i sit on unfinished floor, door frame holding me up as i stare eternity in the face. the sun in one room washes the walls in it's soft yellow light which slowly fades to moonlight and back again. the rest of the galaxy beckons through the worm hole in the other room; stardust spiraling toward the middle of the ceiling, disappearing to nowhere. the infinite cold and lack of oxygen make my muscles seize up as i spin outta orbit. the door frame falls to my left and the floor meets me from the right; hurts my head. eternity lays down beside me and reminds me that she knows me as well as i know myself. she looks into my eyes. i look through hers. her gaze stirs my brain into a galaxy of insights+foresights+memories i never remembered or imagined taste so bitter. i pucker. gag. cry. gasp for air. she slides closer to comfort, but her hollow, icy touch only tightens my stomach+throat. i shutter...
Tuesday, June 03, 2014
Friday, May 30, 2014
toys : my mid year christmas list
lomo instant camera : i've always enjoyed polaroid photography. so does she. this camera is like those cameras but cooler. it'll be more of a gift for her, but i'll use it.
lix 3-d printing pen : i sketch. and want to in a third dimension.
i would have funded+bought both of these products if i had any idea what my shipping address would be by their releases later in the year... but since i have absolutely no clue i'll just have to wait and buy them once they're available and i have a new permanent home. more on that later.
lix 3-d printing pen : i sketch. and want to in a third dimension.
i would have funded+bought both of these products if i had any idea what my shipping address would be by their releases later in the year... but since i have absolutely no clue i'll just have to wait and buy them once they're available and i have a new permanent home. more on that later.
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Thursday, March 13, 2014
the more my insomnia increases, the more episodes of deja vu i experience, the more day dreams i have, the more my mind races from to-do-list to fantasy to tomorrow's decision to now to last week's regret to an idea to reality to my notebook to my needs+desires+wants and back again (at times near uncontrollably, or so i imagine it would appear to any other mind but my own). but this is also when i'm at my best, my most engaged, my most attentive, my most understanding and in tune and confident and thorough. and at my most creative. so bring it insomnia. sleep is for suckers anyway...
Friday, March 07, 2014
fallin' floyd and animated sex
always love sharing animated shorts. here's a new favourite that speaks to my heart.
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
Sunday, February 09, 2014
song+dance (fff#18)
flash fiction friday trigger #18 (inclusion): dance, glance, trance, prance, pants
same song. same dance. a week of physical absence and digital lies before she'd prance in the house looking+smelling like her phenomenally intoxicating self. she'd crack a smile, shoot a wanting glance and my boiling rage would roll to a simmer and shortly evaporate away to soft warm happiness; pleased with her safety, her gaze, her touch, her warmth. same song. same trance would come over me every time she would gently slide her skirt from that playful position on her hips, lay on the bed and grab her perfectly shaped ass with that glance once more. i'd go to her. she'd grab a handful of my member and watch him grow from beneath my pants before revealing him and loving us both. we'd come together for the rest of the night. in the morning we'd share each other again, pushing against the tiled walls of our tiny shower stall like we were trying to remodel. for the days that followed we'd share dreams+ideas+laughs, and we'd cook for each other, and read to each other, and taste+smell+love like home for each other.
and as soon i thought maybe she'd stay, maybe we'd stay this time... she'd be gone.
each spell cast was always followed by another spell of absence and each absence helped me build up a resistance to it; like abusing a good drug. and it had become just that; i slowly stopped looking or asking for further digital lying but instead knew building up a tolerance to her drugging and eventually (i'd tell myself) i 'd be free of her spell.
in her absence i'd keep the house clean and the bills paid and the animals fed and the lawn trimmed. in her absence i'd perfect everything for her impending return, whenever it may be. in her absence i'd keep the fridge stocked and cook meals in case she appeared that night to a hot meal that would surely then have her asking herself why she ever leaves my side. at night in her absence her clothes would hang in the darkness next to mine, her dry towel would hang next to my damp one, her cold pillow would lay next to my head; all redolent with her sweet smell. our animals would do their best to fill her void with their love. in her absence my chest would tighten, i'd lay awake and wonder where she was, what she was doing, even if she was happy, but mostly i'd wonder why she kept me under this treacherous spell and when i would grow strong enough to break it.
same song. same dance. spell bound again.
a few mornings later i awake from a warm sleep to an icy cold room. i know before my eyes open that she's gone. i'm alone again with only the hot breath of our panting beast breaking the chill. the beast, thrilled with my open eyes wets my face with it's rank tongue startling all my senses and lifting me immediately to a sitting position where i would better suited to defend myself from it's aggressive love. it means i'll lift my empty dreams and slightly harder heart from beneath my cocoon and to my feet. i smoke a bit of the emptiness, the tightness, the hardness away before collaring me in cotton, it in metal and wandering out into the deepest blue morning darkness. dawn is minutes away.
me+beast wander. we turn a corner. and another. another. the paperboy avoids our side of the street; beast growls anyway. beast shits in the park; i leave it. another corner and the street lights begin to flicker off; the deep blue skies giving way for greens. another corner and another as we turn back onto our street; our little red brick castle just in the distance cast in increasingly vibrant yellows. i have my eyes on the lines of orange+pink that begin to streak down the clouds southeast edge. beast has it's eyes on the ground, searching and sniffing for every other beast available when it suddenly jerks my shoulder left up a driveway. beast's claws scrape the pavement as i resist. beast's ears tell me to listen. i hear only mumbling and then a car door. i force beast from the driveway and toward our castle despite it's continued resistance but as it fights back i glance to see an all too familiar bumper sticker back out the driveway. her eyes go as big as saucers as beast+me stand dumbfounded, heartbroken and hollow that this betrayal has gone on just four little kingdoms away. she considers words briefly but then decides against it. the bumper sticker beats us home. i close the gate to our/my/her kingdom and send beast for water, returning to my cocoon to find it already tainted with her warm wanting flesh.
she tries to sing. she tries to dance. i cocoon myself away from her spells. its cold.
hours later she strikes with her soft, warm dance again. i resist by my soldier disobeys my orders. she attacks him. he fights the good fight and wins and loses. defenses exhausted, we cocoon together and she whispers to me a new song i'd not heard before: a fable of how her adventure to the other kingdom is over, that she's chosen this castle+king and that our magic potion is now brewing a little prince/ss. i have no response. the realisation of her betrayal in such close proximity had hardened me beyond permeation. her spell is suddenly broken. the rehab over. her banishment can occur tomorrow.
we puff ourselves to sleep...
in the morning i'll sing+dance as she packs her bags.
same song. same dance. a week of physical absence and digital lies before she'd prance in the house looking+smelling like her phenomenally intoxicating self. she'd crack a smile, shoot a wanting glance and my boiling rage would roll to a simmer and shortly evaporate away to soft warm happiness; pleased with her safety, her gaze, her touch, her warmth. same song. same trance would come over me every time she would gently slide her skirt from that playful position on her hips, lay on the bed and grab her perfectly shaped ass with that glance once more. i'd go to her. she'd grab a handful of my member and watch him grow from beneath my pants before revealing him and loving us both. we'd come together for the rest of the night. in the morning we'd share each other again, pushing against the tiled walls of our tiny shower stall like we were trying to remodel. for the days that followed we'd share dreams+ideas+laughs, and we'd cook for each other, and read to each other, and taste+smell+love like home for each other.
and as soon i thought maybe she'd stay, maybe we'd stay this time... she'd be gone.
each spell cast was always followed by another spell of absence and each absence helped me build up a resistance to it; like abusing a good drug. and it had become just that; i slowly stopped looking or asking for further digital lying but instead knew building up a tolerance to her drugging and eventually (i'd tell myself) i 'd be free of her spell.
in her absence i'd keep the house clean and the bills paid and the animals fed and the lawn trimmed. in her absence i'd perfect everything for her impending return, whenever it may be. in her absence i'd keep the fridge stocked and cook meals in case she appeared that night to a hot meal that would surely then have her asking herself why she ever leaves my side. at night in her absence her clothes would hang in the darkness next to mine, her dry towel would hang next to my damp one, her cold pillow would lay next to my head; all redolent with her sweet smell. our animals would do their best to fill her void with their love. in her absence my chest would tighten, i'd lay awake and wonder where she was, what she was doing, even if she was happy, but mostly i'd wonder why she kept me under this treacherous spell and when i would grow strong enough to break it.
same song. same dance. spell bound again.
a few mornings later i awake from a warm sleep to an icy cold room. i know before my eyes open that she's gone. i'm alone again with only the hot breath of our panting beast breaking the chill. the beast, thrilled with my open eyes wets my face with it's rank tongue startling all my senses and lifting me immediately to a sitting position where i would better suited to defend myself from it's aggressive love. it means i'll lift my empty dreams and slightly harder heart from beneath my cocoon and to my feet. i smoke a bit of the emptiness, the tightness, the hardness away before collaring me in cotton, it in metal and wandering out into the deepest blue morning darkness. dawn is minutes away.
me+beast wander. we turn a corner. and another. another. the paperboy avoids our side of the street; beast growls anyway. beast shits in the park; i leave it. another corner and the street lights begin to flicker off; the deep blue skies giving way for greens. another corner and another as we turn back onto our street; our little red brick castle just in the distance cast in increasingly vibrant yellows. i have my eyes on the lines of orange+pink that begin to streak down the clouds southeast edge. beast has it's eyes on the ground, searching and sniffing for every other beast available when it suddenly jerks my shoulder left up a driveway. beast's claws scrape the pavement as i resist. beast's ears tell me to listen. i hear only mumbling and then a car door. i force beast from the driveway and toward our castle despite it's continued resistance but as it fights back i glance to see an all too familiar bumper sticker back out the driveway. her eyes go as big as saucers as beast+me stand dumbfounded, heartbroken and hollow that this betrayal has gone on just four little kingdoms away. she considers words briefly but then decides against it. the bumper sticker beats us home. i close the gate to our/my/her kingdom and send beast for water, returning to my cocoon to find it already tainted with her warm wanting flesh.
she tries to sing. she tries to dance. i cocoon myself away from her spells. its cold.
hours later she strikes with her soft, warm dance again. i resist by my soldier disobeys my orders. she attacks him. he fights the good fight and wins and loses. defenses exhausted, we cocoon together and she whispers to me a new song i'd not heard before: a fable of how her adventure to the other kingdom is over, that she's chosen this castle+king and that our magic potion is now brewing a little prince/ss. i have no response. the realisation of her betrayal in such close proximity had hardened me beyond permeation. her spell is suddenly broken. the rehab over. her banishment can occur tomorrow.
we puff ourselves to sleep...
in the morning i'll sing+dance as she packs her bags.
Friday, January 24, 2014
the dangerous mind of david simon : tales of two cities
as a fan of david simon's work i happened to have the interesting opportunity to live in or at least near the cities he portrayed in his hbo series while they were in production. i have to admit to living near as i lived in washington dc, not baltimore, during the production of the wire though anyone with experience will tell you that living in one means knowledge of and (at least occasionally) frequenting the other.
for those who may not know, david simon worked the baltimore sun city desk for 12years during which time he wrote homicide: a year on the killing streets and co-wrote the corner: a year in the life of an inner city neigbourhood both of which had their own (mini)series and both of which certainly inspired the wire. after katrina, simon worked with part-time new orleans local, eric overmyer to create treme; the tale of nola's recovering historic musician's neighbourhood.
while both shows embodied their respective cities well my experience with both of them is certainly different. i was already living in new orleans when the creation of treme was announced and over the last five+ years i've gotten very intimate with this city. perhaps had i known baltimore in the same way my views of the wire would more closely resemble those of treme. that being said, i remember an excitement in new orleans when treme was initially announced. the producer of the wire was going to come tell a similar story of our beloved city in the aftermath of our abysmal near death experience; how could there not be excitement? simon had wrote some of the grittiest, true characters ever conceived for the wire, he'll surely do the same with his characters of new orleans. but after the first season, treme was getting mixed reviews from the nola natives. i heard critiques about the show's apparent slow pace or the lack of depth; that the characters didn't resonate with the locals though the events the characters experienced did. others, of course, enjoyed it immensely; glad to see simon capture more than simply gratuitous jazz+gluttony.
for me what differs between simon's stories of baltimore and new orleans is that while the wire told of individuals lives through exemplary character development, treme conversely showed how each character served as interactive piece of the greater whole (best embodied in the season 3 finale; tipitina). the main character in treme was the great city of new orleans. her hopes+dreams, her health+well-being, her trials+tribulations were lived out through her citizens; parts of a greater whole like the arteries+organs of her body - each action a felt though potentially not noticed reaction. the music was her heart, the food was her soul, the politics+crime; her brain. treme mirrored the way i've come to see the city over the years; thousands of interlocking pieces of diner+streetcar+bayou+sousaphone. in that way the show became a great success and i was thrilled that hbo allowed it to conclude... albeit rapidly.
.....
simon's work serves as a bitter look at an american reality all too often cast aside or hidden from plain sight by the media, the aristocrat, the government, and the ignorant which sadly includes... the majority. we are, after all, a country of complacency far too satisfied with our instant gratification.
this post was inspired after searching one of my new favorite websites: dangerous minds. i came across a talk david simon gave at australia's "festival of dangerous ideas" in the sydney opera house. his speech was appropriately titled "my country is a horror show." in it david simon proves himself a dangerous mind, and one worth listening to. check it out.
a few other intriguing dangerous minds links:
istvan orosz art
hitchcock's unseen holocaust documentary
houdini exposed
franz kafta's "it's a wonderful life" brought to you by the new doctor, peter capaldi
grant/hepburn : 5-minute version of charade
for those who may not know, david simon worked the baltimore sun city desk for 12years during which time he wrote homicide: a year on the killing streets and co-wrote the corner: a year in the life of an inner city neigbourhood both of which had their own (mini)series and both of which certainly inspired the wire. after katrina, simon worked with part-time new orleans local, eric overmyer to create treme; the tale of nola's recovering historic musician's neighbourhood.
while both shows embodied their respective cities well my experience with both of them is certainly different. i was already living in new orleans when the creation of treme was announced and over the last five+ years i've gotten very intimate with this city. perhaps had i known baltimore in the same way my views of the wire would more closely resemble those of treme. that being said, i remember an excitement in new orleans when treme was initially announced. the producer of the wire was going to come tell a similar story of our beloved city in the aftermath of our abysmal near death experience; how could there not be excitement? simon had wrote some of the grittiest, true characters ever conceived for the wire, he'll surely do the same with his characters of new orleans. but after the first season, treme was getting mixed reviews from the nola natives. i heard critiques about the show's apparent slow pace or the lack of depth; that the characters didn't resonate with the locals though the events the characters experienced did. others, of course, enjoyed it immensely; glad to see simon capture more than simply gratuitous jazz+gluttony.
for me what differs between simon's stories of baltimore and new orleans is that while the wire told of individuals lives through exemplary character development, treme conversely showed how each character served as interactive piece of the greater whole (best embodied in the season 3 finale; tipitina). the main character in treme was the great city of new orleans. her hopes+dreams, her health+well-being, her trials+tribulations were lived out through her citizens; parts of a greater whole like the arteries+organs of her body - each action a felt though potentially not noticed reaction. the music was her heart, the food was her soul, the politics+crime; her brain. treme mirrored the way i've come to see the city over the years; thousands of interlocking pieces of diner+streetcar+bayou+sousaphone. in that way the show became a great success and i was thrilled that hbo allowed it to conclude... albeit rapidly.
.....
simon's work serves as a bitter look at an american reality all too often cast aside or hidden from plain sight by the media, the aristocrat, the government, and the ignorant which sadly includes... the majority. we are, after all, a country of complacency far too satisfied with our instant gratification.
this post was inspired after searching one of my new favorite websites: dangerous minds. i came across a talk david simon gave at australia's "festival of dangerous ideas" in the sydney opera house. his speech was appropriately titled "my country is a horror show." in it david simon proves himself a dangerous mind, and one worth listening to. check it out.
a few other intriguing dangerous minds links:
istvan orosz art
hitchcock's unseen holocaust documentary
houdini exposed
franz kafta's "it's a wonderful life" brought to you by the new doctor, peter capaldi
grant/hepburn : 5-minute version of charade
Sunday, January 19, 2014
lord, help the poor+needy
earlier today i was heading down tchoupitoulas windows down, fresh cool air balancing the warmth of the sun and filled with the sounds of wwoz sunday. slightly lifted i used the particularly perfect blend of sensory stimulation to process+defragment+clear my mind until jessie mae hemphill got my complete attention with this song. simply soulful+hopeful+beautiful. i remained caught in oz's vibe as they went straight into old crow's motel in memphis and i suddenly realised they were praising dr. king. two terrific songs motivated me to want to remember the moment and the tracks to add to a playlist so as traffic backup and i come full stop i pull notebook+pen to jot song titles beneath the others. i drifted a bit closer to the highway before getting to put pen to paper and as i was writing the words "help the poor+needy" i noticed a man approaching with cupped hands outreached. he had no cardboard sign or catch phrase; just a pleasant smile and outreached hands. lord, help the poor+needy. i gave him the 5dollars i had on me and wished him no trouble and safe travels.
while i mention wwoz, it seems that this city's noise ordinance on live music as been postponed once again; if you weren't there the city council protest and mock hearing was pretty powerful on friday. a noise ordinance in the birthplace of jazz? it's as ridiculous as the premise of footloose. dance good while you can.
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