The Collected Works of

haiku, for now

2011-12-06T20:58:00.000-05:00

The leaves fall - rake time Again, a bit of world dies Rake them up. Again, spring. Addendum: This is the belated fall. Let's see what is lost and what shall be sewn into summer day dreams of what was then / was now

Unusual Spending on Home

2011-07-07T22:23:00.004-04:00

Often, I have found a locus, a fly, a cockroach – dead, yet whole on the ground the body of the insect dry as a tomb empty, like so many robbed graves a Sailboat, a Motorboat, another Sailboat each covered with tattered, weathered wings – a blue tarp spread across its carapace This strip of land is a place where dreams go to die, good intentions to fix, repair, rebuild, reuse, Resurrect

for my sister

2010-05-06T15:25:00.000-04:00

We are made out of the parts of our parents, yes. Their dreams. Their hopes. Their aspirations for themselves unachieved. The fights, the battles, the wounds, scars and Scabs that make perfect Flesh for the next generation Over generations, the template of our parents’ parents has only slightly reconfigured with time – a few changes, some patches, no enhancements,

hopefully blogging is on its way out

2009-08-20T15:29:00.003-04:00

so i can get back to writing here. jumped ship really in 2004 since the surge of drops in the bucket became too much. inspired to write again upon meeting Simon Morris, Robert Fitterman, and Kenneth Goldsmith (well, virtually via Simon's excellent documentary). uncreative writing just might be the way for me to start writing again. that, and the fact that i've committed myself to an intense

should i get a face-lift?

2009-06-10T05:03:00.001-04:00

revisit the idea of writing on this blog? eh....what do you think? comments welcome.

Love in the time of...

2008-02-21T21:33:00.002-05:00

"Most people deceive themselves with a pair of faiths: they believe in eternal memory(of people, things, deeds, nations)and in redressibility (of deeds, mistakes, sins, wrongs).Both are false faiths.In reality the opposite is true:everything will be forgottenand nothing will be redressed."-Milan Kundera

It's around this time of year

2008-02-01T12:27:00.000-05:00

It's around this time of yearthat the dust gathers itselfand starts its not-so-silent marchback into the memories of the people that so diligentlylaid those little bunnies to restIt's around this time of yearthat the shades of pink that break through the gray of the horizon, seem so precious, so rarepeople are grateful for their tryingIt's around this time of yearthat the ability to keep up one's

No one expects to hear a thing here

2008-02-01T12:05:00.000-05:00

because I have been so inactive for so long. I think as the masses of voices started to take over the airwaves back in late 2004/early 2005, I felt it was a good time to retreat. And there's always the question of when it is appropriate to wear a veil of anonymity. Frankly, I stopped wanting to establish a particular voice online once I got about 4 months into it, back in early 2004. I saw

Thinking about the same thing tonight...

2008-01-31T23:52:00.000-05:00

...as in June. This time the lyrics were from a They Might Be Giants song, Lucky Ball and Chain that I've been listening to for 18 (yikes!) years now. The line is this:Sure as you can steer a train/You can change your fateSad to say I never gave that much thought to the train in the lyric, and the verb "to steer." But actually I think I missed the meaning in that line because I was fixated on

the party

2007-12-31T22:56:00.000-05:00

best movie ever (right now)the party

same as it ever was

2007-07-07T00:23:00.000-04:00

the artworld is just like the "real" world in that as funding sources change with the dynamics of the economy, there are two distinct fields of production emerging -- a "nonprofit" and a "corporate' sphere. To be an artist operating in the first sphere, you probably are doing site-specific and/or community outreach based work and rely heavily on grant-based funding to pay for the creation of the

often reduced to just paying attention

2007-06-15T00:00:00.001-04:00

to lyrics you never noticed before, originally drowned by the movie-style thematic banging about percussion in the background:Neil Young - There's A World Lyrics There's a world you're living inNo one else has your partAll God's children in the windTake it in and blow hard.Look around it, have you found itWalking down the avenue?See what it brings,could be good thingsIn the air for you.We are

gender

2007-05-09T20:16:00.000-04:00

[MAN]age+MENT

Discussing categories of Art earlier

2007-01-24T00:33:00.000-05:00

and then reading this line:"the human soul resists taxonomy"how appropriate. my point exactly. there is no line; stop looking, and you will finally see the line for yourself.

In case the last one didn't fool you...

2007-01-16T18:53:00.000-05:00

it was all a farce...well, except for the driving stick shift.anyway. new news is good news:my first nyc show

but, the good (?value judgment?) thing is that

2007-01-03T22:46:00.000-05:00

i've accomplished already so many of my life-long goals, in just one short year (the former, 2006).and in no particular order:1 - Travel to the pyramids2 - Donate all of my Baby Sitter Club Books to my high school (oh it was such a difficult parting!)3 - Learn how to drive stick shift - sweet...4 - Finally buy (and use a back-up hard drive (now all my pre-K-fed Britney is safe and my computer is

lay-dee like

2007-01-03T22:44:00.000-05:00

wow, my goodness. who wrote that last post? heavens to betsey! ME oh MY!(again, "so this is the new year/and i don't feel any different")

word

2006-11-16T19:27:00.000-05:00

drunk knitting is not as easy as one might think it would be, esp. with very gnarley yarn ...

not so summer reading

2006-11-02T10:33:00.000-05:00

The Will to Technology

tradition

2006-10-31T20:35:00.000-05:00

Wing of a Roller, 1512Albrecht Durerwatercolor and gouache on vellum

A Call to Arms

2006-10-25T00:08:00.000-04:00

or, Oms ...Rise up! Rise Up! YoungYoung, still so youngOne of manyThat thought you'd besome where/oneelseBigger, Stronger, Faster moreBelievable by Now ...YOUr'e time has comeReady, Go SteadyBang away on your father's gunall thoughts dreams he had(wished) realized in youFight to re/claimthat that was neveryoursthat which neverreally manifested itselfbeyond an ancestor's grave

today The Room, tomorrow The Response

2006-10-17T21:09:00.000-04:00

by Mark Strand The Room It is an old story, the way it happenssometimes in winter, sometimes not.The listener falls to sleep,the doors to the closets of his unhappiness openand into his room the misfortunes come --death by daybreak, death by nightfall,their wooden wings bruising the air,their shadows the spilled milk the world cries over.There is a need for surprise endings;the green field where

UM, blogger dot com ...

2006-09-30T23:54:00.000-04:00

Can we exchange a few words here?Why, oh why, did you design (or acquire) and implement a spell check feature that does not recognize the word "blog" in its dictionary??! um. yeah. thought so.i guess we are all just as confused.

love is a short name

2006-09-30T23:38:00.001-04:00

for dismissal, of the many things that require attention,responsibilitysuch asdoing the dishesfiling your bills, your nailscataloging years of birthday cards receivedand boxing the funny/sentimental/thiswillworkforsomeoccassion hallmark greetings picked up along the way that haven't received a receiver (yet)Ex-said-er-rah!...oh, and there's that little thingthe tape always running in the

subtitles

2006-09-19T22:18:00.000-04:00

wings of desire:"What is wrong with peace...that its inspiration does not endure...and that it is almostuntellable?"-------------------this (above), after reading this.Have we embarked?

they do what they say ...

2006-09-18T17:27:00.000-04:00

check it (out) --- added to the gtown library (yikes! how official! has it really already been over a year? well, looks like they got their dates mixed up - publication date is really 2005, but who's counting?)

maybe pittsburg

2006-09-14T21:55:00.000-04:00

could use some revisiting:http://collectedworks.blogspot.com/2005/01/for-indecisive-or-perhaps-honest.htmlagain, i found myself - twice now in the last week - referring to this salad, a little yang for your yin.

UnderLines ("But what do the dead say?")

2006-09-11T21:33:00.000-04:00

i've always been obsessed with Other People's Underlines...I have spent minutes that were actually hours, pouring over library shelves and the musty (but cozy) smelling rows of printed matter in used book stores, combing through book after book - titles I've read and titles I haven't - to discover what little marks have been made, what symbols others employ to show importance or ready a

another cup half empty/half full

2006-09-11T13:33:00.000-04:00

"What you do to others you really do to yourself. So when you do good to others, you're doing good to yourself. Alternatively, when you do bad to others, you're doing bad to yourself. So in thinking of others, think of yourself, for to love and do right by others is to love and do right to your own self." - Leela James balance

"Sometimes the work of art about an event precedes the event in time."

2006-09-08T10:30:00.000-04:00

Mark Strand's translation of a poem by Carlos Drummond de Andrade:SOUVENIR OF THE ANCIENT WORLDClara strolled in the garden with the children.The sky was green over the grass,the water was golden under the bridges,other elements were blue and rose and orange,a policeman smiled, bicycles passed,a girl stepped onto the lawn to catch a bird,the whole world—Germany, China— All was quiet around

if

2006-08-27T14:38:00.000-04:00

re/member

2006-08-27T14:35:00.000-04:00

(no subject, no object, no past, no future)

2006-08-27T14:31:00.000-04:00

monthly quota

2006-08-24T08:56:00.000-04:00

Fire and Ice Some say the world will end in fire,Some say in ice.From what I've tasted of desireI hold with those who favor fire.But if it had to perish twice,I think I know enough of hateTo say that for destruction iceIs also greatAnd would suffice. -- Robert Frost

this is me

2006-07-20T14:38:00.000-04:00

half-cooked, half-raw

no surprise

2006-06-19T17:53:00.002-04:00

an artist quoted on a starbucks cup:"In an age when pictures have become more eloquent than words, schools are still programmed to reduce the child's immersive interaction with the visual world to the practical poverty of the alphabet. Visual literacy should become a pedagogical priority in order to prepare our children to function within the increasingly visual complexity of our environment."

oh those young kids

2006-05-03T23:59:00.000-04:00

don't trust anyone over thirtywhat an anthem.in retrospect, what a waste of toothpaste and disposable cameras. oh waitmaybe that's my generation.ambition will get you somewhere online your little plot of sand in the dune of timebut wait for the waveno one will cry for your castlebecause they always already rememberit was never always never there.

Forthcoming

2006-04-24T22:07:00.000-04:00

"To the mosquitoes that I hope will die here: A Memoir of the Times We Never Spent.”

i don't miss your pleasure anymore

2006-04-24T22:00:00.000-04:00

or, it has been a long time, the brain can't keep track of it all...Or, I am stuck on you(r scent). "The salient feature in this case is odour. Rats, mice and voles recognise each other by smell. Christie Fowler and her colleagues at Florida State University have found that exposure to the opposite sex generates new nerve cells in the brains of prairie voles—in particular in areas important to

there are fewer things

2006-04-17T22:30:00.001-04:00

still, when did a minute become so long?now that we control what time used to dictatetell me why so little is givenwithout the expectation of gain(addition addiction)(addiction addition)(add) (ad) (add) (added)the new minimalization (Fine Living) is living in forcedwaves of the microserfs,a steady supply of square oneplus its own negative (addition

now is a good time for this one again

2006-04-07T12:31:00.000-04:00

From the Long Sad Party Mark Strand Someone was saying something about shadows covering the field, about how things pass, how one sleeps towards morning and the morning goes. Someone was saying how the wind dies down but comes back, how shells are the coffins of wind but the weather continues. It was a long night and someone said something about the moon shedding its white on the cold field,

fair

2006-03-23T01:49:00.000-05:00

well? perhaps.this site has been draining itself dry for months nowit's just plain silly how very truethat the more you openthe more you leave exposed,out your control,the more that flows,flows from youyou aloneso let's put on this actthe one that we've rehersed to the point that the lines we recitebecome wrinkles on an exhausted faceso many things are just plain over.now.

gushing is the last one would expect

2006-03-21T18:00:00.000-05:00

and i was preoccupied, changing my name,creating a fictional addressjust so i could buy porn onlinewhat little chariot of wild horseswould come bearing down uponthis stick frozen by time and the chill of a lake?i, for one, was not sticking aroundto find outthe scene always reveals itself in the past tenseand the arches of feet ache for the miles of rockydust aheadsometimes a shoulder stand is

today is a good day for this one, a still life

2006-02-17T09:23:00.001-05:00

by William Carlos Williamsso much dependsupona red wheelbarrowglazed with rainwaterbeside the whitechickens.---------(pay attention to the ordinary, the small thingsthe quotidian.)

the cold water is always so warm

2006-01-30T23:40:00.000-05:00

and it takes more than a minuteto register the command:"cold, drinkable water now, dammit!"expectations are not always so accommodatingto instantaneous needeven after years, or just a few weekswe are still waitingfor the right response("right" of course being the demand of intent we attempted to create)...influence only goes so far...hiccups are oh-so-symbolicif you want them to be

the most over-looked,

2006-01-22T23:26:00.000-05:00

under-rated condiment EVER ishorseradish.and that's all there is to say about that.

a time for the new?

2006-01-16T13:32:00.000-05:00

i was thinking about starting up a new blog space, a new manila folder to contain writings of a different kind, a new space to carve out in my mind, an online portal into a separate section of thought. this has nothing to do with the new year.to quote a band that i referred to in an email to friends last year upon the changing of the calendar..."so this is the new year/and i don't feel any

when did it become a job?

2005-12-28T21:18:00.000-05:00

did it always work this way? centuries ago, was the pressure the same? when did the word Labor become synonymous with the idea of just going out and doing things?i guess it's just part of the process, part of the becoming ______. well, maybe it has more to do with an audience. when your audience becomes a list of people with names you don't recognize, and the pressure of ownership/

let us speak now

2005-12-22T18:17:00.000-05:00

let us speak now,or forever hold our piece(that's right, you know the peace i mean.)a soundtrack to our lives could replay all of the words that should havewould havecould have beenbut insteadwhite noise fills the gap betweencrickets clicking away at the closest moonthat hangs its light just so shadows can be bornwould havecould have(to have and to hold to have and to have not)would havecould

there is something about histories

2005-12-10T23:58:00.000-05:00

there is something about historiesand the way they always seem to repeatthemselves (ourselves) when we've reached another new plateaudespite the evolution of the selfthe self returns to that same oldsickly little selfwicked ways can't changethe hearts that have memory programmedinto the pattern of its pumpingof valves and vessels, in and out,values exchanged from ventricleto ventricle the rest of

ways to torture a broken wing

2005-12-08T20:41:00.000-05:00

stem from the insecurities that are best hidden by daily engagments with calendar itemsto do listschecking stock quotes...a yellow door is the gatewayto admitting one's failure atfacing the hard stuffbut that's why we turn away, isn't it?because it's "the hard stuff"the difficult thingsreally facing the issues at handor,stuck on the bottom of your shoemourning any lossonly concludes when we diewe

alternative skies, and opposite risings of the sun

2005-11-21T10:48:00.000-05:00

provide an element of escape,for a whilethen it's Back From The Time Change, toold realitiesbrief encounters with the same facesyou didn't misswhile you were outif Fast Forward is alwaysthe speed of life to which you return,when does the PlayBack begin?fog begins to burnoff of hillsides I have taken inas new friends, morning confidantsand I'm already dreading the plane that waitsthirteen hours

malaise is the new mauve

2005-11-09T02:36:00.000-05:00

your order will be processed momentarilysomeone said we are all cartoons -best to select Standard Shippingvelvet pants can only get you so far- is that thought comforting?can it be?perhaps it is more claustrophobic than anythingthen there were no wordssomewhere someone was sleeping and said- i know i try and you cannot givewell, isn't that what we do?walk awake to run at night,remind our legs of

this weekend, and in other news

2005-11-07T10:20:00.000-05:00

Buried Treasure "...from the rock, lying with its head bent back as if held by the current against a stream bank, it evokes, far better than any mounted skeleton, a real animal that lived and died..."[emphasis added]still,Current Headlines "...there is not much research about how...[relatively stable institutional environments]'play the game' when the old 'rules of the game' are gone and new

sometimes we send messages to those we didn't mean

2005-10-27T00:48:00.000-04:00

to receive such words, emotions, threads of meaning in our little, carefully plotted knots.like living in a house where most of the mail comes addressed to people you assume lived there before yourself.like living with roommates and trying to guess from the dried crusty colors on bowls and knives which one ate what. (eventually all of our furniture becomes extensions of our selves.)the messages

if the bare bones begin to break

2005-10-25T13:53:00.000-04:00

like damp toothpicks between frustrated fingersand the wickedness of the windbegins to matchthe color of your mis-matched socks,the anger between your intestines and your spleenlet nothing but the cold fill your gutand reach the top of your headslowly through your toes,xylem to your phloem,wood to your whisperconducting all the memories that have turned to mudand laid themselves into the graves

when will the old me

2005-10-18T01:50:00.000-04:00

when will the old me meet the new methat's already having the tea you hate to drinkwith the me from the pastthe one that used to agreewith everything you saiduntil the new mehad that, and a lot moreto sayto you, and mewhatever versions they may bedid you read this month's editiondid you catch that post?me neither.let's leavebefore that last train.

someone said something

2005-10-03T18:26:00.000-04:00

someone said somethingabout art and the making of something goodif it's not perfect(there is a perfect)there must be somethingin a reaction, a gut-spoken responsemaybe a ragemaybe a silent silent long lookto communicate to another"yes we both know."in the knowing do we findwhat we think we are looking for?no.absolutely not.it's just the closing argumentsto the always already stated"this confirms

I am my own moving target

2005-10-01T16:33:00.000-04:00

i am my own moving targetin a shooting gallerymade of glassclay pigeons beat me to the finishand i'm runningrunning runningrunningrunningrunningrunning runningrunningrunningrunningrunning runningrunningrunningrunningrunning runningrunningrunningrunning out of time

in the

2005-09-19T13:00:00.000-04:00

in the hazy shade of memoryyou were covered in white lighta finger raisedas if to say"all of our dirty laundry comes clean."pointing at the skywhite and white blended into blueyour raised head was a signal todo the same"we all make our lives into this shadestop wanting and the light will come."stop wanting.i brushed it asidelicked the skin of my arm(the part before the shoulder)and tasted the

our december has come and gone

2005-09-14T00:27:00.000-04:00

our december has come and goneand baby, it's cold outsideit's cold outside andi won't mindthese veins of minewon't leave my bodyi don't mindi don't mindjust leave me here to become the mossthat covers the floorof the forest i've lived in for yearslet me lay me down nowi won't mindit's cold outsidelet me cover itcover myselfin the cool cool mossof the last long summeri won't mindif fall is what

weakness bends at the knees

2005-09-07T23:51:00.000-04:00

and i'm stuck here forcinga backwards walkto a forward marchside front side back elbow to elbowback again andside side side sideto the kneeshanging aroundalways hanging aroundan email clawed itself into my mindagain(your lack of punctuation: always the cliff-hanger to a tragic ending.)and what little time have we really spenton anything beyondthe Anyway. Nevermind. about us, aboutus? (false

tell me when night falls

2005-08-10T01:07:00.000-04:00

tell me when night fallsso when the shades are drawni will know what to look forthrough half-closed, blinded eyestell me when night fallsso when the dirt is shoveled over the dayi can prepare my skin to receivethe messages of the day passeddust to dustdust to dustso when the shades are drawnand night fallsi can close my eyesnot knowing what to look forblinded by messagesyet able to seeelsewhere

The night is still old

2005-07-31T22:23:00.000-04:00

The night is still oldSo let’s begin the suture now.I will take this threadThe one made from the skin of the intestinesof the dead manyou talk aboutSo frequently.the one who sits insidethe iris of your right eyeI have taken his veinsExtracted their colorMade it into a pasteLike the color those Renaissance paintersUsed for their draperiesDiving inWhich skin shall be punctured first?The forearm?The

The heaviest burden

2005-06-27T15:32:00.000-04:00

from Nietzsche's Thus Spoke Zarathustra..."What if a demon crept after you one day or night in your lonelinest solitude and said to you: 'This life, as you live it now and have lived it, you will have to live again and again, times without number; and there will be nothing new in it, but every pain and every joy and every thought and sigh and all the unspeakably small and great in your life

when was the last time

2005-06-27T03:37:00.000-04:00

you felt like this was the last time?...that the final vowels had been laid into place, ordered like dominos, set and ready for the verbal take-off, launch pad, breaking point?when was the last time you heard the words loud and clear?...the words for the pit of anger that sits deep in your gut and makes a nest there, the words that screech out in stark pink venom, the consonants barely holding

other people's words seem much more interesting 'cause they ain't mine

2005-06-14T13:26:00.000-04:00

feeling a quiet escape in the post-thesis state of decompression, i have been happy to read the wisdom of others -- this quote is from the wisdom of the heart, by henry miller:(talking about Erich Gutkind's The Absolute Collective: A Philosophical Attempt to overcome our broken state)"The man of today, the man of the transition period, split and straddled as he is between two worlds, pregnant

consider this part of an extended collage

2005-06-05T22:53:00.000-04:00

...the writing here has been sparse, found more than forged, but still fresh, for me (at least). so, hence, the collage.and another piece, recovered from a book i thought i threw out years ago. this writing was on the tube in london as a part of their art in the tube series circa 1998.25th April 1974This is the dawn I was waiting forThe first day whole and pureWhen we emerge from night and

caught in the branches

2005-05-26T01:10:00.000-04:00

hanging like a dead limba boot caught in betweenthe good applesthe low-hanging fruiteasy optionsgravity always fallsand thenwhat is leftfor us?

some of you may have noticed

2005-05-20T03:28:00.000-04:00

how quiet the still of rain can behow the soft pages between the sheetscan remind you of warm thighslight weight clothingon sweat wet damp skinbasking in the moment of almostbut just not quite yetwhat rays reach your hairsthe tip of your headthe top of your well, nevermind.(i graduate tomorrow.i breathe again the next day.be still, my fleeting start. enjoy. the silence.)

so quiet, lately

2005-05-10T02:39:00.000-04:00

the lights have gone silentsmall buzzing rings in memory, not in actualhum........hum.hmmmmmwellthenwhat do we have here.very little, when relaxing.if sitting outside during the sun shine hours,we note one small thing, that was different before, but now,apparently the samethere is a freckle on my eyelid. i see it move as my closed eyes change direction.a constant.amongst.the forgiving,yet

out here in the perimeter there are no stars

2005-04-27T09:32:00.000-04:00

we see the sun through eyes shaded by the perspective of our own perception, filtered rays confirming individual existence within the network of our dreams.

one more week

2005-04-23T10:34:00.000-04:00

and the thesis will be over. "i'm taking back the knowledge...i'm taking back the gentleness...i'm taking back the ritual...i'm givining in to sweetness." - david byrne.

my body hates me

2005-04-11T22:51:00.000-04:00

it has been destroyed in the service of my mind that is attempting to finish this thesis. blah. and yuck.

one more to add to the family

2005-04-03T10:36:00.000-04:00

of plastic debris hanging out and around my backyard...tucked between a rock and a tuft of green grass was a small bit of blue plastic. seeing this reminded me of the site-specific installation i did last october for an outdoor sculpture show that took place in a park out in baltimore. dubbed "the body dumping ground," this park was really nice to see in the fall since it reminded me of the

that same piece of plastic is still hanging in the tree

2005-04-02T10:56:00.000-05:00

stretched across a few thin branches. it appears to blow in the wind, but is really just pushed around by the rain coming down in all directions, heavy with its own wetness.tattered. worn. the dirty lucidity of the plastic hangs like a flag, the remainder of a past marking a historythe sign of a failed truce.

it's a toxin, not unlike

2005-04-01T23:24:00.000-05:00

that of too much alcohol flowing through your veins, but, closer to a burning sort of fiery screach inside your vessels, ripping through and raging at everything and nothing and everything all at once, not unlike the cutting of the throat as flakes of "gold" rip up your tissues when shooting down some goldschlager --- it's that kind of screaming burning in the pit of your stomach and tearing up

woof!

2005-04-01T08:24:00.000-05:00

...letting the days go by

2005-03-27T15:44:00.000-05:00

a squirrel was fighting with plastic that had blown into the tree branches. struggling with the plastic sheeting, i watched and recalled dead bodies i saw when i was thirteen, bodies of sea turtles washed up on the shore of montauk, long island; lessons for how your sandwich bags could become weapons for murder. the squirrel ran off with a bit of the plastic wrapped up, new material for the

time is plastic

2005-03-27T02:42:00.000-05:00

and in case you didn't notice, i can DJ time online with as much creativity, spin, and rhetoric as the latest "breaking news" bit...<>

it's been too long since my last trip to vegas

2005-03-25T10:56:00.000-05:00

when i was last there, the guggenheim was in new-born swing, O was still the only show worth going to, and the weekend was only five days away...the desert outside of vegas is the best. henderson emerges out of the rocks and dust like a forgotten mirage of haphazard plans for living. community wasn't forgotten; it was never an issue.a certain novel came into my life at the most appropriate

not too long ago

2005-03-20T21:16:00.000-05:00

i witnessed an event that has plagued my memory with violent washes of pink and yellow, a bright green-yellow glare of color --two birds were fighting, flapping.one was obviously the dominant aggressor (always a master/slave struggle).the little brown birds were vicious. i felt as if i was a voyeur of a history-in-the-making moment within a small world that in its own image is a galaxy (a horton

"I am away from the computer right now."

2005-03-18T14:22:00.000-05:00

I think it is really interesting to think about the idea of the Instant Messenger "Away" message --- I'm online, but I'm offline. I want you to know I am connected, but I'm just off doing other things right now...brbOf everyone of my "buddies" on my list, my sister always has the best, most random lines for her away message. Current example:A quote from Nike, "a woman is often measured by the

Found Writing

2005-03-17T02:15:00.000-05:00

(an entirely different different example of "The Case of September 16"NORMALMy psychiatrist was reassuringly normal -Neither Woody Allen nor Doktor Freud -More like my non-existent elder brotherExplaining things. Sometimes in the waiting room,I'd see another patient, and then another: they looked so normalLike busy people in the supermarketPushing their trolleys around with tinned food, plastic

i want an open sky

2005-03-13T23:21:00.000-05:00

a blank-nessa do-overno, just a gray white skythat says nothingnot a place to colonizeor paint across, with what little meaningthat might never matter,(might never passfor any thing at all...)just to breathe inlike running between 5am and 7amfrom the top of a mountainin new york statechill air not coldjust freshwet dirt no other shoes have hitpounded by the weightof feetescaping miles

two by two by two is eight more than zero

2005-03-12T17:01:00.000-05:00

shout-out to kevin and his new website, www.videohippos.tk. anyone wanna ride to his show with japanther this coming Friday? Also....LONG LONG LONG overdue...kelly towles | charles steelman | and their Great One-Nighter, bollocks @ david adamson's old spaceNone of the usual suspects covered this event on their blogsites, so I'll try to fill-in the blanks... Art openings are performances,

where have i been?

2005-03-12T02:22:00.000-05:00

sleeping with a new blogsite......my mind and fingers have carved out a new web-frontier...watch out. coming soon. leave your shoes at the door, if yr comin' in|side...oh. and Save the Date (and the last drink for me): Friday the 13th of May, something is going to happen. Reserve that night for beautiful strangers and ugly friends.

guest writer: carter

2005-03-09T07:59:00.000-05:00

in the words below, carter touches upon a phenomenon on the connection between the rational mind and the body's sensory equipment. how many times has this situation happened to you? where you drink a glass of milk, but you think for a second that it's water and it indeed tastes like water, just for that split second? though carter describes an actual decision to eat cereal with water, the

midnight/dawn

2005-03-05T02:22:00.000-05:00

we constructed a new topography from the ruins, ashes and indestructible manufactured goods scattered across the landscape like colored candy wrappers, a rainbow of trash haphazardly speckling what was left of the earth, after the fire stopped burning the flesh and the land. little could be said at a time like this. a unanimous vote was issued: language was of no further use and was discarded

the greatest catastrophe

2005-03-04T13:58:00.000-05:00

is not having a theater in which to construct the maps of your sounds, the code to create the alias of/or self. Logic does not structure the flow of fame, only conduits of surface loop together the memory of information, Cool Information, that is rich enough to dance on (as it constructs) the surface itself. Language, language, language. Blankets of identity. Scarves of warm riddles.

when do you know if something is done?

2005-03-02T00:13:00.000-05:00

at least if you over-cook a cake the sweet smell eventually is over-powered by the burn. a bunch of yellow tulips are at the foot of the bed. they aren't from you, or any other version of you, but i imagine they could be. scattered. spilled. the petals open too much, too quickly, because of the heat. their eventual decay marks the end of their function. then an email, a little reply to a

women need words like brains ride bicycles

2005-02-27T02:22:00.000-05:00

the haunt of knowledgeis an echo,a stain of bloodclinging and dried to the top soilat the tipof the mindthe top oftonguei never edityou tend to always reviseeither wayyour history never matches mineyou remember words i wipe outwhite-wash out of memorybefore your timebegins to write minethe feeling of informationdiffers between each syllableeach contextexpression close to comfortyetevery failed

alameda

2005-02-25T05:24:00.000-05:00

alamedabordered by treesfenced in by promisesobligations trace pathwaysinto histories plotted on trajectoriesnot yet madenot yet traversed virgin territory gapping need you manifested destiny(or so I thought)really, you tooktransverse lines into your army webbed togetherlying to make beliefthat our past was truecrosshatched communicationsas your coveryou were always finishing my lines for

it's a nice day

2005-02-22T10:55:00.000-05:00

for a white weddingit's a nice day to start again

large connected blocks and bricks

2005-02-21T02:47:00.000-05:00

piled in an aleatory configuration...wire twisted during broken beer strings...beef marinated in Thai herbs, grilled and served in plastica meat market outside the window/hanging from puppet strings/special ordermade-to-delivera To-Go orderCarry It OutOut and up Over seventh floor balconiesand twelfth floor prison bars...an evening left to chancespent within cold bricks painted white to form

it's so hard to say good bye...

2005-02-08T23:26:00.000-05:00

...to yesterday...(sing it, boys II men). well quiet spaces are hard to find in the middle of construction sites, especially within the confines of adjusted time (and it's all in your head). on the lap now: The Laws of Cool: Knowledge Work and the Culture of Information by Alan Liu on the edge now: whether or not the writing will continue...

good bye

2005-02-01T20:33:00.000-05:00

i am leaving the world to re-train my brain's focus on academic writing. no fun for a while. silence. tapping of keys. only my head. my last show (for now, for a few months): Picture Window in Baltimore opening Feb. 12th. Alas, I won't be there as I will be working on Christo's Gates installation that week. i hope to emerge again, in little bubbles popping up to the surface from the

i'll drink to that

2005-01-27T11:59:00.000-05:00

andy warhol did absolut ads, so why not architects doing bottle designs? I wonder if the Corcoran will have Wyborowa sponsor the Gehry wing launch party... and it's been a while since Rapture came out, but I guess Dior has recently picked up a copy... Oh the synergy. Who would think there'd still be powerful expressions of alienation, despite such connectedness?

wearable art. wearable technology. hot hot hot!

2005-01-27T10:43:00.000-05:00

http://www.engadget.com/entry/6833839062762584

seduced by pure technology...

2005-01-25T14:21:00.000-05:00

Useless Technology, 2005 Kathryn Cornelius T610 mobile phone digital photograph > more seduction