Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
alicalicit
I was making turds again next to the hot pipes and open window of a cold late October night on the verge of winter. The wind was gusting, rattling through the tattered venetians which made the room a bit too cold until a wane allowed a warm puff of heat from the lead pipes to balance it out again. I've always been sensitive to heat and cold, even the girl thought so. I sat there shitting and flossing and sniffing the floss between each plunge to detect for odors and beware the thought of rank breath. I've known too many great men with rank breath who become great lonely old rank-breathed men and I'd be damned if that'd be me in 30 years. I was gonna keep 'em clean, especially the baby one that failed to bud adult. The one that docs all said would rot out years ago. But we showed them, didn't we, you stank little pork trap. Snap! And on to the next one. Now all this flossin' left me sittin' too long and my legs got numb which was fine while I remained shittin' but I knew I was in for the fire on standin'.
The boys down the hall made a racket on trouncin' through so I sat and listened, delaying the reticulation fire awaiting my legs.
Hey Gail. silence. GAIL.
YO.
C'MON.
ALRIGHT. jesus. He made it to just outside the paper thin door.
That shit was fucked up.
Yea, how's that?
They had it in for me. Those guys were gangin' the fuck up on me.
They were, were they? The man said in mock response.
Oh, they were. They had it in. for. me.
Well, let's get movi... and the voices trailed off in the echo of the stairwell.
Just then I started to cry. And then sob. Big soft diamonds. There was no vision or no voice or no God mocking me. I just sit there, a healthy movement floating below with the cold winter air snappin' at my lily white thighs, weeping. It was time I guess and I let it come.
The boys down the hall made a racket on trouncin' through so I sat and listened, delaying the reticulation fire awaiting my legs.
Hey Gail. silence. GAIL.
YO.
C'MON.
ALRIGHT. jesus. He made it to just outside the paper thin door.
That shit was fucked up.
Yea, how's that?
They had it in for me. Those guys were gangin' the fuck up on me.
They were, were they? The man said in mock response.
Oh, they were. They had it in. for. me.
Well, let's get movi... and the voices trailed off in the echo of the stairwell.
Just then I started to cry. And then sob. Big soft diamonds. There was no vision or no voice or no God mocking me. I just sit there, a healthy movement floating below with the cold winter air snappin' at my lily white thighs, weeping. It was time I guess and I let it come.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Friday, October 24, 2008
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Monday, October 20, 2008
pictures
I've assembled a selection of photographs on flickr that have appeared in pRose, DC in hopes of creating a selection for print and show early in the new year. If ever there's a breath. 105 are there now and more are coming. Feel free to share these photographs and in turn share yours with me. What a fucking year it's been to date and no sign it will slow. No chance I already know. And we go. Go Go Go...
http://www.flickr.com/photos/prosedc/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/prosedc/
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Dig Dig
In a tit for tat we got deeper. With every tragedy we dug further in, losing along the way any sense of normalcy. A few years of this and we are in a free float. My prayers to god for more or clarity cease and I knew I had it - I had arrived.
I sat staring out the twisted blinds of the crumbling west side facade, the heat of the exposed steam pipes nearly burning my leg as I sat shitting a good healthy log. I wondered if tragedy could simply follow a man. That there was nothing that could be thought, said or done to avert the tragedy and destiny had its course. In any capacity. In strength or weakness. Simple. Like falling water. There may be potential in "ever" life for that one but his earthly existence would essentially be tragic and nothing could avert that. Not intention or study or movement or politic or time. Simply that a man has a destiny and sometimes it is tragic. If so, then that man has a choice still to live with what is presented him while he lives. And what is presented him is in the water, like deep sea fish - blind, resilient, communal, alive, art, work, separate, as it should be. Dig. Dig. Or he dies, septic and unfortunate, forgotten and better for it. Now I imagine that you imagine it is myself that I am wondering about with compulsive narcissism but it is not. It's my grandfather. He's there in his grave. And in the short season after Halloween and before the angry Christmas blitz I will go and sit with his rotting corpse in hopes that he'll come to say a word of wisdom that simply wasn't present in his lifetime.
I sat staring out the twisted blinds of the crumbling west side facade, the heat of the exposed steam pipes nearly burning my leg as I sat shitting a good healthy log. I wondered if tragedy could simply follow a man. That there was nothing that could be thought, said or done to avert the tragedy and destiny had its course. In any capacity. In strength or weakness. Simple. Like falling water. There may be potential in "ever" life for that one but his earthly existence would essentially be tragic and nothing could avert that. Not intention or study or movement or politic or time. Simply that a man has a destiny and sometimes it is tragic. If so, then that man has a choice still to live with what is presented him while he lives. And what is presented him is in the water, like deep sea fish - blind, resilient, communal, alive, art, work, separate, as it should be. Dig. Dig. Or he dies, septic and unfortunate, forgotten and better for it. Now I imagine that you imagine it is myself that I am wondering about with compulsive narcissism but it is not. It's my grandfather. He's there in his grave. And in the short season after Halloween and before the angry Christmas blitz I will go and sit with his rotting corpse in hopes that he'll come to say a word of wisdom that simply wasn't present in his lifetime.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
6 miles below
In near total darkness, under some of the greatest pressures on earth, these little guys built a community and thrive. I simply find their movements stunning.
See the fish. Play the video.
See the fish. Play the video.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Thursday, October 9, 2008
sleeps
Can you tell I've been sober? I can. responsibilities demand it. I looked across the dark night, across the same abandoned building tops, across a city of poverty.
Poppin', let me ask you this, do you intend to vote?
Usually no, but this time, yes, I intend to vote.
You do. Why this time?
Because now we got somethin' to vote for.
Have you ever voted before?
No, but this time, yes.
Are you registered?
Not yet but this time I'm gonna go.
That's the word? What you're sayin' is that's the word in your hood?
Yea, there's a black man in it.
Because Obama's black.
But I tell you what, these guys living in this probably don't know who McCain and Obama are. They got one thing on they minds, money.
What if someone brought papers to the street to register people to vote, do you think they would vote?
Now that's an idea. That'd be somethin'.(like i had said something radical).
Jesus, I don't know man. We live in the same shit, you're just a few blocks down the way but damn I hope there's a change.
There's got to be. These kids, some of them, have nothing but fear. That's why they usin' guns, afraid to use these. Poppin' says, holding up his fists.
Right. But no one's listening to the preacher. I know what they say, I've been to the rallies, I've seen it, those kids see the media, they'll go nowhere sitting in church. (I was being cynical but there was truth to it.)
Yea, shit. I don't know Poppin'. (we call each other poppin')
I nod and move out, wheels churning, looking for a solution from the bottom of poverty. There is no other way I wondered. The answer can't be rational, if it were It'd be done. The answer must be logical but not rational. The answer was in art somewhere, not in pictures or media or process but in concept.
Too vague you fucking lunatic, says the voice of fanaticism in my skull. I thought of Buttercup, little pieces gone, taken, routed.
Fuck you, is my response. Add to it or die, just fucking die. my custom over response holding me grounded and flailing. I have a creed but no leader, what a romantic joke.
Buttercup calls.
I can't pee, it's terrible.
Think of waterfalls and prancing horses.
I pee but I feel like I have to all of the time. they say it is a side effect of morphine and I'm on a lot of morphine.
You'll settle out, you'll find your rhythm. Give it forty days, not fourteen.
I know, that's what Jayson says (the surgeon). He says you've had just about the most serious operation you can get so don't expect to feel better, not for a little while, for a few more weeks.
I sip my beer.
Baby.
Yes.
You're falling asleep, the medication is working.
I should have called you before I took the medication.
I know, but you need your sleep.
Silence.
Babe!
Yea, I think I gotta go. 1 more sleep. She counts the sleeps before I see her again.
One more sleep. And we disconnect. One more disconnect.
Poppin', let me ask you this, do you intend to vote?
Usually no, but this time, yes, I intend to vote.
You do. Why this time?
Because now we got somethin' to vote for.
Have you ever voted before?
No, but this time, yes.
Are you registered?
Not yet but this time I'm gonna go.
That's the word? What you're sayin' is that's the word in your hood?
Yea, there's a black man in it.
Because Obama's black.
But I tell you what, these guys living in this probably don't know who McCain and Obama are. They got one thing on they minds, money.
What if someone brought papers to the street to register people to vote, do you think they would vote?
Now that's an idea. That'd be somethin'.(like i had said something radical).
Jesus, I don't know man. We live in the same shit, you're just a few blocks down the way but damn I hope there's a change.
There's got to be. These kids, some of them, have nothing but fear. That's why they usin' guns, afraid to use these. Poppin' says, holding up his fists.
Right. But no one's listening to the preacher. I know what they say, I've been to the rallies, I've seen it, those kids see the media, they'll go nowhere sitting in church. (I was being cynical but there was truth to it.)
Yea, shit. I don't know Poppin'. (we call each other poppin')
I nod and move out, wheels churning, looking for a solution from the bottom of poverty. There is no other way I wondered. The answer can't be rational, if it were It'd be done. The answer must be logical but not rational. The answer was in art somewhere, not in pictures or media or process but in concept.
Too vague you fucking lunatic, says the voice of fanaticism in my skull. I thought of Buttercup, little pieces gone, taken, routed.
Fuck you, is my response. Add to it or die, just fucking die. my custom over response holding me grounded and flailing. I have a creed but no leader, what a romantic joke.
Buttercup calls.
I can't pee, it's terrible.
Think of waterfalls and prancing horses.
I pee but I feel like I have to all of the time. they say it is a side effect of morphine and I'm on a lot of morphine.
You'll settle out, you'll find your rhythm. Give it forty days, not fourteen.
I know, that's what Jayson says (the surgeon). He says you've had just about the most serious operation you can get so don't expect to feel better, not for a little while, for a few more weeks.
I sip my beer.
Baby.
Yes.
You're falling asleep, the medication is working.
I should have called you before I took the medication.
I know, but you need your sleep.
Silence.
Babe!
Yea, I think I gotta go. 1 more sleep. She counts the sleeps before I see her again.
One more sleep. And we disconnect. One more disconnect.
add hoc
Legitimacy is built on living honestly. What a fucking deal. There are just too many coals to rake to keep account of them all. A picture speaks them better anyway - it affords a wider swath than generative personal politics can. One can use their victimhood or fear or arrogance to avoid responsibility but these lead to similar conclusions, paranoia, or worse, all out self deception.
It's strange, I can't imagine it, still, I really can't see it, what else would I do?
Holly looks for more.
I can't imagine not supporting your family, those you love.
Yea, she never loved you Daniel, she doesn't care about you.
I stayed silent on this one, still can't imagine it. The victim would rally the point. The coward would run from the question. The arrogant would persist in the face of it. These thoughts persist and I know I'm arrogant. What a fucking deal.
Before there was even time to respond the kids demand attention dragging food and toys across the hardwood floors. I look out the rain drenched windows, it's dark, 7PM, summer was gone, winter ahead.
What's next? But the kids were already distracting, already moving on to more important tasks of rolling and laughing and anything but staunch self analysis, how boring. I kiss them all and moved out on foot in the rain.
The coolness of the night impressed me. It hit me hard like most things do in this dark brick town and I made it across the city with thoughts of hot pasta and organic sauces lining the fridge, somber tunes droning between flips to the dark financial news if I could find a willing station so late on the FM. When I arrived the pasta seemed cold and lonely so I popped some corn and sat back with a beer over six months of edits not knowing what comes next.
It's strange, I can't imagine it, still, I really can't see it, what else would I do?
Holly looks for more.
I can't imagine not supporting your family, those you love.
Yea, she never loved you Daniel, she doesn't care about you.
I stayed silent on this one, still can't imagine it. The victim would rally the point. The coward would run from the question. The arrogant would persist in the face of it. These thoughts persist and I know I'm arrogant. What a fucking deal.
Before there was even time to respond the kids demand attention dragging food and toys across the hardwood floors. I look out the rain drenched windows, it's dark, 7PM, summer was gone, winter ahead.
What's next? But the kids were already distracting, already moving on to more important tasks of rolling and laughing and anything but staunch self analysis, how boring. I kiss them all and moved out on foot in the rain.
The coolness of the night impressed me. It hit me hard like most things do in this dark brick town and I made it across the city with thoughts of hot pasta and organic sauces lining the fridge, somber tunes droning between flips to the dark financial news if I could find a willing station so late on the FM. When I arrived the pasta seemed cold and lonely so I popped some corn and sat back with a beer over six months of edits not knowing what comes next.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Saturday, October 4, 2008
strange chronic
It's a fucking rainy night, October 3rd, I'm behind on pictures, behind on art, ahead on heart, pain free. The day carried on with a grand rhythmic thump. I hear a soundtrack, it's something of an electronic beat crooning through granite. Thud thud clack doom doom thud thud clack doom doom. It'd be like the sound of falling water on granite from inside the stone, distant but always present. I call the hospital - Buttercup reports boredom and pain, the staples of recovery.
Tell me what you are feeling.
It fucking hurts so much Daniel, I wake up everyday with pain that makes me want to kill myself. This lady next to me is puking and shitting and moaning because she's old. I fucking can't take it.
What else do you feel?
I don't fucking know, they took my eye... I'm just ready to get out of this place. I'm done with it Daniel.
It's not going to be forever, this we know. But if I were asked and I'm not but if I were asked I'd say you are doing better everyday. Even your bitchin' about everything. It's a big difference from going non-responsive to a few words to actively bitching. They took a lot of shit from you, it will take months to feel better. I don't know, no one does but I know this, that this pain won't last forever.
Maybe.
Listen, I know how you'll feel but I must report it, some friends have recommended someone who can deal with chronic pain.
Oh fuck that, fuck that, they have no clue.
I thought you'd say that. I know. They're just trying to help, they want to help.
Oh, I know baby, I know, it's just i can't fucking take this much longer.
You're getting better everyday, I promise.
The night drifts off.
A bum screams from across the bridge, over the tracks. I see but the music is loud and only pierced by commotion. The mp3 cranks 'million miles.' I make eye contact and think of _ _ _ _, of Buttercup, the audience is small. We are ships. "Is it strange I should change I don't know, why don't you ask her."
Tell me what you are feeling.
It fucking hurts so much Daniel, I wake up everyday with pain that makes me want to kill myself. This lady next to me is puking and shitting and moaning because she's old. I fucking can't take it.
What else do you feel?
I don't fucking know, they took my eye... I'm just ready to get out of this place. I'm done with it Daniel.
It's not going to be forever, this we know. But if I were asked and I'm not but if I were asked I'd say you are doing better everyday. Even your bitchin' about everything. It's a big difference from going non-responsive to a few words to actively bitching. They took a lot of shit from you, it will take months to feel better. I don't know, no one does but I know this, that this pain won't last forever.
Maybe.
Listen, I know how you'll feel but I must report it, some friends have recommended someone who can deal with chronic pain.
Oh fuck that, fuck that, they have no clue.
I thought you'd say that. I know. They're just trying to help, they want to help.
Oh, I know baby, I know, it's just i can't fucking take this much longer.
You're getting better everyday, I promise.
The night drifts off.
A bum screams from across the bridge, over the tracks. I see but the music is loud and only pierced by commotion. The mp3 cranks 'million miles.' I make eye contact and think of _ _ _ _, of Buttercup, the audience is small. We are ships. "Is it strange I should change I don't know, why don't you ask her."
Thursday, October 2, 2008
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