Wednesday, August 15, 2012

a small collection

of levity and arabella's photographic work.  they stole my camera at six am and snuck out of the house to take photos.  I was outraged.  Terrified.  They are grounded.  But...I think these show some potential. 

Sunday, August 12, 2012

Flightless Buttress

Watching the cellist, her beautiful sinewy arms, sculpted, tan and sleek, the blue whale tattoo running the length of her forearm, I wondered if I was imaging it; I decided I couldn't possibly like the music as much as I thought I did.  The guitarist, moving in chain reaction to her bow, mathematical, perfectly executed, but kinetic and spontaneous, they were speaking, laughing, discussing things out loud with their music.  This was no memorized set, in the common sense.  I could feel them bubbling with thoughts and humor and intent, but considering my ironclad rule that everything sounds better with cello...I didn't bother to buy the cd.  Because I don't like instrumental music.

Only I was so wrong.  Every single time the album has come on in the cafe since, all of my senses spring to attention, I've stopped every conversation, every time, to gasp.  And demand someone burn me a copy.  Because I n e e d it.

Thank you Simon.  Now I listen in my car.  I listen in my house.  I listen everywhere.  It's the thing I love to listen to the most.  At all times.  Longing.  Sadness.  With mirth and joy and implicit power to create, all sewn in.  I love this.  You should buy it.

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Anyway, I was Hilarious and Pretentious

"Are you guys related?"  -Me as I approach the door at work, where I've previously left promptly at one, in my first failed attempt to exercise personal boundaries when it comes to my job.

"Didn't you leave?"  -mark

(scared/surprised/confused scowl from Rob)

"Don't you raise chickens as a hobby?"  -me

"No.  My wife does.  I build chicken coops." -mark

"Ah.  I see.  Much more manly."  -me

(I slip on a wet patch as we all ascend the stairs)

"Are you alright?"  -mark

(turning with a sly grin)  ".....would you have saved me?"

"Not likely.  My response times aren't that fast."  -mark

(silence as rob trudges up stairs behind us)

twenty minutes later when i am leaving again after testing my new tutorial-ized knowledge of how to actually use the adobe creative cloud)


(approaching bus station plexiglass terminal where rob and peter are smoking, rob's second cigarette in forty minutes)

"....that causes cancer, you know."  -me

"Yeah.  Good.  It couldn't find me fast enough."  -rob says morosely as he sucks on his American Spirit
"Right.  The fate reserved for all white Americans living in the twenty first century.  Cancer."  -me, with a cheery grin

"With my luck I'll get toenail cancer."  -rob

(stunned silence as I visualize his toenails bubbling up into yellow flaking pustules and rotting off his feet)

"Thanks for the visual."  -me, for lack of anything better to say.

Monday, June 25, 2012

A painting.  Self portrait.  Quote by Jeffrey Robert Francoeur.