Big News!

August 31, 2007

 

Between Earth and Sky

Paul Schilliger

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Four days off!

E-Harmony free weekend!

Get down with your bad ass relational selves!

It’s in the 80’s not 100’s degrees!

Air conditioner OFF!

Bet you are jealous now!

 

Kim

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Poem

August 31, 2007

Surivior

Elly Simmons

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You who wear shirts

ripped at the collars.

 

It has come:

the great calm

with its harvest of silence:

all lips have been sewn,

perhaps some wounds also.

And rebels,

my friends:

fill your vases with water

for spring is here:

in this blossoming

of wounds,

some roses may also.

Faiz Ahmed Faiz

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Rose Pink Flower

Zen

From:

The Rebel’s Silhouette

Selected Poems

Faiz Ahmed Faiz

Translated By:

Agha Shahid Ali

 

Internet………

August 30, 2007

Skipping Boxes

Dave Beckerman 

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Tomorrow

Internet

Tomorrow

Internet

Tomorrooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwww!

 Yea baby!

PS I still need a butt load of money. Womp!

Touch

August 19, 2007

Blood of Eden

Original Photography:

Gabriel Rigon

Nirvana Blue

Painting:

Mark Holland-Hicken 

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Touch

 is

but

the

thread

we

see.

 

kimsmith

august 2007

 

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QT Luong

Prayer Tablet

Nikko, Japan

The Rape

Elly Simmons

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Search Engines Terms: How did you find me? What was your search?

I am fucking pissed.

If I see one more search phrase stating child erotica I am going to go hunting.

The photos I post of children are of how I see myself, of all children who deserve safety and wellness. They are my memories. They are why we need art, they show us ourselves. Artists are crucial for this. They tell our stories.

I am not here to tell any damn stories for injured relational sexuality.

I am here to say that I am not in control of the universe.

I was not in control of my friend Amanda’s bi-polar, existential, alcoholic, survivor pain or her death. I was not in control of my friend Leah’s childhood where her twin sister experienced her life as she did, a life ending with a swan dive. She took the bridge path. Yea, she is dead too.

So, this is all morbid or is it? Death is another stage. I am good with groovy godliness.

I post photos of children for the beauty of each and every one of our children, internally and externally.

My favorite is by Steven Gelberg. I see myself in her eyes and hiding behind that big leaf. I see my cave child self, now and then.

I do not want fucking trapped in the darkness of soul injured compulsion finding my blog by searching such words. Words that have never been posted here until now which means somewhere in the universe someone found Steven’s souful child photo and showed me that I am not in control of the freakin’ universe.

And, please, do not get me wrong. This is not hate, this is anger which is pain. Pain for those who are bound in some dark place where only such a search gives them what they seek. I am not hateful, I am pissed. And, sad. And, empowered. And hurt by the hurt. No one hurt me, no one did this to me, it just is.

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John Running

 Casein and Collage

Elly Simmons

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I owe I owe so off the edge I go…….

 …..money, not Monday,  in money amounts incredible inedible…….to my land lady, who is an amazing woman.  Hiding has lost its effectiveness. I owe more people than just her but well, let’s face it, shelter is a fine dandy most days.

Hide me now please!

Right, pointless unless I choose a refrigerator box which I consciously decided not to do in my 20’s unless mandatory, that, and not be a prostitute. Decided it would damage my soul.

I cancelled my internet, it is a luxury. I am shutting off my phone, I can do without. I am not getting propane until my ankles get cold.

I am not a victim. I am money dysfunctional and hit a bit bump dee dumpty. Umm, really big. I can no longer get busted for an unregistereed car.  This is what I get for buying a car whose birthdate falls within the last 5 years. I was trying to secure passage to work.

What the fuck was I thinking? Oh right, I am an fucking English major who is spatially devoid of intelligence and cannot actually fix a car on my own most days. I was thinking my Dean said I have to get to fucking work.

Right.

I think she meant I had to get to the job.

Work is sometimes found at my job other times gazing at my navel, when I see it. Bodaciousness has infinites and limitations.

I have titled one poem: Red Riding of the Hood. Do I get extra credit for that?

You know, like my neighbors who firmly believe that if they live life a certain way they will meet God in heaven who has something just for them and no one else. My 12 year old evangalizing neighbor educated me on this. She is deeply worried about my soul and I cannot help her not worry.

Sigh.

So slinging hash and working for a living, you too can teach War by Luigi Pirandello, tonight’s lesson, by the way. Masks, baby, masks, the alienation of modern man, and the raging river life. Oh, and no, you cannot take College Algebra yet.

I just watched, engorged on, two Ingmar Bergman films: Wild Strawberries and Cries and Whispers. Each film had two different interviews, Ingmar spoke of his pedantry, his struggle, constant, for discipline. I had a revelatory moment: I am under the illusion that some are better at discipline than others, maybe not, maybe that is the illusion.

I am avoiding my own struggle.

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Number 10 of Gallery 11

Darek Banesik

So, to real beauty, Bergman, my own little universe that would most certainly drown in narcissim without relativity: thank Einstien, my mother, Emily Dickinson, world news sources with photos of lives I work sweatfully to imagine and to fucking white russians with a clove cigarette.

Yea.

So there.

 By the way, I will take just a rose and a long dinner now, a friend gave me an air conditioner.

Good news for today:

It only feels like 106 degrees.

It is really only 98.

Really Reality.

 

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Rolls of Hay

South Dakota, USA

QT Luong

 

To my hot summer days in the midwest………

 

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 Cries and Whispers

Ingmar Bergman

 In an interview he said he saw three women in white in a red room. Then, he wondered what they were doing in this room?