LBeezee

“Stand like a man, move like a legend. Talk but with action, that’s how you’ll be remembered.”

balladsofmirth — Mon, 30 May 2011 20:26:42 GMT

***

What does it mean to grow older? I’m 28, nearly 30, but age seems surreal. I was born in 1983. I graduated from high school 10 years ago. I earned my BA in English & Psychology in 2005, and I earned my MFA in Creative Writing in 2007. & yet: I feel as I have always felt. Young & restless but deep-rooted and old-souled.

***

Art from Katrina Andry’s exhibit:

Otherness and American Values: How Negative Stereotypes Against Blacks Have Shaped Western Culture

“Welfare Queen”

“Western Interpretation of the Other”

“The Keys to the Gated Community and White Acceptance”

“The Unfit Mommy and Her Spawn Will Wreck Your Comfortable Suburban Existence”

***

“As time goes on, you’ll understand. What lasts, lasts; what doesn’t, doesn’t. Time solves most things. And what time can’t solve, you have to solve yourself.”

-- Haruki Murakami

***

There is grace in forgiveness. Perhaps this is the joy of age: understanding more of the self. Broken hearts, rough-edged mistakes: perhaps forgiveness is catching more than just reflecting light. It’s difficult for my stubborn heart & mind, but I am learning to “do good anyway,” even when people fail me or hurt me. What is goodness but generosity of the heart?

However, what separates us from generosity and being taken advantage of? Does this latter entity matter? I want to be good no matter what. I want to give & give, but can we give until we have nothing left?

***

Hear those rails....

balladsofmirth — Sun, 30 Jan 2011 18:51:49 GMT

***

Mamie by Carl Sandburg

Mamie beat her head against the bars of a little Indiana

town and dreamed of romance and big things off

somewhere the way the railroad trains all ran.

She could see the smoke of the engines get lost down

where the streaks of steel flashed in the sun and

when the newspapers came in on the morning mail

she knew there was a big Chicago far off, where all

the trains ran.

She got tired of the barber shop boys and the post office

chatter and the church gossip and the old pieces the

band played on the Fourth of July and Decoration Day

And sobbed at her fate and beat her head against the

bars and was going to kill herself

When the thought came to her that if she was going to

die she might as well die struggling for a clutch of

romance among the streets of Chicago.

She has a job now at six dollars a week in the basement

of the Boston Store

And even now she beats her head against the bars in the

same old way and wonders if there is a bigger place

the railroads run to from Chicago where maybe

there is

romance

and big things

and real dreams

that never go smash.

***

Sam Horine

***

“For what it’s worth: it’s never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.”

- The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button

***

Painting & Sewing: Dan-ah Kim

***

@IntentionalPun Hearts D.A. Powell

balladsofmirth — Fri, 10 Dec 2010 17:58:22 GMT

***

D.A. Powell is my role model.
His Twitter makes my life.

Gems:

“Art is not something that happens apart from you. If you're not inside it, it ain't art. Grits ain't groceries & doodles ain't drawings.”

“So sick of hearing ‘this poem is about language.’ That's like saying acting is about saying words”

***

Photo © Robert Maxwell - by Alexandra Beller

***

Daniel Danger :: With a Name Like that....

balladsofmirth — Thu, 25 Nov 2010 19:48:12 GMT

***

There is a reason that Daniel Danger is one of my favorite contemporary artists. His work is poetry, a visual narrative, the strokes something lyrical. I know his work before I see it: the colors, the strokes, how small things loom amidst stunning backgrounds. I can’t get enough.

At $3,000, I’ll probably never own a Danger piece,
but lord, I am thankful that his work exists and that I can look,
look, look at it til my heart’s content.

***

How It Will Happen, When

“There you are, exhausted from another night of crying,
curled up on the couch, the floor, at the foot of the bed,

anywhere you fall you fall down crying, half amazed
at what the body is capable of, not believing you can cry

anymore. And there they are: his socks, his shirt, your
underwear, and your winter gloves, all in a loose pile

next to the bathroom door, and you fall down again.
Someday, years from now, things will be different:

the house clean for once, everything in its place, windows
shining, sun coming in easily now, skimming across

the thin glaze of wax on the wood floor. You’ll be peeling
an orange or watching a bird leap from the edge of the rooftop

next door, noticing how, for instance, her body is trapped
in the air, only a moment before gathering the will to fly

into the ruff at her wings, and then doing it: flying.
You’ll be reading, and for a moment you’ll see a word

you don’t recognize, a simple word like cup or gate or wisp
and you’ll ponder like a child discovering language.

Cup, you’ll say over and over until it begins to make sense,
and that’s when you’ll say it, for the first time, out loud: He’s dead.

He’s not coming back, and it will be the first time you believe it.”

-- Dorianne Laux

***

Surveys & Money

balladsofmirth — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 22:53:45 GMT

I know I've been M.I.A.: Combination of house guests, new jobz, & packing/moving my life.

However, I wanted to share a paid survey thing. Focus Forward gives ya money for taking surveys. It's legit: I've used it a few times and made something like $10.00. I know some of y'all are struggling and that every lil' bit counts. I've even taken surveys while watching TV/movies, so it's a low key way to make some moohla. Click the link for more information.

I'll post art & poetry & ramblings soon, soon, soon (I hope).

*Cross-posted to my other blog.
**I haven't read y'all's journals FOREVER.
***I MUST CATCH UP. I MISS EL JAY.

Squint Your Eyes & Look Closer

balladsofmirth — Wed, 20 Jan 2010 11:01:41 GMT

***

"I'd never try to give my life meaning

by demeaning you"

I haven't listened to this song in forever. Years. In college, I'd play the tune on repeat. It took on various meanings throughout my undergrad. and grad. years: early morning percolation, break-up track, rabble rousin' empowerment, etc. Now, nostalgia. Oh, hello old friend.

"I'm nobody

but I am someone"

(first Alana Davis & then Ani & then Alana again –
rinse, rinse, blow some bubbles: i am what i am.)

***

Jules Julien

Rébus - la Chapelle des Calvairiennes - Mayenne - France

Poster serie - 80x120cm – 2009

***

I haven't seen Sherlock Holmes yet, but I want to

– love-love-love the books & love-love-love Robert Downey Jr. & Rachel McAdams.

Did any of you see it? Thoughts (w/out spoilers, please)?

***

seen that ol' sweet sun lift me out of sleep.

balladsofmirth — Sun, 17 Jan 2010 08:33:37 GMT

***

This is one of my favorite poem's from Patricia Smith's poetry collection, Blood Dazzler. You know, I'm a sucker for sestinas, and I really think the dialect is on-point, the images are sound, and that it just captures everything from the horror of the storm.

ETHEL'S SESTINA

Ethel Freeman's body sat for days in her wheelchair outside the New Orleans Convention Center. Her son Herbert, who had assured his mother that help was on the way, was forced to leave her there once she died.

Gon' be obedient in this here chair,
gon' bide my time, fanning against this sun.
I ask my boy, and all he says is Wait.
He wipes my brow with steam, says I should sleep.
I trust his every word. Herbert my son.
I believe him when he says help gon' come.

Been so long since all these suffrin' folks come
to this place. Now on the ground 'round my chair,
they sweat in my shade, keep asking my son
could that be a bus they see. It's the sun
foolin' them, shining much too loud for sleep,
making us hear engines, wheels. Not yet. Wait.

Lawd, some folks prayin' for rain while they wait,
forgetting what rain can do. When it come,
it smashes living flat, wakes you from sleep,
eats streets, washes you clean out of the chair
you be sittin' in. Best to praise this sun,
shinin' its dry shine. Lawd have mercy, son,

is it coming? Such a strong man, my son.
Can't help but believe when he tells us, Wait.
Wait some more. Wish some trees would block this sun.
We wait. Ain't no white men or buses come,
but look — see that there? Get me out this chair,
help me stand on up. No time for sleepin',

cause look what's rumbling this way. If you sleep
you gon' miss it. Look there, I tell my son.
He don't hear. I'm 'bout to get out this chair,
but the ghost in my legs tells me to wait,
wait for the salvation that's sho to come.
I see my savior's face 'longside that sun.

Nobody sees me running toward the sun.
Lawd, they think I done gone and fell asleep.
They don't hear Come.

Come.
Come.
Come.
Come.
Come.
Come.
Ain't but one power make me leave my son.
I can't wait, Herbert. Lawd knows I can't wait.
Don't cry, boy, I ain't in that chair no more.

Wish you coulda come on this journey, son,
seen that ol' sweet sun lift me out of sleep.
Didn't have to wait. And see my golden chair?

***
bloodvisions

viaviavia
***

"There is neither happiness nor unhappiness in this world; there is only the comparison of one state with another. Only a man who has felt ultimate despair is capable of feeling ultimate bliss. It is necessary to have wished for death in order to know how good it is to live."

-- Alexandre Dumas

***

i think i could understand

balladsofmirth — Tue, 12 Jan 2010 23:26:19 GMT

***

"The human mind delights in finding pattern—so much so that we often mistake coincidence or forced analogy for profound meaning. No other habit of thought lies so deeply within the soul of a small creature trying to make sense of a complex world not constructed for it."

-- Stephen Jay Gould

***

Clare Woods
Untitled, 2007; oil on paper; 90 x 40 cm

"Clare Woods makes paintings of psychic landscapes. Her images are transcribed from photographs, which are taken at night, often in desolate, contested or overlooked locations such as areas of scrub or deep woodland. Pointing the camera and shooting into black, wet, creaking scrub, without any idea of what will manifest itself when the film is developed. Layers of enamel paint on aluminum, the resulting images are often disturbing and claustrophobic in their detail."

***

Oh, you all need to read this blog post written by Roger Ebert. Did you know he's lost the ability eat and drink? I didn't know. I'd also forgotten that he's a solid writer. I'd allowed his persona to blind me. Shame on me.

Excerpt:
"So that's what's sad about not eating. The loss of dining, not the loss of food. It may be personal, but for, unless I'm alone, it doesn't involve dinner if it doesn't involve talking. The food and drink I can do without easily. The jokes, gossip, laughs, arguments and shared memories I miss. Sentences beginning with the words, "Remember that time?" I ran in crowds where anyone was likely to break out in a poetry recitation at any time. Me too. But not me anymore. So yes, it's sad. Maybe that's why I enjoy this blog. You don't realize it, but we're at dinner right now."

I had no idea he's lost the ability to eat and drink. The interesting thing about his piece is that his longing for tastes is as much a longing for memories, experiences, and relationships. Food, of course, is something that can unite people.

***

Super EMO FRIENDS.
Artist = JSalvador.

He had some up for sale on Etsy, but he sold out. Lolz: not surprised.

***

Reach through the threshhold: This moment is special, y'all

balladsofmirth — Sat, 09 Jan 2010 23:38:42 GMT

***
Ink it on yr back.

This stunning piece was designed and tattooed by
Claudia De Sabe at Frith St. tattoos. She's currently working at Jolie Rouge.
***

Famous folks have long talked about labors of love, how writing is, for them, painful. It's taken me a long time to actually understand this. In my first creative writing workshop, I read interviews w/ Vonnegut & William Styron: each talked about how writing physically pained them.

I'd never considered that option before. It was news to me. Young and troubled, it was the only place I could exist in fantasy – up, up, & away. I'd lose my breath: helium and altitude and something else. Oh, I could scale mountains in those books.

Remember, growing up, the only room in the house that had a lock was the bathroom. Thus, when I needed to be alone, I'd throw myself into that sauna-like shell – the walls so thin they shook when my father coughed – and write or read.

BUT. I understand now. I get it. The more I read, the more I understood about the different ways words come together: the effect of white space, cadence, word choice, dialect, syntax, and the like. I stocked my lil' poet's toolbox to the brim – the lid won't shut and my mouth won't shut up about this new tool or this new blueprint.

Now, there seems to be more at stake. Once you put names to ideas and take the time to read and read, the work shifts. I want to articulate what's going on: the point of a sentence perfectly sharpened so readers understand on many levels. Writing becomes more intense, more than scribbling and stories.

Instead, it's diagnosis and treatment or the building of something brick by brick. Pieces do not exist in a vacuum. I feel responsible to understand these intersecting effects, to consider the impact a word or punctuation mark will have on the overall effect of a piece.

It's labor. Maybe it's not the back-breaking work in the fields or the calloused work of my mother, but it can be painful as it is blissful. I get it now: labor of love.

***
Pantone tins!

viaviavia

***

"The Rules of Chess"

There are eight pawns, like a city. They are babies cast down the river. The knights disappear into an L-shaped darkness, two fiery preachers. Each bishop drives drunk in sideways rain. Rooks turn their collars up, muffle doubtful sighs. The one king resurrects slowly. The queen plays dead, is a stubborn ghost.

-- Lindsay Daigle

***

Let Me Inside Your World

balladsofmirth — Thu, 07 Jan 2010 21:39:00 GMT

***

Who didn't read Matilda and sit and try to move things?

Who didn't read Matilda and hope for revenge or Miss Honey?

Bored in 6^th grade, I'd sit staring at blackboard's chalk:
Who didn't want to be that well-kept genius, a closet-case superhero?
I can't remember what I'd hoped to write, but I know I had a line in mind.

***
LEGO WALLETS

viaviavia
***

The opening to "Man dancing with a paper cup"

You still send letters but I know

you are dead, I see you
wandering the streets when I go back home,

& I swear I am never going back. A glance
in the trash, a barrel on fire, my hands

pass right through you. You wrote
from prison but I couldn't remember
how you looked.

so the bars became cheekbone, shadow,
lash, pressed
tightly to your face. Maybe

-- Nick Flynn

read the rest here

***

My brother called and left me a rambling message that included the following:
"I'm the happiest I've ever been."
***
Hey, 2010:

6043 Market Sreet
High Five
Source
***

you are someone else & i am still right here

balladsofmirth — Wed, 06 Jan 2010 16:50:06 GMT

***

Cute .

viaviavia

***

So, I started watching Dexter between Netflix discs of Mad Men. I found it mildly amusing at first and laugh-out-loud funny at parts. Whoa. I had no idea what the last few episodes of the first season would bring me. I had no idea the show would roll down the mountain into a full-blown avalanche.

Choice quotations from the television show:

"I can kill a man, dismember his body, and be home in time for Letterman. But knowing what to say when my girlfriend's feeling insecure...I'm totally lost".

"The problem with acting normal is that normal people get into stupid situations."

"Eventually most serial killers get caught. There's really not much of a retirement plan."

Dexter's disconnection fascinates me as much as the moments where he does connect. And of course, the blocking out of a tragic family history and gradual re-entrance to such memories is equally fascinating. I enjoy how the characters shift, change, and grow: They're allowed to evolve. Can't wait to catch up. I'm currently at the start of Season 2.

The show could easily be one-note -- shock value & gore. Except, the writers/creator/actors are smart. They know what Dexter says to be true: "There are no secrets in life, just hidden truths that lie beneath the surface." The reasons for why he kills are not so simple as he might believe, just as his relationships are not as fake or surface-level as he might think. He is "fond" of Debra -- if you've seen the Season 1 finale, then you know how huge that statement is -- and he holds certain truths to be real because they are anchored in something he can't quite process. I want to keep watching to see what shakes free.

***

The poem below the cut breaks me into two pieces. It's terribly sad to identify with the themes, narratives, and images in the piece, and yet, I do.

WISHBONE

You saved my life he says I owe you everything.
You don’t, I say, you don’t owe me squat, let’s just get going, let’s just get gone, but he’s

           relentless,

keeps saying I owe you, says Your shoes are filling with your own damn blood,
you must want something, just tell me, and it’s yours.
          But I can’t look at him, can hardly speak,

I took the bullet for all the wrong reasons, I’d just as soon kill you myself, I say.
You keep saying I owe you, I owe… but you say the same thing every time.
          Let’s not talk about it, let’s just not talk.

Not because I don’t believe it, not because I want it any different, but I’m always saving
and you’re always owing and I’m tired of asking to settle the debt.

          Don’t bother.

You never mean it anyway, not really, and it only makes me that much more ashamed.
There’s only one thing I want, don’t make me say it, just get me bandages, I’m bleeding,
          I’m not just making conversation.

There’s smashed glass glittering everywhere like stars. It’s a Western, Henry,

it’s a downright shoot-em-up. We’ve made a graveyard out of the bone white afternoon.
          It’s another wrong-man-dies scenario

and we keep doing it, Henry, keep saying until we get it right…
but we always win and we never quit, see, we’ve won again, here we are at the place
          where I get to beg for it

where I get to say Please, for just one night, will you lay down next to me, we can leave our
clothes on, we can stay all buttoned up?
          or will I say

Roll over and let me fuck you till you puke, Henry, you owe me this much, you can indulge me
this at least, can’t you? but we both know how it goes. I say I want you inside me

           and you hold my head underwater, I say I want you inside me

and you split me open with a knife. I’m battling monsters, half-monkey, half-tarantula,
I’m pulling you out of the burning buildings and you say I’ll give you anything.
          But you never come through.

Give me bullet power. Give me power over angels. Even when you’re standing up
you look like you’re lying down, but will you let me kiss your neck, baby? Do I have to
          tie your arms down?

Do I have to stick my tongue in your mouth like the hand of a thief, like a burglary
like it’s just another petty theft? It makes me tired, Henry. Do you see what I mean?
          Do you see what I’m getting at?

You swallowing matches and suddenly I’m yelling Strike me. Strike anywhere.
I swear, I end up feeling empty, like you’ve taken something out of me, and I have to search
          my body for the scars, thinking

Did he find that one last tender place to sink his teeth in? I know you want me to say it, Henry,
it’s in the script, you want me to say Lie down on the bed, you’re all I ever wanted

          and worth dying for too

but I think I’d rather keep the bullet this time. It’s mine, you can’t have it, see,
I’m not giving it up. This way you still owe me, and that’s
          as good as anything.

You can’t get out of this one, Henry, you can’t get it out of me, and with this bullet

lodged in my chest, covered with your name, I will turn myself into a gun, because
           it’s all I have,

because I’m hungry and hollow and just want something to call my own. I’ll be your
slaughterhouse, your killing floor, your morgue and final resting, walking around with this
          bullet inside me

‘cause I couldn’t make you love me and I’m tired of pulling your teeth. Don’t you see, it’s like

I’ve swallowed your house keys, and it feels so natural, like the bullet was already there,
          like it’s been waiting inside me the whole time.

Do you want it? Do you want anything I have? Will you throw me to the ground
like you mean it, reach inside and wrestle it out with your bare hands?
          If you love me, Henry, you don’t love me in a way I understand.

Do you know how it ends? Do you feel lucky? Do you want to go home now?

There’s a bottle of whiskey in the trunk of the Chevy and a dead man at our feet
          staring up at us like we’re something interesting.

This is where the evening splits in half, Henry, love or death. Grab an end, pull hard,
and make a wish.

Richard Siken

the reflection's in the mirror: watch that steam come in

balladsofmirth — Wed, 06 Jan 2010 01:39:05 GMT

***

Q TRAIN by Nigel Van Wieck

How many of y'all read older entries? I know a lot of you have had your el jays for years upon years: going through name changes and various life changes and transitions. Do you read old journals or entries?

I never read farther back than a few months. Is that strange? It's not even that I'm embarrassed by my old entries or that I've changed all that much – I have and I haven't. Instead, it's more than looking back doesn't seem necessary right now. I don't know. My el jay has changed a lot since I began it my sophomore year during J-Term (I was lonely and in Baltimore all by myself and wanted a connection to my college & NY pals).

Exploration happens in a different way than it did in 2003 or even just a couple of years ago. Sometimes, I wonder if this el jay still needs to exist. And yet, the thought of deleting or even neglecting it – summer aside – is sort of painful? Is that lame?

I write in my Blogger blog and love it. Still, writing in el jay allows a different sense of satisfaction. Here, I am addressing a specific community of people, many of whom have shared incredibly intimate details about their lives.

That said, I wish some of you would post more. I miss yr voices. Y'all are so smart.

***

Excuse me. How effin cute/weird is this?!

"Lifebuoy Handwash advertisements by advertising agency Lowe Jakarta that scares us into washing our hands more often. You eat what you touch – so before you eat something, think about what you have touched previously."

Source

***

I don't care as long as the bass line's pumpin

balladsofmirth — Sun, 03 Jan 2010 22:49:47 GMT

***

Nothing in this world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent.

-- Calvin Coolidge

What is persistence? What does that mean? I know what it means – I know the definition from Merriam-Webster and the OED – but what does it mean for me.

***
What a stunning tattoo.

Artist = Shannon Archuleta
Location = San Fran, CA.
viaviavia
***

The Red Poppy

The great thing
is not having
a mind. Feelings:
oh, I have those; they
govern me. I have
a lord in heaven
called the sun, and open
for him, showing him
the fire of my own heart, fire
like his presence.
What could such glory be
if not a heart? Oh my brothers and sisters,
were you like me once, long ago,
before you were human? Did you
permit yourselves
to open once, who would never
open again? Because in truth
I am speaking now
the way you do. I speak
because I am shattered.

-- Louise Glück

***

flesh and bone by the telephone -- lift up the receiver, i'll make you a believer

balladsofmirth — Mon, 28 Dec 2009 11:46:03 GMT

***

This image reminds me of The Boxcar Children.

What child from a troubled home didn't want to hide away and find self-sufficiency? Who didn't want to be found special only by a quirky "savior?" Glad I grew up: It doesn't hold the same appeal.

Trains are a huge piece of my childhood: We lived near the tracks and the train's groans over the rails lulled me to sleep again and again. I'm comforted by the sound even even today. Represents movement, and of course, movement represents one part freedom, one part escape, and some sort of adventure. See the world. Live in the world. Know the world.

Let us be our own knights in shining armor.

***
Banksy!

Regent’s Canal in Camden Town

Piece spotted on an old abandoned Chevron Station near Birmingham Alabama

Website

***

“So many people that write poems make it easy on you, so that they’re not getting into the insides of things.”

- Jack Gilbert

***

don't get me wrong if i split like light refracted

balladsofmirth — Sat, 26 Dec 2009 13:44:22 GMT

***

So, I reached out to join a fiction writing group here in NOLA. They asked for a writing sample, so I pulled out a story from my undergrad. thesis and worked on it for quite some time. I added a scene, added more math to the piece – math and economics are central to the story since it's based as much on the function in dysfunctional relationships as it is on poverty – and reworked the ending a bit. It's still not "right," but I know more now about what I want for the piece and who my characters are and could be.

I'm not sure if my writing style fits theirs or if I'll find this group productive, but I think it could push me in terms of finishing old pieces and beginning new ones.

The best part of whipping out that story was the joy of revision. My friend is a professional potter, and I love watching her work with clay. To see this slab of something move into something else with each thumb press or movement of the shoulders is something brilliant. When she throws clay, the muscles in her face ease up and she looks as if she's a world away, both connected and disconnected from this world. This is how I felt when I started shaving down sentences and rearranged their punctuation. This is how I felt when I truly focused on the piece and started measuring its rhythms, slipping in math-based language, and really consider the logic of my characters.

***

Amazon is offering $4 credit for their Video OnDemand business.
Since most rentals are between $.99-2.99, this means you can actually watch a free movie.
Enter code AVODGIFT to get a $4 credit applied to your account.
This expires 1/3/10.
***

Awesome Word of the Day: Susurrus.

A murmuring or whispering sound. A classic example of onomatopoeia, from the Latin for "whispering."

***

Scuse me. I'm in love with this outdoor fireplace designed by Oslo-based architect Haugen/Zohar.

Source

***

Want Free Books?

Not sure if any of the books are "good" or whatever, but I figure free books are free books!

LinkedIn -- Is It Worth a Look?

balladsofmirth — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 18:39:09 GMT

Question: Are any of you on LinkedIn? Do you like it? What does it offer you?

Celebrate We Will / Because Life Is Short / But Sweet for Certain : These are my interests

balladsofmirth — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 13:03:29 GMT

I'd apologize for posting the image of the theater turned library everywhere from here to Facebook, but I'm NOT sorry.
I WANT TO GO & SEE IT.

It's the old El Ateneo theatre in Buenos Aires.
Source

***

Oh, him.

The Lord's Prayer takes on new meaning.

***

Street Side Inspiration

balladsofmirth — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 00:05:52 GMT

***

This day started off so dark & gloomy, but is now a bit better thanks to you all, my friend Julia booking a flight to see me for my birthday (!!!), writing a full if rough poem, hearing from a fav. professor (CH), gaining a new freelance project, prepping for facilitation of my first courses with Axia , completing everything on my to-do list, finishing a couple of reviews, the promise of more Mad Men, and receiving a letter and email from one of my favorite kids.

So really, I feel like this Marc Johns illustration:

***

Oh, this man is an inspiration.

On the Street....Rue St. Honoré, Paris

Source

***

How to Change A Frog Into a Prince

Start with the underwear. Sit him down.
Hopping on one leg may stir unpleasant memories.
If he gets his tights on, even backwards, praise him.
Fingers, formerly webbed, struggle over buttons.
Arms and legs, lengthened out of proportion, wait,
as you do, for the rest of him to catch up.
This body, so recently reformed, reclaimed,
still carries the marks of its time as a frog. Be gentle.
Avoid the words awkward and gawky.
Do not use tadpole as a term of endearment.
His body, like his clothing, may seem one size too big.
Relax. There's time enough for crowns. He'll grow into it.

- Anna Denise
from The Poets' Grimm: 20th Century Poems from Grimm's Fairy Tales, 2003
as found via greatpoets .

The premise of the anthology sounds interesting. Have any of you picked it up?

When I was a Teaching Fellow with Hollins, one of my favorite assignments that I gave my students was to reimagine a fairy tale. The short stories they submitted were incredibly original and fun. We had a sociopath Rapunzel, the pea's perspective of the Princess & the Pea story, and two men at the heart of Cinderella, among other twists and turns.

I've got a fondness for dissected, mended, & twisted fairy tales. Blame it on my generation and liberal arts education.

***
Makeshift Design & Illustration

These pieces are, at first glance, deceptively simple.
There's nothing simple about the framing of these elements, the dark, dream (nightmarish) colors, or the text.

A lot of the work plays with perceptions of symbols (srsly: go to the website and look up the Traffic Signs piece). I like that the artist triggers the brain into recognition – we know these images, these places, and these words – but pushes them around so they are fragmented and take on new meanings.

via Here

***

Lay Your Head Down to Hear the Rumble of the Tracks

balladsofmirth — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 22:32:55 GMT

Are you all ever hyper-aware of your visual vocabulary?

To be honest, I'm not sure that's the right phrase, but loves, I love the sound of it.

When I have a moment to step away from what I bookmark and star, I find there are trends or patterns to the art I collect or pause at. Certain shapes or images or even palettes and compositions tug at me. Usually, I like collision: ends of poles when it comes to shapes or materials or lines/strokes.

For example, in the span of a week, I bookmarked the following items:

this t-shirt

& this tattoo.

The similarities are clear:

the branch-work, the colors, & composition.

Now, does constant viewing and perusal of art make preference stronger? Will the viewing process be similar to the reading process? I like that I have a framework for this, a way to push myself to be better. After all, what do we say in creative writing workshops and lit-based classes but to engage with work and to think critically. Don't worry: I don't think that my preferences are limiting or that my visual vocabulary is basic. Really, I'm just noticing and talking about new-old patterns and what they might mean.

***

I won't preach to you all about why I love(d) The Virgin Suicides except to say it was the first book to really show me the power of leaving things unsaid. I reeled by the end of the book, as hungry as the narrators. And of course, Eugenides's use of first person plural? Brilliant.

***

Lost Eyes or The Lost Art of Transcription
by Lesley Jenike

To coax out your spirit I left a fifth of Cutty Sark
on the highboy, paper lantern in the cherry tree,

map of indeterminable coast by the bed, borrowed
Tempest, tattersall-covered, in the bed, full-fathom

five, a crushed Mexican lily, born of paper from
our tax holiday you lined the sea with, a stop-gap,

while I sheltered upstairs on a cool wide spread,
waiting for you to die. Love-making was never easy,

but to transcribe it? Minus a mouth, your tear-jerkers
turn to gas and fly. I sink into your syntax one

antiquated line at a time, as if I understand. But I
never did. You are too much for me, even dead.

You can listen to the poem via Linebreak

***

Kick Up Your Feet and Do a Lil' Jig w/Me!

balladsofmirth — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 18:07:37 GMT

***

15 Significant Contemporary Women Writers

I was sold with the mention of my girl Haryette Mullen. Don't worry: Jeanette Winterson is included.

Thoughts? Agree / Disagree?

***

An amazing project: Writers as Kids (curated by Kathryn Regina)

Before writers were writers they were boxers, ballerinas and scarecrows. If nothing else, they were much, much shorter. When my friend Darah's husband posted a photo of her as a 9-year-old gymnastics star on her Facebook wall, I thought, did Frank O'Hara take gymnastics photos? Are there little league photos of Allen Ginsberg? Who wouldn't want to see those pictures?

That's why we've devoted the next two weeks to childhood photos of writers. Each of our participants was given the photo of another writer and wrote a short piece based on that photo"

Example:

Writing by Adam Robinson

Pictured: Kendra Grant Malone (on the right)

Delores said, "Tina, honey, get your sister to smile."

Tina said, "Hey, smile Little Big Eyes."

But Caitlyn said, "I can't peowet."

To which Delores responded, "Oh honey."

Nearby, Carl said, "I push the button, hey bingo, end of story."

Repeating Caitlyn, Delores said, "She said she can't pirouette."

Tina said, "I couldn't pirouette when I was your age, Little Big Eyes."

Caitlyn said, "Don't caw me that."

To which Tina responded, "Let's do first position."

Then Carl said, "I'm saying this camera's a beaut, Del."

But Delores said, "Oh, first position. Caitlyn, you know that."

Feeling self-conscious, Caitlyn said, "My dwess is tow."

To which Delores responded, "It's perfect, sweetie."

But Caitlyn repeated, "It's tow! It's tow, it's tow, it's tow!"

Then Carl said, "Yessir, auto-developing. I just push this button. You ready?"

And Tina said, "Caitlyn, do first position, first position."

Carl said, "Say 'modernity'!"

Too late, Delores said, "Oh someone should move that lamp."

nodding my head : we'll be neck and neck

balladsofmirth — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 08:28:50 GMT

Gawd, I want to barter books+art for cookies. Anyone game?

Send me baked goods, and I'll send you art/books.

***

Fascinating.

Familyhood (Matriarchy)

Clare Torina

***

"I like the dark part of the night, after midnight and before four-thirty, when it’s hollow, when ceilings are harder and farther away. then i can breathe, and can think while others are sleeping, in a way can stop time, can have it so – this has always been my dream – so that while everyone else is frozen, i can work busily about them, doing whatever it is that needs to be done, like the elves who make the shoes while children sleep."

-- Dave Eggers

***

Consider me a convert: I'm in love with Mad Men.

And then there's the way a camera moves through a scene and how the very set-up of a shot speaks volumes about the relationships and dynamics of the characters. I could write pages of analysis on every single section of every single episode. There's the camera's movement, the lighting, and the sly sometimes even ironic slogans, marquee/character/magazine names, episode titles, and slogans that punctuate this piece. The show works because it operates on all levels: the writing, editing, cinematography, and acting are all considered, nuanced, and sophisticated.

How can you not love a show that operates on the unsaid? Here, the real story is in the twitch of a lip, the pause before a pre-measured line, and the breath or sigh before the laugh or comment. Watching Don Draper is like photographing an iceberg's reach with global warming just around the corner.

I feel like I notice something new with every viewing. This is one SMART show. I could eat it up: nom, nom, nom. Hello? Obsession? Is that you? I hear you calling my name.

***

"Don't go, stay with the all-unknown
Stay away from the hooks
All the chances we took
We're so close to something better left unknown
We're so close to something better left unknown"

-- Metric's "Gimme Sympathy"

tell the landlord next time he should fix it right

balladsofmirth — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 05:49:22 GMT

Perhaps the best costume idea I've seen:

Roy Lichtenstein brought to life.

Source

***

And there's this, which reminds me of Lichtenstein
and is as disturbing as it is well-executed.

***

Death Comes to Me Again, A Girl

Death comes to me again, a girl

in a cotton slip, barefoot, giggling.

It’s not so terrible she tells me,

not like you think, all darkness

and silence. There are windchimes

and the smell of lemons, some days

it rains, but more often the air is dry

and sweet. I sit beneath the staircase

built from hair and bone and listen

to the voices of the living. I like it,

she says, shaking the dust from her hair,

especially when they fight, and when they sing.

-- Dorianne Laux

***

Gorgeous

Dancing with myself

balladsofmirth — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 09:58:55 GMT

One of the most intoxicating sensations is when I finally find focus and start to move along with my typing. It's a new kind of dancing, a new kind of movement, as if my body knows I need some white noise kind of rhythm to help me tunnel into writing. My breath slows, my blinking slows: it's somewhere between running and sleeping.

My shoulders were literally rocking. My head was rolling. I didn’t notice the raw bit of my lip until I'd tumbled to the bathroom and caught a quick glance in the mirror.

***

Constant Nieuwenhuis

Pieces are from "New Babylon"

"… is a situationist city intended as a polemical provocation…. New Babylon envisages a society of total automation in which the need to work is replaced with a nomadic life of creative play, in which traditional architecture has disintegrated along with the social institutions that it propped up. A vast network of enormous multilevel interior spaces propagates to eventually cover the planet. These interconnected "sectors" float above the ground on tall columns. While vehicular traffic rushes underneath and air traffic lands on the roof, the inhabitants drift by foot through the huge labyrinthine interiors, endlessly reconstructing the atmospheres of the spaces. Every aspect of the environment can be be controlled and reconfigured spontaneously. Social life becomes architectural play. Architecture becomes a flickering display of interacting desires.

Source

via Here

***
I [(used to) / (plan to)] send a lot of mail:

postcards, packages, clipped advertisements,

& random books with Post-Its stuck between the pages.

Free Shipping Supplies? Perfect.

By clicking here, you receive the following: free SHIPPING SUPPLIES.

***

NYC 2005

Bigger Image available here (look at the lines of that man's veins: that's not a tattoo!)

***

"I’m going to marry my novels and have little short stories for children."
- Jack Kerouac

I step over the lines you draw again and again

balladsofmirth — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 03:52:39 GMT

Bio Patterns

Artist = Micah Lidberg

***

I feel like the next year will be a lot like this photograph:

I am waiting, waiting, waiting, and I am more than fine with this.

I am moving – yep, again – to be closer to the people I love. This way, I will be close enough to zoom between important ticks: my besties and family in Philly, Boston, DC, NY, VA, CT, & on and on it goes.

The past year and a half in New Orleans was important. I could heal. I did heal. I could take a step away from memory and see things a bit clearer. I could and did experience a new world – there's nowhere quite like New Orleans – and live with people who just let me be.

I've been mending myself quite nicely here in my cocoon. I've been living quite nicely here in this cocoon. Soon, it'll be time to erupt into a different existence in Boston, or at the very least, in Massachusetts. There will be family dinners once a week with the C4K Family. There will be book clubs and potlucks with assorted friends. There will be museum trips, volunteering, Big Brothers/Big Sisters, and the like. It took me a long time to make this move – despite the length of my relationship to the city – because I think I was scared to settle into something semi-permanent. Moving to MA means committing myself to a life there.

With so many college friends and so many camp people and so many el jay folks and pals from high school running around those cities, I can say that I am most certainly ready. This next year will be one of collecting pennies, sorting boxes, and detangling what is left to be detangled.

***

Often, if I have a boring freelance assignment – sometimes, writing about hairstyles doesn't take all of my attention – I often watch television via Hulu or Netflix. The liberal/activist/bohemian tendency to take a dump on television is irritating. For every mindless show, there are many shows with stellar characters, complex relationships, subtle metaphors, and rich acting. I enjoy my television shows.

Netflix send me the first disc of Season 1 of Mad Men. I hope I enjoy it.

Catching up on The Closer (underrated), Dollhouse, Fringe, & Friday Night Lights.

For some reason, I just don't have it in me to start The Wire. I'm worried it will hit too close to home. Starting Dexter & Weeds when I'm up-to-date with Mad Men.

***

Love hu.made's work (artist = Christy Schwathe).

Retrotastic.

Love this one's shapes.

Classic, clean lines and those buttons.

if you could only see the sky from where i stand

balladsofmirth — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 01:49:22 GMT

Meditation on a Grapefruit

To wake when all is possible

before the agitations of the day

have gripped you

To come to the kitchen

and peel a little basketball

for breakfast

To tear the husk

like cotton padding a cloud of oil

misting out of its pinprick pores

clean and sharp as pepper

To ease

each pale pink section out of its case

so carefully without breaking

a single pearly cell

To slide each piece

into a cold blue china bowl

the juice pooling until the whole

fruit is divided from its skin

and only then to eat

so sweet

a discipline

precisely pointless a devout

involvement of the hands and senses

a pause a little emptiness

each year harder to live within

each year harder to live without

-- Craig Arnold

Special thanks to projectmatt for throwing this piece up on Facebook.

***

Oh, Jessica Rankin's work includes everything I love: bright colors, embroidery, exploration of memory, intuition, & the (sub)/(un)conscious, and some sassiness to boot.

Nocturne

"ANENDLESSRELEASEOFLANGUAGE" is one example of the many text segments swirling across Nocturne (2004), one of the works in the exhibition. It is a seven-by-seven feet embroidery decorated with star constellations and swirling non-patterns. The dark-blue, semi-transparent organdy resembles a night sky, floating an inch away from the wall, giving each row of words a doubling shadow."

P.S.1.

"Appropriating methods traditionally identified with feminine pursuits – embroidery and needlework – Jessica Rankin’s work features a series of ‘mental maps’, with codes, signs and symbols that explore ideas of memory, intuition and interpretation.

White Cube

Coda

It's interesting because talk of her work is fascinating. It's problematic because they call her "up and coming" when she's 37-years-old woman who's been creating for quite some time. ArtFagCity says of the W Magazine piece (catch the snarky Damien Hirst diss):

W Magazine identifies six up and coming young artists in their annual arts issue this month, five of whom are 37, the sixth, 38. Can we not use the term “mid-career” or “established” any more? Jessica Rankin and Sterling Ruby aren’t posed to be the art world’s next stars, they are the art world’s stars. Both show at uber-established blue chip galleries, White Cube and Pace Wildenstein respectively. You have to wonder what additional accolades these artists would need to receive to launch their careers out of the up-and-coming category.

Anyway, W Magazine may dupe their readers into thinking they’re going out on a limb by naming a couple up-and-comers, but we’re not buying it. Just because these six aren’t selling diamond encrusted skulls doesn’t mean they’re not already at the top of their game

Image Source

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Source
***

“We used to drive all night, all over town We go Waltzing Matilda, when Matilda came around and I always sang them blues to you”

- The Gaslight Anthem