2009-09-25

One, Two,

Three: The number of glasses of wine--after a light mid-afternoon dinner--it takes for the thought to cross my mind that I can dance like B. to Jay.

Shape Shifters

When, physically, socially, mentally or emotionally, one gets under some sort of stress, one might imagine a better position/location for their body to be in at that time, which may in some way be soothing, or comforting. However, and unfortunately, social codes (and probably evolutionary instincts) tell us it is inappropriate to curl up into a ball in line in the cafeteria to relieve gas. It's not right to face the corner at a bar. It would be alarming to see a young woman lying next to her bike in a grassy knoll between a parking lot and apartment complex, would it not? Imagine all the positions you imagine yourself taking to feel better. Imagine everyone in the positions that they, on whatever occasion for whatever reason, picture themselves in. Weddings might be crowded with people under tables and rested foreheads in palms with elbows on knees. Bodies everywhere would be sprawled, tucked, extended, curled, cuddled, and hidden. In the privacy of one's own home, one's limbs become less controlled, his or her spine bends and twists more naturally. It would not at all be unreasonable to suppose that sometimes people's feet touch heads, or maybe one's hands are simply much more often resting under or on his/her buttocks, stomach, or breasts. These imagined public and real private positions are, in a way, the most vulnerable forms our body can take. It is interesting that, in another way, these are our most comfortable, or perhaps even our favourite, shapes for ourselves.

2009-09-21

Identity Crisis/ My "art" stinks, but is a little bit funny, at least I think so

This that isn’t yet a collage is a mostly blank canvas with clippings I took out of National Geographic magazines. What little is on it could appear either falling down, or, floating up. It’s hard to tell and it depends on how I orient my pins. I prefer them falling down. It's half a drawn man, a basketball player, two walruses, two of the same small and obscured images of that Canadian artist who takes photographs of herself dancing (I totally forget her name), and a mouse. What does this say about me? Who am I? This canvas is ugly. Thank goodness I didn't use glue.

2009-09-19

Coffee Exclamation Point

I couldn’t be happier that I found a coffee grinder yesterday. I had looked in 3 other places, and not one had one for under 22 dollars, and I thought that was a little too much to spend, at least right now. I found one for 13 dollars when I wasn’t even looking. The cord rolls up into it and everything. A steal, you might say. The woman at the counter said, Ah, there’s nothing like the smell of fresh ground coffee. It never even does taste as good as it smells... Do you notice that? I said maybe, but that it isn’t good enough to just smell it anyway. I took it home and made a pot and noted that every bit of it delighted me equally. The very nice cashier was absolutely wrong.

2009-09-18

Over easy yoke

People jogging should be morally obligated to write "Jogging" in big bold letters on the backs of their shirts. Is the woman "jogging" past my window with the stroller just jogging, or slowly running away from someone trying to steal her baby? This would be good for society to know. Maybe I could have helped.

2009-09-03

Two heads worse than one

Sarah and I decide to write a story together, January 30th, 2009. Our ideas (we didn't roll with any of them):

The tiny diamond around your pale freckled neck. Where’d it come from?

Japanese paper lanterns

K, so it’s a story.

About

A man

Who can only ever draw things with his eyes closed, with astounding accuracy, mind you.

He’s also a priest.
Protestant.

In the thirties.

And get this...
Wait it’s the twenties.

He
He falls in love with a cabaret dancer who comes to confess her sins which are numerous and terrible.

His name is Joaquin

He draws pictures of the women and, here’s the catch, he can only draw with his eyes closed.

Something like: He draws her (he’s never seen her) with his eyes closed and it turns out she’s beautiful.
Also, she is a bona fide angel.
Bona fide!

A grandmother, spicy, all out of legs. Sold the last pair. Used to work in hosiery at sears. She floats. And, as it turns out, she’s an angel...

Grandfather-aged man, second ww. Drinks gin, hidden in his left boot, which he keeps by the front door. His boot is more often off then on, his cup as often filled as emptied. Father of a goat, whom he had when he was married to an ogre of a woman.
It was a curse, that’s why he’s got the goat.

Field Coyote

Youth Subcultures in the praries spraypaint their wheat. See: Fruitloops.

Church Organs

Brass, expansiveness and the things that go on at night, keys.

Barnacles.

Pulling things out from under your skin.