gender

[MAN]age+MENT

Discussing categories of Art earlier

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...

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

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 pyramids
2 - 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 ready for the post-baby birth re-birth!)
5 - Watch Dirty Dancing (i know, i know) for the first time
6 - Organize all of my photographs, yes, even the baby pictures :)
7 - Learn French (...kissing, that is) with my eyes closed
8 - Teach my grandmother how to knit

Bring it ON two thousand and sev-en!

lay-dee like

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

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

not so summer reading

The Will to Technology

tradition

Wing of a Roller, 1512
Albrecht Durer
watercolor and gouache on vellum

A Call to Arms

or, Oms ...

Rise up! Rise Up! Young
Young, still so young
One
of many

That thought you'd be
some where/one
else
Bigger, Stronger, Faster more
Believable by Now ...

YOUr'e time has come
Ready, Go Steady
Bang away on your father's gun
all thoughts dreams he had
(wished) realized in you

Fight to re/claim
that that was never
yours
that which never
really manifested itself

beyond an ancestor's grave

today The Room, tomorrow The Response

by Mark Strand


The Room

It is an old story, the way it happens
sometimes in winter, sometimes not.
The listener falls to sleep,
the doors to the closets of his unhappiness open

and 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 cows burn like newsprint,
where the farmer sits and stares,
where nothing, when it happens, is never terrible enough.

UM, blogger dot com ...

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

for dismissal, of the many things that require attention,
responsibility

such as

doing the dishes
filing your bills, your nails
cataloging years of birthday cards received
and 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 thing
the tape always running in the background, composing the static of the day:

what are you still doing here, my love?
my sweet, sweet sweet Misses/d Opportunity
...your lungs have finally grown (time to leave Intensive Care)
time has come and time has passed and time will keep coming and when will "keep" finally be
the last stitch unstitched, the one keeping your lips closed from shouting to yourself

love is the short name
Attention! to the call -

(early beginners, late bloomers, one, too, and all)

subtitles

wings of desire:

"What is wrong with peace...



that its inspiration does not endure...



and that it is almost
untellable?"

-------------------




this (above), after reading this.


Have we embarked?

they do what they say ...

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

could use some revisiting:

http://collectedworks.blogspot.com/2005/01/for-indecisive-or-perhaps-honest.html


again, 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?")

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 contention with the author ... i could go on and on about the histories that have yet to be written from an anthropological study of underlines ...

but instead, i am going to share one, the only one in this title, and one of the very few i have ever found in any books once formerly owned by my mother ...

(in red link, underlined)

"You can always hear the people who are willing to sacrifice somebody else's life. They're plenty loud and they talk all the time."

(and a red 'X', just after the closing of the above quoted paragraph)

"But what do the dead say?"

(from Dalton Trumbo's Johnny Got His Gun

another cup half empty/half full

"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."

Mark Strand's translation of a poem by Carlos Drummond de Andrade:

SOUVENIR OF THE ANCIENT WORLD

Clara 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 Clara.

The children looked at the sky: it was not forbidden.
Mouth, nose, eyes were open. There was no danger.
What Clara feared were the flu, the heat, the insects.
Clara feared missing the eleven o'clock trolley,
waiting for letters slow to arrive,
not always being able to wear a new dress. But
she strolled in the garden, in the morning!
They had gardens, they had mornings in those days!

if

re/member