April | 2009 | Post Halcyon

Apartment story

April 26, 2009 § 2 Comments

Hold ourselves together with our arms around the stereo for hours
While it sings to itself or whatever it does
when it sings to itself of its long lost loves
I’m getting tied, I’m forgetting why

Tired and wired we ruin too easy
sleep in our clothes and wait for winter to leave
but I’ll be with you behind the couch when they come
on a different day just like this one

We’ll stay inside til somebody finds us
do whatever the TV tells us
stay inside our rosy-minded fuzz for days
We’ll stay inside til somebody finds us

– The National

A photographic anomaly, caused by leaking batteries in an underwater camera, destroying everything is its wake and leaving, in consequence, this misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms (thank you William S). Taken with light, tampered with alkaline and developed with C-41 chemistry, I’m left with this. My psychedelic Rothko.

Also, I have been accepted to the Documentary Photography course at the International Centre of Photography in New York that begins in the Fall.

We ate the birds

April 17, 2009 § Leave a comment

We ate the birds. We ate them. We wanted their songs to flow up through our throats and burst out of our mouths and so we ate them. We wanted their feathers to bud from our flesh. We wanted their wings, we wanted to fly as they did, soar freely among the treetops and the clouds, and so we ate them. We speared them, we clubbed them, we tangled their feet in glue, we netted them, we spitted them, we threw them onto hot coals, and all for love, because we loved them. We wanted to be one with them. We wanted to hatch out of clean, smooth, beautiful eggs, as they did, back when we were young and agile and innocent of cause and effect, we did not want the mess of being born and so we crammed the birds into our gullets, feathers and all, but it was no use, we couldn’t sing, not effortlessly as they do, we can’t fly, not without smoke and metal, and as for the eggs we don’t stand a chance.

We’re mired in gravity, we’re earthbound. We’re ankle-deep in blood, and all because we ate the birds, we ate them a long time ago, when we still had the power to say no.

– Margaret Atwood