Astronaut, Gary.
Gary gathers foodstuffs for morning's meal from the Russian dining module. He checks the list Viktor provided him in pidgin chickenscratch including letters Gary guesses are Cyrillic.
The Astronaut & Cosmonaut meet at the airlock, exchange pleasantries and affix their bedrolls to the Velcro wall for their depressurization campout.
common feature, the dethronement of human arrogance from one pedestal
after another of previous convictions about our centrality in the
cosmos." -- stephen jay gould
Space. The void. A dark confusion, a definite system of spin. The Cosmonaut looks out the porthole of the International Space Station. Into the void. Occupying the lack of...
In space there is a cold, unforgiving lack of anything. A vacuum, a dark indiscernible circumstance, a myriad of constellations, points of light in the long far gone; further than over the river and thru the woods.
The Cosmonaut has logged too many thousands of hours in space: Tiny capsules, Soviet Space Stations: The Salyut series & Mir; real predecessors of the ISS. American Space Shuttle missions, private space ventures, innumerable tests. Trips on the undeployed Soviet Space Shuttle ripoff. A stream of journeys back & forth. Earth & Space. Celebrate Secret Missions: success & failure.
Imagine a fungus in space. Toxic Mold in a tiny Space Station. This limited space with 4 Cosmonauts working on experiments. The first gun in space was on an early Soviet Space Station. Longly precedent to the Chinese battering ram satellite.
Always amid the void, Viktor the Cosmonaut finds whatever it is he uses to define or find himself. The great big nothingness shows an unending litany of discovery & dazzle. The infinite universe provides unabridged possibility & observation; an encyclopedia of thought and being. Events witnessed, recorded & reported are science, clearly. Open books of what's been going on in the great big up there. The heavens way past the left field fence, out beyond the far pond, on the other side. presentation of fact and very little fancy. Accounts balanced in the void.
The Cosmonaut sees Earth from afar. Each time is as beautiful as the last. Mystifying and crisp. Wisps of clouds are entire weather fronts. landmasses are browns and greens with a few silver ribboning stripes. 74 percent of the globe varies shades of blue. Oceans wide & deep in subtle hues. By day a few human creations can be seen from space. Passing over the night side of earth shows all those twinkling electric bulbings below. Cities, suburbs & roads. Parking lots, runways, dog tracks, casinos & amusement parks adding their glim to the glamming night.
The Cosmonaut breaks his gaze and makes his way to choose his stowed meal of the day. He sticks to the choice listed on the calendar on the door to the ISS fridge. His food is more supplemental mixtures than any distinguishable foodstuff with some color differences and odd crispy wafers of varying sweet and savory distinctions to provide a sense of texture. Texture is an issue the Cosmonaut discovered, despite the perfectness of these formulated foods, needed be addressed for long stays in small spaces. One can carry fresh fruit to last only so long in space.
The Cosmonaut heats pseudofood in the table mounted heating device of the Mir-like Russian-built space station module.
He has a spacewalk coming up tomorrow. A journey into the beautiful out there. The beautiful nothingness. A chance to gaze and be lost in the celestial host. A tiny taste of power as one has from any height.
The Cosmonaut eats the perfect food. He spoons it up & occasionally dips some with his wafers. There are probably certain additives in this perfect spacefood to encourage its enjoyment. addictive properties perhaps. It must taste good but not too good lest they run out of spacefood should a spacesick newbie fall to depression binge eating.
As he eats he considers spacewalking activities ahead of him. He must move some small pieces of equipment left on previous spacewalks to more secure locations outside the ISS. He will be joined by an Astronaut who will assist moving a larger piece of equipment with the 55 foot long Canadian robot arm. it can be controlled from both within and without the ISS. The Cosmonaut will discuss certain subtle aspects of extra-vehicular robot arm control with the Astronaut joining him. They will move and secure this experimental equipment to be installed by the next mission with additional components yet to be launched.
The Cosmonaut rises from his meal & floats to prepare his spacesuit. He moves himself in ways that use his muscles most fully to begin his warmup.
He follows the checklists closely to put all the pieces of his spacesuit in order where it sits from the previous day's Extra-vehicular Activity. Seals seal properly. Radio test checks out. Oxygen is operational.
The Cosmonaut has brought his sleeping bag from his sleep station to install in the airlock where he'll sleep the night before his space walk with the Astronaut, Gary.
Gary gathers foodstuffs for morning's meal from the Russian dining module. He checks the list Viktor provided him in pidgin chickenscratch including letters Gary guesses are Cyrillic.
The Astronaut & Cosmonaut meet at the airlock, exchange pleasantries and affix their bedrolls to the Velcro wall for their depressurization campout.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
hands will give that power
hands will give that power. murmurs in the murky depths. see sea. mermaids and mermen in the popular mythology. it's the hands what matter, make the difference, give that power. if without hands it's just a fish.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
edgar oliver play: 'east 10th street: portrait with empty house'
East 10th Street: Self Portrait with Empty House
written and performed by Edgar Oliver
November 6 – 22, 2008
Thursday – Saturday at 8:00 pm
$15 Adults/$10 Students/Seniors
axiscompany.org
Axis Company presents EAST 10TH STREET: SELF PORTRAIT WITH EMPTY HOUSE, a new play by and about Downtown performance icon Edgar Oliver and directed by Randy Sharp. This look at a life on the fringes of New York's Lower East Side comes on the heels of what could be Oliver's breakthrough role in the upcoming film from Napoleon Dynamite's Jared Hess, Gentlemen Broncos (opposite Sam Rockwell), as well as a national advertising campaign for mobile phones in Ireland that has become a cult phenomenon.
In EAST 10TH STREET: SELF PORTRAIT WITH EMPTY HOUSE, long-standing, downtown theatre icon Edgar Oliver takes the audience on a fantastic voyage through the strange rooms of the apartment house where he has lived since his first years in New York. Inhabiting the dark, mysterious halls of an East Village tenement building are a dwarf Cabalist, a possible Nazi, the landlord's former wet nurse who apparently lives in a nest of rags, and many other memorable persons. Edgar leads the audience up to the final room, his own, at the top of the derelict stairs, wherein lie the secrets of his own family and the unbelievable odyssey that brought him there. This incredible cast of characters illuminate the sad, funny, brilliant and deeply personal story.
Georgia native Edgar Oliver started performing in New York at the Pyramid in the mid-1980's alongside artists including Hapi Phace, Kenbra Pfahler, Samoa and playwright Kestutis Nakas. As a playwright, many of Oliver's plays have been staged at La MaMa and other downtown NYC theatres, including The Seven Year Vacation, The Poetry Killer, Hands in Wartime, Motel Blue 19, and Mosquito Succulence. As a stage actor, he has performed in countless plays including Edward II with Cliplight Theater, Marc Palmieri's Carl the Second, Lipsynka's Dial M for Model, and numerous productions at Axis including A Glance at New York (Edinburgh Festival & NYC), Julius Caesar, USS Frankenstein, Hospital, and Seven in One Blow. Edgar is also one of the most beloved story tellers at The Moth. His film roles include That's Beautiful Frank, Henry May Long (directed by Axis' Randy Sharp) and Gentlemen Broncos. His published works include A Portrait of New York by a Wanderer There, Summer(published by oilcan press) and The Man Who Loved Plants (published by Panther Books).
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
thundah on the tundra: or napalm for the polar bears
this is about shooting wolves from an airplane or helicopter if ye got one.
http://www.wolfsongnews.org/
some folks might think hunting is wrong, cruel, savage, fun, licklipping, necessary etc.
all in all i'd never get in someone's way who wants to legally hunt. (only partly b.c they have a weapon.)
i would hope that people choose to hunt so that they might live more closely to our earth. really, if you're gonna kill somethin i hope you plan to eat it. why else would you kill it? oh right, trophies.
i dont think wolves are high on the fine dining menu. humans dont eat too many hunters. (admittedly wolves are omnivores. not complete meat-eaters like t-rex or kitty cats. essentially, wolves are pack-hunters. like a pride o lions.) you dont want to eat that high up the food chain. it's where all the bad things gather. b.c wolves eat the things below & gain the toxins found in their prey. like the polar bear: top of the foodchain. toxic liver. high levels of mercury & other pollutants throughout the system of the largest carnivore on land.
wolves eat many small animals. Aaaand, as a pack they are able to catch bigger things. teamwork results in a greater yield. a pack of wolves can take the stragglers, young and weaklings of a caribou or moose herd thereby feeding the puppies and strengthening the herd of moose by culling the weakest beasts. oh cruel nature's hand.
let's get an airplane, top-shelf optical equipment(spotting scopes and binoculars) & some high powered rifles.
let's kill wolves from a moving vehicle.
see, it's pretty much illegal to hunt from a motor vehicle or airplane. most places in america. somehow someone got the idea that that would not be sporting.
if yr gonna hunt something you gotta do it on nature's terms. tracking. or hide & waiting. one on one battle is unlikely.
some links about wolf hunting:
http://www.wolfsongnews.org/
http://www.akwildlife.org/content/view/124/61/
http://www.akwildlife.org/content/view/132/61/
if yr gonna hunt wolves do it on the ground.
if yr gonna support hunting from an airplane: shame on you.
i can't really talk about governor palin's decision to sue over the protection of polar bears b.c of the possible intrusion on oil & natural gas profits.
http://www.adn.com/polarbears/story/413710.html
i have more passionate respect for polar bears than any politician.
polar bears & their dwindling habitat needs be protected.
any opposition to polar bear protection is fully humanly selfish. perhaps we should reconsider restrictions on protecting humans.
http://www.wolfsongnews.org/
some folks might think hunting is wrong, cruel, savage, fun, licklipping, necessary etc.
all in all i'd never get in someone's way who wants to legally hunt. (only partly b.c they have a weapon.)
i would hope that people choose to hunt so that they might live more closely to our earth. really, if you're gonna kill somethin i hope you plan to eat it. why else would you kill it? oh right, trophies.
i dont think wolves are high on the fine dining menu. humans dont eat too many hunters. (admittedly wolves are omnivores. not complete meat-eaters like t-rex or kitty cats. essentially, wolves are pack-hunters. like a pride o lions.) you dont want to eat that high up the food chain. it's where all the bad things gather. b.c wolves eat the things below & gain the toxins found in their prey. like the polar bear: top of the foodchain. toxic liver. high levels of mercury & other pollutants throughout the system of the largest carnivore on land.
wolves eat many small animals. Aaaand, as a pack they are able to catch bigger things. teamwork results in a greater yield. a pack of wolves can take the stragglers, young and weaklings of a caribou or moose herd thereby feeding the puppies and strengthening the herd of moose by culling the weakest beasts. oh cruel nature's hand.
let's get an airplane, top-shelf optical equipment(spotting scopes and binoculars) & some high powered rifles.
let's kill wolves from a moving vehicle.
see, it's pretty much illegal to hunt from a motor vehicle or airplane. most places in america. somehow someone got the idea that that would not be sporting.
if yr gonna hunt something you gotta do it on nature's terms. tracking. or hide & waiting. one on one battle is unlikely.
some links about wolf hunting:
http://www.wolfsongnews.org/
http://www.akwildlife.org/content/view/124/61/
http://www.akwildlife.org/content/view/132/61/
if yr gonna hunt wolves do it on the ground.
if yr gonna support hunting from an airplane: shame on you.
i can't really talk about governor palin's decision to sue over the protection of polar bears b.c of the possible intrusion on oil & natural gas profits.
http://www.adn.com/polarbears/story/413710.html
i have more passionate respect for polar bears than any politician.
polar bears & their dwindling habitat needs be protected.
any opposition to polar bear protection is fully humanly selfish. perhaps we should reconsider restrictions on protecting humans.
Monday, July 28, 2008
nypd officer attacks cyclist
an nypd officer attacks a passing cyclist during 'critical mass'.
i support critical mass. go buy a bike.
i do not support attacking cyclists.
http://critical-mass.info/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Critical_Mass
i support critical mass. go buy a bike.
i do not support attacking cyclists.
http://critical-mass.info/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Critical_Mass
Sunday, July 27, 2008
lost bird's whistle: the recording
i made a recording of the poem of the same name. see previous blog post.
http://myspace.com/doomsplaypsycheteria
first track. plays itself. or you can feel free to download.
http://myspace.com/doomsplaypsycheteria
first track. plays itself. or you can feel free to download.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
lost bird's whistle
1
lost bird's whistle. bird's lost whistle.
lost bird-whistle. whistle bird lost.
bird lost bird. lost whistle lost.
thistle word cost. thistle whistle bird.
whistle thistle word. bird word lost.
whistle lost bird. lost bird's whistle.
2
a bird's lost
whistle calls
& echoes
because
it is not a duck.
3
a lost bird's
sad whistle
echoes
an aching call
heard by trees
& lichen-covered ears.
1
lost bird's whistle. bird's lost whistle.
lost bird-whistle. whistle bird lost.
bird lost bird. lost whistle lost.
thistle word cost. thistle whistle bird.
whistle thistle word. bird word lost.
whistle lost bird. lost bird's whistle.
lost bird's whistle. bird's lost whistle.
lost bird-whistle. whistle bird lost.
bird lost bird. lost whistle lost.
thistle word cost. thistle whistle bird.
whistle thistle word. bird word lost.
whistle lost bird. lost bird's whistle.
2
a bird's lost
whistle calls
& echoes
because
it is not a duck.
3
a lost bird's
sad whistle
echoes
an aching call
heard by trees
& lichen-covered ears.
1
lost bird's whistle. bird's lost whistle.
lost bird-whistle. whistle bird lost.
bird lost bird. lost whistle lost.
thistle word cost. thistle whistle bird.
whistle thistle word. bird word lost.
whistle lost bird. lost bird's whistle.
Monday, July 21, 2008
prevailing winds
this shape is based on a painting of hei matau by julia noble. hei matau is maori stone or bone-carved fishhook. hei matau represent prosperity, strength, fertility & safe passage over water.
GRAIL, or Grayle, The Holy (Saint Graal, Seynt Greal, Sangreal, Sank Ryal.) -- Encyclopaedia Britannica, Ninth Edition
GRAIL, or Grayle, The Holy (Saint Graal, Seynt Greal, Sangreal, Sank Ryal.) The correct spelling is "Graal." -- Encyclopaedia Britannica, Ninth Edition, ca. 1880
while searching for
whilst questing
amid looking
for this vessel
or shallow bowl
this dish
or cup
looking for the muchlookedfor
the highly sought
art-i-fact
greatly desired bloodbowl
a lamb's tiny bloodbath
the metropolis of wanting
megalopolis of desire
wonderworking vessel of legendary desire
the way of the chosen
chosen by oracular legend
sustenance of searching
subsequent searching
whilst looking for the looking for the looking for the looking
desirous of desire of desirousness
locked in a cult of desire
while searching for
direction
this quest
for this
object
came along
with an offer
of a quest with no end in sight
an occupation of preoccupation with desire
swilled from an ambiguous vessel
trilled to a darkening sky
Sunday, July 6, 2008
sonnet: to science
words by e.a. poe
song by alex colwell.
video by jeff burns [ talkie21.com/blog ]
Sonnet: To Science from Talkie21 Studios on Vimeo.
song by alex colwell.
video by jeff burns [ talkie21.com/blog ]
Sonnet: To Science from Talkie21 Studios on Vimeo.
Monday, June 23, 2008
leaves fly a spiral library in an unlettered sky
the rehearsal tapes from the recent reading.
http://myspace.com/spirallibrary
aaron howard, david francis & alex colwell
buy david's records:
http://cdbaby.com/all/davidfrancis
http://myspace.com/spirallibrary
aaron howard, david francis & alex colwell
buy david's records:
http://cdbaby.com/all/davidfrancis
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
doomsplay psycheteria
i'm working on some innersting things here in the aquacade. just got a cool microphone that has a tube preamp. yippy.
trying to find someone to share my home. know anyone who cld deal with me?
here's a link to the newest recordings etc:
http://myspace.com/doomsplaypsycheteria
all me. all day. zipadee.
also, thursday evening at 8 pm at unnameable books in park slope. me read & play typewriter. david francis & alex colwell make noises.
http://cdbaby.com/all/davidfrancis
trying to find someone to share my home. know anyone who cld deal with me?
here's a link to the newest recordings etc:
http://myspace.com/doomsplaypsycheteria
all me. all day. zipadee.
also, thursday evening at 8 pm at unnameable books in park slope. me read & play typewriter. david francis & alex colwell make noises.
http://cdbaby.com/all/davidfrancis
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
me read @ unnameable books thursday june 12, 8pm
hello gellid interlopers,
i am reading some poems outsloud next week with evryone's favorite texan, david francis. he'll be not playing the guitar while he messes with other things that make noise.
you, whoever you are, shld attend this event. another part of the Greetings Magazine of the Sound Arts' new reading series.
at: Unnameable Books, 456 Bergen Street (b/t Flatbush & 5th Ave) 718 - 789 - 1534
thursday, june 12 2008
8pm dwnstairs.
i am reading some poems outsloud next week with evryone's favorite texan, david francis. he'll be not playing the guitar while he messes with other things that make noise.
you, whoever you are, shld attend this event. another part of the Greetings Magazine of the Sound Arts' new reading series.
at: Unnameable Books, 456 Bergen Street (b/t Flatbush & 5th Ave) 718 - 789 - 1534
thursday, june 12 2008
8pm dwnstairs.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
performance @ unnameable books thursday, may 29
performance @ unnameable books thursday, may 29
greetings unreaders--
it's possible for you to hear some songs recorded in my livingroom on the internet:
http://myspace.com/onashingle
the words & kazoo of julien poirier as accompanied by alex colwell's vox & guitar; & aaron howard's vox & jew's harps. zipadeedoo.
you can come see julien poirier sing soft songs with alex colwell & aaron howard thursday, may 29 at Unnameable Books, 456 Bergen Street (b/t Flatbush & 5th Ave) as part of Greetings Magazine of the Sound Arts' new reading series.
you can try these new songs on live.
again: thursday, may 29
Unnameable Books, 456 Bergen Street (b/t Flatbush & 5th Ave) 718 - 789 - 1534
i hope you can come. or listen. one or tother.
peace and grease.
greetings unreaders--
it's possible for you to hear some songs recorded in my livingroom on the internet:
http://myspace.com/onashingle
the words & kazoo of julien poirier as accompanied by alex colwell's vox & guitar; & aaron howard's vox & jew's harps. zipadeedoo.
you can come see julien poirier sing soft songs with alex colwell & aaron howard thursday, may 29 at Unnameable Books, 456 Bergen Street (b/t Flatbush & 5th Ave) as part of Greetings Magazine of the Sound Arts' new reading series.
you can try these new songs on live.
again: thursday, may 29
Unnameable Books, 456 Bergen Street (b/t Flatbush & 5th Ave) 718 - 789 - 1534
i hope you can come. or listen. one or tother.
peace and grease.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
heavy machinery
heavy machinery has replaced the horse.
heavy machinery has replaced subtlety.
heavy machinery has replaced you.
heavy machinery has been brought in to replace.
heavy machinery replaces slow hands.
heavy machinery replaces the horses.
heavy machinery has replaced hard work.
heavy machinery has been brought into place.
heavy machinery has replaced subtlety.
heavy machinery has replaced you.
heavy machinery has been brought in to replace.
heavy machinery replaces slow hands.
heavy machinery replaces the horses.
heavy machinery has replaced hard work.
heavy machinery has been brought into place.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
discount mantra
lubovitcher tank
w/very too loud
platform shaking music
inna foreign language
with a gd oompah to it
drives below.
sun's goin down
onna way to work.
last night ws a lunar eclipse
& something else altogether.
clouds are lit
w/apocalyptic linings.
cloud shapes provided by chaos.
lighting brought to you by god.
the vampire state bldg
cuts like a stake into a bright
cloud background. the buildings
themselves are not directly hit
by the sun.
nor the bridge.
only the clouds are
fully lit. the city lies
in impartial shadow.
w/very too loud
platform shaking music
inna foreign language
with a gd oompah to it
drives below.
sun's goin down
onna way to work.
last night ws a lunar eclipse
& something else altogether.
clouds are lit
w/apocalyptic linings.
cloud shapes provided by chaos.
lighting brought to you by god.
the vampire state bldg
cuts like a stake into a bright
cloud background. the buildings
themselves are not directly hit
by the sun.
nor the bridge.
only the clouds are
fully lit. the city lies
in impartial shadow.
Monday, April 21, 2008
oilcan noise: 2 new tracks
eddie & angela of lone vein came over to the aquacade last week to do an edgar allan poe track & an edgar oliver track. well, i rather like both those edgars so i pressed the record button. to hear 'ligeia' & 'making love to the dead' look there
http://www.myspace.com/oilcannoise
to check out and buy angela & eddie's many other creations:
http://www.myspace.com/lonevein
http://www.myspace.com/oilcannoise
to check out and buy angela & eddie's many other creations:
http://www.myspace.com/lonevein
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
a poem by edgar oliver
a page from 'a portrait of new york by a wanderer there' by edgar oliver. published by oilcan press
that means i made the art and edgar wrote the poem.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
red umbrella plant [orange]
![red umbrella plant [orange]](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/blogger_img_proxy/AEn0k_tdPpJi1tXZkecqf60s6yLrxc4rvOmPDpqMDQ7_PXzrZSEB3Q0hO2uRUDlFzh9YuSRH6y2tc73oGUy7R8vl5f82Qr0zCFxKXELu8Oqyk7xmbVFP50-OlNwIwUEx7xTAL_w=s0-d)
red umbrella plant [orange]
grows, usually, in the imagination.
colored a bright red-orange delight.
found amidst fantasies. nexto dim meanders.
light streams that flow in the dark.
if it were those wet years in the future the red umbrella plant (var. orange) wld be found beside the bridge on the tiny islands surrounding its stanchions.
the umbrella plants would observe the lush overgrowth & the decimated ruin of post-civilisational metropolis. crumbling decaying blocks & spires. tiny remnants. vast remnants. this mannahatta of no humanly untouched centimeter. retouched by destruction & encroaching nature. even if it be mostly previously alien nature. migration. the evolution of place. resolution of space. the forward motion of species of trees that creep well. ailanthus altissima or trees of heaven first brought to philly from china in the 17th century. great giant fast spreading weeds. fast burning & pulpy but not especially useful for structures of any durability. but it is easy to work with.
the red umbrella is known for its prominence amongst the greens of trees of heaven. the orange umbrella would make a great hairdo or hopping bug or cornbeef hash. the wood is hard and longlasting if not plentiful. any number of totems may be carved from it & potions derived from the shavings. the roots may be boiled into a richly flavorful tea. a disturbingly odd redgreen luminescent color. like beet tea if the beet were more wiggly. a soothing tea that makes you say things that wont make sense til later.
a little bird lives in there. it's blue more like a kestrel than a songbird. and it has tentacles atop its little noggin & enormous eyes. these squirds are after more than a worm. less it's one o those great big green umbrella worms. but they are exceedingly rare.
this bird o prey scoops things from the scurrying night streams of light in the form of motion in the dark. the little squird deftly returns to the red umbrella plant(orange) with captured prey. fish & bunnies & slow night birds & such. at night it's best not to be the brightest bunny in the field.
the squird rules the tiny night & roosts in the orange thorny bonnet of the red umbrella.
nothing really eats birds of prey. even if they have tentacles. it's dangerous to cut down a red umbrella plant because of the squirds. hope they're hunting or they dont live there.
harvesting the umbrella at the end of the season is acceptable. uprooting a dead red umbrella is permissable whereas the harvest of an entire red umbrella plant at once can only take place in an umbrella grove. a rare conglom of multiple plants growing together. where often the many of blue squirds can be found.
squirds are too smart and too viscious to kill. so humans have no choice but to befriend them as best they can by planting a squird plot nearby any cultivated red umbrella patch. which patch the squirds will choose is up to them.
grows, usually, in the imagination.
colored a bright red-orange delight.
found amidst fantasies. nexto dim meanders.
light streams that flow in the dark.
if it were those wet years in the future the red umbrella plant (var. orange) wld be found beside the bridge on the tiny islands surrounding its stanchions.
the umbrella plants would observe the lush overgrowth & the decimated ruin of post-civilisational metropolis. crumbling decaying blocks & spires. tiny remnants. vast remnants. this mannahatta of no humanly untouched centimeter. retouched by destruction & encroaching nature. even if it be mostly previously alien nature. migration. the evolution of place. resolution of space. the forward motion of species of trees that creep well. ailanthus altissima or trees of heaven first brought to philly from china in the 17th century. great giant fast spreading weeds. fast burning & pulpy but not especially useful for structures of any durability. but it is easy to work with.
the red umbrella is known for its prominence amongst the greens of trees of heaven. the orange umbrella would make a great hairdo or hopping bug or cornbeef hash. the wood is hard and longlasting if not plentiful. any number of totems may be carved from it & potions derived from the shavings. the roots may be boiled into a richly flavorful tea. a disturbingly odd redgreen luminescent color. like beet tea if the beet were more wiggly. a soothing tea that makes you say things that wont make sense til later.
a little bird lives in there. it's blue more like a kestrel than a songbird. and it has tentacles atop its little noggin & enormous eyes. these squirds are after more than a worm. less it's one o those great big green umbrella worms. but they are exceedingly rare.
this bird o prey scoops things from the scurrying night streams of light in the form of motion in the dark. the little squird deftly returns to the red umbrella plant(orange) with captured prey. fish & bunnies & slow night birds & such. at night it's best not to be the brightest bunny in the field.
the squird rules the tiny night & roosts in the orange thorny bonnet of the red umbrella.
nothing really eats birds of prey. even if they have tentacles. it's dangerous to cut down a red umbrella plant because of the squirds. hope they're hunting or they dont live there.
harvesting the umbrella at the end of the season is acceptable. uprooting a dead red umbrella is permissable whereas the harvest of an entire red umbrella plant at once can only take place in an umbrella grove. a rare conglom of multiple plants growing together. where often the many of blue squirds can be found.
squirds are too smart and too viscious to kill. so humans have no choice but to befriend them as best they can by planting a squird plot nearby any cultivated red umbrella patch. which patch the squirds will choose is up to them.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
dear tom
dear tom--
i lost adam strange.
500 black & white pages
of his intergalactic adventures.
i ws 200 pages in.
deeply engrossed
in the radioactive menace
when it struck me
i hadnt emptied the mop bucket at work.
i had my bag fulla hockey equipment
& two sticks. which i keep at work.
but i had just wanted to go home
& sleep. endorphined up as i was
sitting in the 1st ave L station
contentedly reading adam strange
complacently enjoying adam strange
beat another unbeatable foe.
like grampa sd about louis lamour
'a horse that cant be rode
& a man that cant be th'owed.'
adam strange mentions that
evry time he's teleported 25 trillion miles
to the planet rann via zeta beam
there's a menace waiting
for him to vanquish.
fuck!
the mop bucket.
it's not like this'd get me fired.
or in actual trouble
but it wld be mentioned
& i'm usually on top of that shit.
but i ws quietly reading adam strange
happy i'd survived the ride to 14 st
from the drunk
i'd been at the bar with.
my lazy decision to go home to sleep
& take equipment there manana
cost me a cab ride
& adam strange.
i've always thought he must be cool
i had some 'mystery in space' comics
from the 50s & 60s i got secondhand.
my introduction to frank frazetta & al williamson.
space cabby ws a favorite.
& what a title: 'mystery in space'
therein originates adam strange
& his ray-gun.
the unbeatable hero against unbeatable foes.
heroes win.
i wonder if,
in the remaining 300 pages
anything different ever happened?
did alanna his intergalactic sweetheart
get tired of his disappearances
right after the climax
of the story?
i really wisht they'd included the filler
stories from mystery in space
and the science--
wow
i ws just getting into the stuff
inked by murphy anderson.
what an important hack.
i met him once
when i wento the san diego comiccon.
he & his wife sat behind a table
in the far-reaches of obscurity
friendlily smiling & talking.
even his brush & pen
didnt break up the monotony
of adam strange's predicament.
fuck! the mop bucket!
so, i sd fuck a few times
threw in a sumbitch
& caried sticks & equipment
up the steps to the street
into the cab that ws right there.
tosst the bag in the trunk
& got in the backseat with the sticks.
yessir i need to go downtown
that's very gd-- very gd
sd abdul
his night ws so so.
mine ws gd.
but i didnt rub it in.
took the fdr dwntwn
paid. tipped well.
grabbed the bag & sticks
thank you thank you
inside took care o the mop bucket.
finisht mopping. emptied it.
got to looking around.
fuck. where's adam strange?
maybe
it ws the little man
who lives in the cabbie's trunk.
some might call him a jinni
but i know it's a tiny tiny man
in a hat.
he makes his way, right now,
stealing things from bags
in the cabbie's trunk.
i'm sure the smell
of the equipment kept him at bay
initially.
so all he got ws adam strange.
i'm not sure where
my banana went, either.
but adam strange
definitely split.
so, i carried yr book around.
you remember the one.
it's green. against the day.
the first time in months
i've touched it
with the intent of reading it.
i carried it around all day
but i havent opened it yet.
& jeff gave me some more modern
adam strange graphic novels.
they're in my bag too.
i dont know what to say
about what i'll read.
so far today
having decided to read
your book
i've not read at all
but blathered on
about the situation
& wrote this letter to you.
keeping along, though,
most of these letters seem shorter
but this one keeps along
filling the many pockets
of these pages
& adam strange
is disappeared again.
spirited away from luscious
perky-breasted alanna
by the effects of zeta-beam teleportation
wearing off.
once the teleportation has worn off
where are you left?
adam strange has gone.
disappeared in the night
lost to 25 trillion miles
of accidental zeta-beam riding.
aswirl in cosmogony,
a
i lost adam strange.
500 black & white pages
of his intergalactic adventures.
i ws 200 pages in.
deeply engrossed
in the radioactive menace
when it struck me
i hadnt emptied the mop bucket at work.
i had my bag fulla hockey equipment
& two sticks. which i keep at work.
but i had just wanted to go home
& sleep. endorphined up as i was
sitting in the 1st ave L station
contentedly reading adam strange
complacently enjoying adam strange
beat another unbeatable foe.
like grampa sd about louis lamour
'a horse that cant be rode
& a man that cant be th'owed.'
adam strange mentions that
evry time he's teleported 25 trillion miles
to the planet rann via zeta beam
there's a menace waiting
for him to vanquish.
fuck!
the mop bucket.
it's not like this'd get me fired.
or in actual trouble
but it wld be mentioned
& i'm usually on top of that shit.
but i ws quietly reading adam strange
happy i'd survived the ride to 14 st
from the drunk
i'd been at the bar with.
my lazy decision to go home to sleep
& take equipment there manana
cost me a cab ride
& adam strange.
i've always thought he must be cool
i had some 'mystery in space' comics
from the 50s & 60s i got secondhand.
my introduction to frank frazetta & al williamson.
space cabby ws a favorite.
& what a title: 'mystery in space'
therein originates adam strange
& his ray-gun.
the unbeatable hero against unbeatable foes.
heroes win.
i wonder if,
in the remaining 300 pages
anything different ever happened?
did alanna his intergalactic sweetheart
get tired of his disappearances
right after the climax
of the story?
i really wisht they'd included the filler
stories from mystery in space
and the science--
wow
i ws just getting into the stuff
inked by murphy anderson.
what an important hack.
i met him once
when i wento the san diego comiccon.
he & his wife sat behind a table
in the far-reaches of obscurity
friendlily smiling & talking.
even his brush & pen
didnt break up the monotony
of adam strange's predicament.
fuck! the mop bucket!
so, i sd fuck a few times
threw in a sumbitch
& caried sticks & equipment
up the steps to the street
into the cab that ws right there.
tosst the bag in the trunk
& got in the backseat with the sticks.
yessir i need to go downtown
that's very gd-- very gd
sd abdul
his night ws so so.
mine ws gd.
but i didnt rub it in.
took the fdr dwntwn
paid. tipped well.
grabbed the bag & sticks
thank you thank you
inside took care o the mop bucket.
finisht mopping. emptied it.
got to looking around.
fuck. where's adam strange?
maybe
it ws the little man
who lives in the cabbie's trunk.
some might call him a jinni
but i know it's a tiny tiny man
in a hat.
he makes his way, right now,
stealing things from bags
in the cabbie's trunk.
i'm sure the smell
of the equipment kept him at bay
initially.
so all he got ws adam strange.
i'm not sure where
my banana went, either.
but adam strange
definitely split.
so, i carried yr book around.
you remember the one.
it's green. against the day.
the first time in months
i've touched it
with the intent of reading it.
i carried it around all day
but i havent opened it yet.
& jeff gave me some more modern
adam strange graphic novels.
they're in my bag too.
i dont know what to say
about what i'll read.
so far today
having decided to read
your book
i've not read at all
but blathered on
about the situation
& wrote this letter to you.
keeping along, though,
most of these letters seem shorter
but this one keeps along
filling the many pockets
of these pages
& adam strange
is disappeared again.
spirited away from luscious
perky-breasted alanna
by the effects of zeta-beam teleportation
wearing off.
once the teleportation has worn off
where are you left?
adam strange has gone.
disappeared in the night
lost to 25 trillion miles
of accidental zeta-beam riding.
aswirl in cosmogony,
a
a constant state
a constant state
a consistent stroke
for any feat.
an upward screech rattle climb
in the grey day
that has lost some
of its oneness.
single clouds can now be
distinguished in the sky.
tiny pockets of light
shine almost white
while the mist thickens
over brooklyn.
the river is grey
as newspaper
or pavement
or sky.
a consistent stroke
for any feat.
an upward screech rattle climb
in the grey day
that has lost some
of its oneness.
single clouds can now be
distinguished in the sky.
tiny pockets of light
shine almost white
while the mist thickens
over brooklyn.
the river is grey
as newspaper
or pavement
or sky.
angles of wonder
up & over
another day.
not sure last night's worn ovff.
noon. haze across islands.
the way over
into town
not that evrything
for miles & miles
isnt a town.
passing pillars flash
each a new frame
of the same city
or another that must be
along these tracks.
clathunk clathunk clathunk.
another day.
not sure last night's worn ovff.
noon. haze across islands.
the way over
into town
not that evrything
for miles & miles
isnt a town.
passing pillars flash
each a new frame
of the same city
or another that must be
along these tracks.
clathunk clathunk clathunk.
up & up
up the hazy incline.
rain's comin.
i saw a guy with an umbrella.
not too warm or cool.
but later
the chill falls
& you wish it ws a sunny bridge
to cross in flashes
of angled shadows.
but it's haze
& most subtle muted colors
& perspective silhouettes
into the distance.
down & down
into the co-op forest
of brick trees
filled with homes
beside the bridge
over a river.
rain's comin.
i saw a guy with an umbrella.
not too warm or cool.
but later
the chill falls
& you wish it ws a sunny bridge
to cross in flashes
of angled shadows.
but it's haze
& most subtle muted colors
& perspective silhouettes
into the distance.
down & down
into the co-op forest
of brick trees
filled with homes
beside the bridge
over a river.
the train
sun sinks o'er yonder
past lower manhattan
& the harbor.
the fat red orange orb
atop the lady's torch.
it is stuck atop
evry pointy building
in the financial district.
a fat rolling orange
that draws lines
& bleeds luscious
sweet juices of warmth
over all topography.
the train sinks
below below
where all is shadow
& the sun's juices
do not run.
past lower manhattan
& the harbor.
the fat red orange orb
atop the lady's torch.
it is stuck atop
evry pointy building
in the financial district.
a fat rolling orange
that draws lines
& bleeds luscious
sweet juices of warmth
over all topography.
the train sinks
below below
where all is shadow
& the sun's juices
do not run.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
J uptwn in the early morning
J uptwn in the early morning
tired from little sleep
& large exertion.
it's been snowing
since after midnight.
streets are browns & greys.
sky & air are white.
floor of the train is wet.
road is wet.
bridge is wet & whitened.
the pedestrian path
has been plowed.
any landmark or building
is a shadow of itself
out the window
george washington smiles
in grim determination
somewhere out there in the snow
trashtrucks push plows
tired from little sleep
& large exertion.
it's been snowing
since after midnight.
streets are browns & greys.
sky & air are white.
floor of the train is wet.
road is wet.
bridge is wet & whitened.
the pedestrian path
has been plowed.
any landmark or building
is a shadow of itself
out the window
george washington smiles
in grim determination
somewhere out there in the snow
trashtrucks push plows
follow
following
falling
following thru
incomprehensible
layer of light.
followed by
the followed by
the followed
further
further light plays
crosst skin or wind
all flickers
another vessel passes
all layers
of angles of interruptions
& misdirections
in the light
fall lowing
light
refraction & descent
fall low wing.
falling
following thru
incomprehensible
layer of light.
followed by
the followed by
the followed
further
further light plays
crosst skin or wind
all flickers
another vessel passes
all layers
of angles of interruptions
& misdirections
in the light
fall lowing
light
refraction & descent
fall low wing.
no thing warm
an M arrives.
it's 19 degrees.
windy to the bones.
i dress in many layers.
two scarves, a wool
yugoslav military hat
with earflaps.
it's so clear
it's so cold.
it's recognizable
to george washington
at valley forge
wrapped in his blanket
on his horse.
up up up
the up
the sun on
my disrobed noggin
& neck of back
is a highlight
for the day.
all lines are clear
in the well-lit cold.
clouds from smokestacks
give forth great effort
before they dissipate
into the clear
of all the weather
down down
into the labyrinth
of dark
where no thing warm
shines
on my neck.
it's 19 degrees.
windy to the bones.
i dress in many layers.
two scarves, a wool
yugoslav military hat
with earflaps.
it's so clear
it's so cold.
it's recognizable
to george washington
at valley forge
wrapped in his blanket
on his horse.
up up up
the up
the sun on
my disrobed noggin
& neck of back
is a highlight
for the day.
all lines are clear
in the well-lit cold.
clouds from smokestacks
give forth great effort
before they dissipate
into the clear
of all the weather
down down
into the labyrinth
of dark
where no thing warm
shines
on my neck.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
up over
the bridge is a misty day
the grey is how
water dissipates light.
rush hour is a steady speed
on its way.
grey is the color of water
in the bay.
sky in the water.
traffic moves crisply
droplets, vapors
diffract & scrub sight
mist plays easy
as it grows
amoebically into larger
& larger drops
on the window
in the wind.
the grey is how
water dissipates light.
rush hour is a steady speed
on its way.
grey is the color of water
in the bay.
sky in the water.
traffic moves crisply
droplets, vapors
diffract & scrub sight
mist plays easy
as it grows
amoebically into larger
& larger drops
on the window
in the wind.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
another timely arrival
here we go
out the tunnel
into the out
up the up
see me late afternoon sky
see me ride this locomotive up
across a small part of sky
a look at all the rest
of what climbs the sky
bldgs, bridges & smokestacks
a cold river reflects a cold sky
the sun sinks downriver
out off toward jersey
brooklyn calls the bridge
down to its burly bosom
cycles pass, walkers, cars
train in the other direction
back to brooklyn.
out the tunnel
into the out
up the up
see me late afternoon sky
see me ride this locomotive up
across a small part of sky
a look at all the rest
of what climbs the sky
bldgs, bridges & smokestacks
a cold river reflects a cold sky
the sun sinks downriver
out off toward jersey
brooklyn calls the bridge
down to its burly bosom
cycles pass, walkers, cars
train in the other direction
back to brooklyn.
lament the light
M train showed
just as i got up the steps.
it's a nice sunny ride
the light drifts in
window-shaped patches
crosst the floor
& warms my face
a moment afore we turn
the curve & the incline
is up & the patches of light
are further away
moving with trainsway
interrupted & re-translated
by angles of architecture.
interrupted by ironwork
& the downswing.
many things race by
stay in the same place
dance flickering patterns
of light & dark
on the filthy floor.
dwn dwn dwn
lament the light.
just as i got up the steps.
it's a nice sunny ride
the light drifts in
window-shaped patches
crosst the floor
& warms my face
a moment afore we turn
the curve & the incline
is up & the patches of light
are further away
moving with trainsway
interrupted & re-translated
by angles of architecture.
interrupted by ironwork
& the downswing.
many things race by
stay in the same place
dance flickering patterns
of light & dark
on the filthy floor.
dwn dwn dwn
lament the light.
dear thomas who?
are you related to the doctor?
or is this moniker more
metaphorical?
have i forgot who you are?
[did i ever know?]
i have forgot who you are
or is this moniker more
metaphorical?
have i forgot who you are?
[did i ever know?]
i have forgot who you are
full-fledged train
with all its feathers
a-here we go
over the bridge.
an elevated road
over & above
up & away
far & away
above the fray
higher even
than george washington
on his tall pony
taller than streets
& signs & lights & time
it takes to crawl
with gravity down.
glitters on the rivers
different coloers
of different kinds
of lights.
colds & warms
reds & greens
& lost way blues.
over a bridge
the materials of
the pathways pass by
if yr not moving
then evrything else is
if evrything stands still
why am i sinking?
trainwheels tumble
& shine down
the incline
hew & call
fire & fall
dwn dwn dwn
into a place to exit
silver snake
into the gloom
of night punctuated
by these dashing colors.
a-here we go
over the bridge.
an elevated road
over & above
up & away
far & away
above the fray
higher even
than george washington
on his tall pony
taller than streets
& signs & lights & time
it takes to crawl
with gravity down.
glitters on the rivers
different coloers
of different kinds
of lights.
colds & warms
reds & greens
& lost way blues.
over a bridge
the materials of
the pathways pass by
if yr not moving
then evrything else is
if evrything stands still
why am i sinking?
trainwheels tumble
& shine down
the incline
hew & call
fire & fall
dwn dwn dwn
into a place to exit
silver snake
into the gloom
of night punctuated
by these dashing colors.
a day of gd rains
days of rain
bridge under an opening sky
here & there
winter daylight
cuts through
the over cast
days of rains
30 degrees colder
& we'd have snow.
roll oh roll oh roll
ah roll ahlong
along to roll
i long to roll along
a powerful treat
a treastise on confusion
a coastal switch
take me to yr feeder
i'd like a trough o me own
all crawling thru
all calling true
bridge under an opening sky
here & there
winter daylight
cuts through
the over cast
days of rains
30 degrees colder
& we'd have snow.
roll oh roll oh roll
ah roll ahlong
along to roll
i long to roll along
a powerful treat
a treastise on confusion
a coastal switch
take me to yr feeder
i'd like a trough o me own
all crawling thru
all calling true
off the on
on & on
up the incline
a grey day
evrything moves
normal speed.
i brought an umbrella.
it stick out o my bag
train passes other way.
shadows rattle & shudder.
train brakes
as it's dwn now.
crane on a barges matches angles
of the outstretched arm
of the too-quiet madman
who ocunts to himself
on the other hand
saying each syllable
under his breath.
down the incline
dwn dwn dwn
find me what lies
there at the base
of this rainbow
the loud
the quiet
the mad
the violent
the furtive
the animate
a thing to say
twd the getting there
too bad to be
too slow
up the incline
a grey day
evrything moves
normal speed.
i brought an umbrella.
it stick out o my bag
train passes other way.
shadows rattle & shudder.
train brakes
as it's dwn now.
crane on a barges matches angles
of the outstretched arm
of the too-quiet madman
who ocunts to himself
on the other hand
saying each syllable
under his breath.
down the incline
dwn dwn dwn
find me what lies
there at the base
of this rainbow
the loud
the quiet
the mad
the violent
the furtive
the animate
a thing to say
twd the getting there
too bad to be
too slow
out of the darkness
up the incline
away home
the clank & shudder
in a cooling cloudy
afternoon.
up & up
& over
up & up
there's a level spot
an apex
an acme of up
a gravitational pause
& it pulls slowly down
the tracks
down
away home
the clank & shudder
in a cooling cloudy
afternoon.
up & up
& over
up & up
there's a level spot
an apex
an acme of up
a gravitational pause
& it pulls slowly down
the tracks
down
sun sets into dark
the day is beautiful.
dont need to close yr coat
or earmuffs.
tonight's low is forecast
at 47 degrees.
luxurious.
i'm still wearing long johns
b.c i wore them
the last sevral days
in these very pants.
gd for the deep freeze
of days ago.
slow roll turn the dogleg
from broadway to bridge.
pass another train.
sun sets south. west.
haze over late afternoon city.
skyline cuts black against
jersey's sky beyond.
another train passes.
color of the lights compliments
the color of water
the color of sky reflected.
trees of skeletals
of east river
park cut lines
another train passes.
the descent
sun lights bricks
the sky is
light against cold
into what lies under dark
into dark
dont need to close yr coat
or earmuffs.
tonight's low is forecast
at 47 degrees.
luxurious.
i'm still wearing long johns
b.c i wore them
the last sevral days
in these very pants.
gd for the deep freeze
of days ago.
slow roll turn the dogleg
from broadway to bridge.
pass another train.
sun sets south. west.
haze over late afternoon city.
skyline cuts black against
jersey's sky beyond.
another train passes.
color of the lights compliments
the color of water
the color of sky reflected.
trees of skeletals
of east river
park cut lines
another train passes.
the descent
sun lights bricks
the sky is
light against cold
into what lies under dark
into dark
leaves fly a spiral library in an unlettered sky.
words, words. how easily they can destroy. words, words. how ?
words, words. how easily the can follow words. words, words.
words, words. 1/2 price sale just in time for time. words, words.
halfoff words to stand in for unwritten words. how easily they
may be substituted. word for word. words, words. how they say
how to build. a low-cost library. words, words. layers upon
layers upon. layers upon. layers upon. words, words. in for
words. information. indication. separation. combination.
words, words. how easily they mention. how easily they make.
how easily they mistake. words, words. how easily words are made.
palimpset comprised of gathered leaves laid together. words.
words, words. overwritten. underwritten. subtext. pretext.
overwritten. underwritten. context. contact. supertext. words,
words, words, words. names that define. sounds that mean. words.
sounds that mean words. words that mean sounds. words, words.
how? how easily do they destroy? how easily do they create?
how easily do they confuse? fragile pressed leaves in cracking
bindings. skins that hold thoughts in. time is laid in lines
followed by eyes like words across these. words, words, words.
how? how easily the eyes recognize the lay of the lines. words.
who or why or how? words? when? what? how? words, words. how?
paperbound. overwritten. underwoven. palimpsest. sins with skins
with words within. words, words. how easily they stray/
words, words. how easily they say riddle ghose renaissance.
original leaves in verso. bound bridges braided together. words
words, words. leaves in veins bound in skins that hold thoughts
in. words, words. system of sliding eyes for meaning across
sections of thought. words, words. leaves bound in trees.
ink still wet. leaves in trees drip dry. leaves cut down
& bound. leatherbound. weatherbound. paperbound. waterbound.
featherbound. leafbound. skybound. words, words, words, words.
how easily they sail. fail. tail. leaves blown by wind.
wound by sound. covers of lights. leaves blown by wind. words
bound for eyes or hearts or veins or pains or leaves turned
by hands. words, words. leaves blown by wind sail meaning
crosst an unlettered sky. leaves blown by wind form a swirling library
like a lexical garden. leaves blown in a spiral library
on shelves of birds. words, words. leaves blown in a spiral
library on shelves of birds in an unlettered sky. words, words.
leaves in a muslin bag bound with a bit of silk string.
words, words. freed from a prison by a bell to fly. words, words.
leaves blown in a spiral library on shelves of birds in an un-
lettered sky. words, words. how easily they fly. words, words.
leaves drip from trees & color puddles exciting things. words
drop colors that mean well. words, words. leaves fly
a spiral library on shelves of birds in an unlettered sky. words
mixtures of words form species of leaves. words, words, words.
a beauty made by words. bound in leathery leaves. pressed to-
gether in volumes of smooth skies. words, words. how easily
words, words. how easily they change. how easily they move.
how easily they fly. leaves blown by wind. leaves fly
a spiral library on shelves of birds in an unlettered sky.
words in palimpsest over simpler leaves scraped from ancient trees.
words in palimpsest inscribed between the lines of an unknown
tongue. words, words. leaves blown by wind in spiral libraries
on shelves of birds in an unlettered sky. leaves fly a spiral
library on shelves of birds in an unlettered sky.
words, words. how easily the can follow words. words, words.
words, words. 1/2 price sale just in time for time. words, words.
halfoff words to stand in for unwritten words. how easily they
may be substituted. word for word. words, words. how they say
how to build. a low-cost library. words, words. layers upon
layers upon. layers upon. layers upon. words, words. in for
words. information. indication. separation. combination.
words, words. how easily they mention. how easily they make.
how easily they mistake. words, words. how easily words are made.
palimpset comprised of gathered leaves laid together. words.
words, words. overwritten. underwritten. subtext. pretext.
overwritten. underwritten. context. contact. supertext. words,
words, words, words. names that define. sounds that mean. words.
sounds that mean words. words that mean sounds. words, words.
how? how easily do they destroy? how easily do they create?
how easily do they confuse? fragile pressed leaves in cracking
bindings. skins that hold thoughts in. time is laid in lines
followed by eyes like words across these. words, words, words.
how? how easily the eyes recognize the lay of the lines. words.
who or why or how? words? when? what? how? words, words. how?
paperbound. overwritten. underwoven. palimpsest. sins with skins
with words within. words, words. how easily they stray/
words, words. how easily they say riddle ghose renaissance.
original leaves in verso. bound bridges braided together. words
words, words. leaves in veins bound in skins that hold thoughts
in. words, words. system of sliding eyes for meaning across
sections of thought. words, words. leaves bound in trees.
ink still wet. leaves in trees drip dry. leaves cut down
& bound. leatherbound. weatherbound. paperbound. waterbound.
featherbound. leafbound. skybound. words, words, words, words.
how easily they sail. fail. tail. leaves blown by wind.
wound by sound. covers of lights. leaves blown by wind. words
bound for eyes or hearts or veins or pains or leaves turned
by hands. words, words. leaves blown by wind sail meaning
crosst an unlettered sky. leaves blown by wind form a swirling library
like a lexical garden. leaves blown in a spiral library
on shelves of birds. words, words. leaves blown in a spiral
library on shelves of birds in an unlettered sky. words, words.
leaves in a muslin bag bound with a bit of silk string.
words, words. freed from a prison by a bell to fly. words, words.
leaves blown in a spiral library on shelves of birds in an un-
lettered sky. words, words. how easily they fly. words, words.
leaves drip from trees & color puddles exciting things. words
drop colors that mean well. words, words. leaves fly
a spiral library on shelves of birds in an unlettered sky. words
mixtures of words form species of leaves. words, words, words.
a beauty made by words. bound in leathery leaves. pressed to-
gether in volumes of smooth skies. words, words. how easily
words, words. how easily they change. how easily they move.
how easily they fly. leaves blown by wind. leaves fly
a spiral library on shelves of birds in an unlettered sky.
words in palimpsest over simpler leaves scraped from ancient trees.
words in palimpsest inscribed between the lines of an unknown
tongue. words, words. leaves blown by wind in spiral libraries
on shelves of birds in an unlettered sky. leaves fly a spiral
library on shelves of birds in an unlettered sky.
completely dark by now
up the bridge.
what you can see
out the window
is the lights of things.
if you shade yr eyes
you can see
shapes of things in the night.
it's cold out there.
colder still.
these teens cut thru
such as shoes & coats
& multiple multicolored scarves
& extra sweaters
& the long cold night
what's out there?
what's out there
is driven by confusion.
what you can see
out the window
is the lights of things.
if you shade yr eyes
you can see
shapes of things in the night.
it's cold out there.
colder still.
these teens cut thru
such as shoes & coats
& multiple multicolored scarves
& extra sweaters
& the long cold night
what's out there?
what's out there
is driven by confusion.
the cold of needles & knives
enter a new year
the days, they claim,
are getting longer.
it must be hell to work a job
that keeps you in
all the sun's waking winter hours.
happy becomes necessity
& what then?
waiting on an elevated platform
in 17 degree weather
is the cold of knives & needles.
sun sets in a west
that seems more south
oranges & reds
burn deep to the horizon
on stratus clouds.
faroff bridges mark angles
the east river & bay beyond
are the cold color
of the highways & sky.
time without clouds
makes cold deeper.
train slants down'ard
bldgs cut black icy silhouettes
against the sinking sky.
the cold of knives & needles
cuts shapes out of an icy sky.
bricks hold tighter together
& if they were struck
by a wrecking ball
they'd explode
in cold.
the days, they claim,
are getting longer.
it must be hell to work a job
that keeps you in
all the sun's waking winter hours.
happy becomes necessity
& what then?
waiting on an elevated platform
in 17 degree weather
is the cold of knives & needles.
sun sets in a west
that seems more south
oranges & reds
burn deep to the horizon
on stratus clouds.
faroff bridges mark angles
the east river & bay beyond
are the cold color
of the highways & sky.
time without clouds
makes cold deeper.
train slants down'ard
bldgs cut black icy silhouettes
against the sinking sky.
the cold of knives & needles
cuts shapes out of an icy sky.
bricks hold tighter together
& if they were struck
by a wrecking ball
they'd explode
in cold.
reminiscent of a lingering past
reminiscent of a lingering past
further dwn the pike
the train where the sun shines in
warmer than late
an EMT with an apparently snappy dog
both in vests
diagnoses a man
with a chest pain
-do you need medical attention?
-no
-might be the coffee. what'd you eat? dont worry i'm also an EMT
he is serious & full of focus
solid
but of what?
an old man tries to pet his dachsund.
the EMT jerks it away
-no no no
that focus.
the EMT turns back to the man
-you pulled a muscle
the man in pain
is middle age, sketchy black moustache
an unhappy cast to his pained face
i think the EMT is keeping his ye on me
keeping my eye on him.
i dont mind a cellphone conversation in spanish
i never even rally lookt
at the overly stylish girls
with nice boots
standing in front of me.
further dwn the pike
the train where the sun shines in
warmer than late
an EMT with an apparently snappy dog
both in vests
diagnoses a man
with a chest pain
-do you need medical attention?
-no
-might be the coffee. what'd you eat? dont worry i'm also an EMT
he is serious & full of focus
solid
but of what?
an old man tries to pet his dachsund.
the EMT jerks it away
-no no no
that focus.
the EMT turns back to the man
-you pulled a muscle
the man in pain
is middle age, sketchy black moustache
an unhappy cast to his pained face
i think the EMT is keeping his ye on me
keeping my eye on him.
i dont mind a cellphone conversation in spanish
i never even rally lookt
at the overly stylish girls
with nice boots
standing in front of me.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
rhythm in the kitchen
i made this flyer for the hell's kitchen cultural center's upcoming event. attend. check it out. click the pick to travel to hell's kitchen.
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