THE GREEN ROOM

Grateful

To those whom I love and who loved me through all kinds of adversity, I am grateful. I thank you for being there and for showing me what it is to love. Takes a lifetime. And now it is my turn.

This is Life

I have this thing going on in my head about what’s happening to our minds. What we expect from life, based on the transfer. What we relate to, based on exposure. What we communicate. We’re not inside our heads anymore. It’s as if we’ve been taken outside of ourselves and have to conform to something more palatable because what could be less appetizing than one’s own limitations. This is the world we live in. This is today. This is life.

the new new

always questioning this need to be new when we have the same old problems, right? but i'm not talking about boring or unimaginative. i'm talkingabout that layer underneath. the one you have to look for. why is looking such a bad thing?

Untitled No.2

Untitled No.1

This series of photographs are works in progress.
I am too in it I can't talk about it yet.

$$

Grant. Sounds so religious, so unattainable.

"the dark is always at the top"

At 104

Run mind run
Over and around in color
Talk about truth
He never lies and that's why he took his own life
Kinship with nothingness, the wu chi
Oh how we miss your blue integrity.

Another Not So Happy Birthday, Rothko!

Yom Kippur

Today, I mourn the loss of humanity. I realize there is so much more to deal with than my own personal accountability; however, I will remain accountable but want to expand the scope of consciousness that will lead us all out of our own narcissistic entrapments.

MoneyTalks

another excerpt from September 10th

Doubling over with cramps he gasps for air, clean air, struggles to rid the poison from his lungs, the bile from the complimentary meal, his stomach rebelling. This time heaving uncontrollably he’s unable to make it to the bathroom. With the sleeve of his shirt he wipes off his mouth, stands up and leans against the cool wall of windows for support. Pushing the curtains aside he looks down at Times Square. Must be hallucinating, he thinks. It is vacant, empty of pedestrians. Then again he’s unsure that he is capable of distinguishing between reality and nightmare. Is he awake or asleep? Has he been asleep all this time? Did this really happen? With the plastic Marriott pen he punctures the flesh on his forearm. No, he is not asleep; this is definitely not a dream.

The paper in the vinyl folder with the embossed logo is so clean and crisp. He pages through the Welcome book and looks at the lists—restaurants, shopping, attractions, room service, places of worship. Flashing back to the plaza downtown it appears as an altar of human sacrifice. Like the toxic dump of humanity, mangled among the remains of the supreme excesses of architecture, the World Trade Center. Man created it. Man takes it away. There is no god to blame here. Not that he ever thought there was one but now he’s sure and strangely takes comfort in the fact.

excerpt from September 10th

He anticipates the inspector’s ludicrous objections. Not the structural insulated panels with pre-installed electric and plumbing, that is, if the unions don’t rampage. Or the walls of fire proofed recycled newspaper. The galvanized steel roof with photovoltaic panels and the cistern that collects storm water for irrigation, reducing water and energy use. Who could reject this approach in a city notorious for excessive power consumption? They’ll say the Dutch seized Manhattan in Battery Park, imprisoned the Native Americans and built a city of stone, that New York was built to last. And he’d counter with recycled plastic--a half life of a trillion years.

the spectrum

i'm hot
i'm not
so what

Muse Fix