Thursday, March 26, 2009

The pRose,DC has moved


click on the image to gain access to the new pRose, DC blog site



http://prosedc.blogspot.com/
This blog site is where you will find "pRose, DC: The Life and Times of a Twenty First Century American." In the past I have mingled pictures, videos and art reviews with the pRose, DC. In the future this is where you will find the personal stories, largely just the prose, when I am actively writing them.

Sunday, January 25, 2009

Post Blog Wayfinding

Here are the links to finding pRose, DC future works:

http://prosedc.blogspot.com/
This blog site is where you will find "pRose, DC: The Life and Times of a Twenty First Century American." In the past I have mingled pictures, videos and art reviews with the pRose, DC. In the future this is where you will find the personal stories, largely just the prose, when I am actively writing them.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/prosedc/
This is where you can find photographs from "pRose, DC: The Life and Times of a Twenty First Century American." New picture will be added with some frequency as relevant. As of October 2010 I am posting less here.

YouTube Channel
As of September 2010 I am living in Prishtina, Kosovo. Here is where you can find entries for my video blog and youtube channel.

Tumblr Account



This current blog site will be left as a document, a work of art, a post a day, begining roughly on January 15, 2008 through roughly January 15, 2009, along with the previous year of random postings which began in January 2007 on myspace.

~Rose

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

take my word for it

The authorities closed the bridge from Grand Island to the mainland and I was idling near the front of the pack on the incline inching forward as they allowed us one by one around the emergency vehicles. A man had jumped; parked his car right there in the cruise lane, got out and leaped with finality over the taut cable barrier to the icy waters below. Some parked and stayed to look for the body bobbing among the ice and debris by the light of the patrol car spotlight and then by the scan of the helicopter passes in the late winter evening. I stayed. And as the authorities presence increased, dispersing the half committed rubberneckers, and the noise of the emergency vehicles and passing choppers disrupted the stillness, many more left. I stayed to record it, feeling self conscious for my queer attempt to make sense of an apparent suicide. But I knew he was asked to jump, told so, as most who do are. For example, Jesus. So I stayed and looked and watched the waters for signs of the snagged body. I sat in my warm car with the light syrupy scent of antifreeze present and wrote down any meaning I could find. What came out was a list poem. I liked its rhythm and sat repeating it like an onomatopoeia. 'Take my word for it' is what I called it - Eye, Bone, Hair, Hand, Lip, Eye, Mouth, Love. Eye, Bone, Hair, Hand, Lip, Eye, Mouth, Love. I kept saying it and drove away leaving the body to bob and my poem to flutter off into silliness. And the whole way I thought of Buttercup, her choice to come, our pleasure, and the insane wetness of her cunt leaking over her thighs like the mouth of a viscous balloon lubricating our hopes. There's joy in everything I thought, with enough time we'll draw it out of everything. Cancer, customs, death, life, desire and all.

[This is the last entry to fulfill my obligations of a year ago. Thank you to all my readers. Look to these URL's, the current one here - http://danielcosentino.blogspot.com/ and the new one here http://prosedc.blogspot.com/ for future posts and new work. One love ~Rose]

tap n bride

Saturday, January 17, 2009

anatomies sum

Sometimes, ok all of the time, I have visions. A thousand possibilities, their interpretations, their likely outcomes and then the hopeful one. It's this last one to which I give the most credit. The anatomy of hope. Then when they do not come to pass I rage or flop or lay down in disbelief and wail and broadcast my disappointment and act it out - slash and burn the rubber of everyday existence. The slashing leaves me without support to move on. Out of desperation I begin to see the environment and the beauty surrounding it. Its a dark thing more than half of the time. Maturity dictates I improve those odds. And then I hear children speaking. Patti would say that these are the spirits and laughs for the sex to be had and the joy of birth and the utter impracticality of being spiritual in this way. Fuck it. So I sit to write and pace the green painted floor and pour the coffee grounds over glue and canvas to make words if nothing more. Engage it privately for three or more to see and I'm satisfied. For now. What I don't express here is the academics. Speaking epistemology in interpretation for others to grasp and criticize. I prefer practice but not entirely convinced that the other side isn't offering anything. That's where the money is, the institutional money anyway. On the other end, it's in the market. One pleases few, the other pleases more and they'll flip and flop and drop and inch ahead. It takes a utilitarian to master it though most would disagree. In not a utilitarian, I lose faith the moment any one of us goes down unless, of course, it is me taking them down. But you know this already.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

separate

professionalism is knowing enough about the world to let go. The trick is not to let go too much. Knowing your stuff and demonstrating it are two separate hoops. One comes from love, innate ability and suffering. The other comes from luck. Mine's not good, neither is Buttercups. So we fight, we get into it like any beasts and fall asleep in separate states, in separate countries, and wake up thinking about each other like we found the holy grail and covenant. What's next is anyone's guess. What's next is the limit and then we die. Of what I've been told she will die before me because her genes have mutated and have begun to mutate her body. This started in the tear duct and traveled quickly along the nerves of her eye, cheek, dura and brain. Blunt force trauma just for showing up. I thought of hell, my education and jumped in, for her. This mutation will dictate the limits and provide the answers if we let it. And then the heat leaves the land, completely, in the cold lake winter. Bitter frozen, wet, North American cold. Bah! What's next is a guess.

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

the den