Blackprint Series No.22

relieve yo'self

there's some noxious fumes out there with the smell of politics in the
air. so take a break from art life. time is running out.
goodbye edwards. hello obama. hillary, give the phones a rest.
you lost my vote when you passed all those right wing bills in the senate.
pining away for kucinich, the raging liberal who doesn't have a chance.
as always, compromise in the air...but we can only go up from here.

in my right mind

Blown away by the read through, crippled after sitting for three days at my desk. SEPTEMBER 10TH is everything I hoped for, imagination at work- my raison d'etre, family as unpredictable as it is, love, true love and all its traps and trappings, compassion for our place in the world as precarious as it is, clinging at once to individuality, that thing that defines us and defies genetic imprints and to our collective identity, that singular force that encompasses everything, more than our individual consciousness affords. No escape. It's that big beautiful velvet stew of life on the edge. Of what? Time, meaning, existence. Even history can be false.

Tank or not

I have to read through my novel tomorrow. Okay. I don't have to but I do. I'm dreading it. It's the big kahuna. It's the road to nowhere, to nothingness and then and then... I want to believe it's going to work out. I have to admit I feel this way every time.

FootShot

workShop

momentum not momentous

boy. all i had to do was hit return twice and my title became my subject and my post. that's how it is these days. momentum. all about gaining it. weird thing is, i'd like to gain momentum in my work, find that sweep across the horizon, ride the comet trail, the crest of the wave where the sensation of the ride is what it's all about, not the place you arrive. happy new year, y''all.

weapons of mass construction

i need my gum, my cigaretttes, my bobby pins, my simone de beauvoir,
my selective memory, my rich, dark chocolate, my dreams, every one
of them,and a few more. i need my lover to love me even when she does,
my massive assault on social injustice timed just right to make an impact,
that element of surprise, no backlash just flashbacks, the good ones,
no enemy, just cause and justice. a glass of fine wine or two or three, a friend i
haven't seen in years, and then i don't need much of anything really. just to be.
at home. in love. ya' know?

End of the Line

Brother, sister, where art thou?

The streets are slick with rain and I keep wondering where we went wrong.
Not when or why, because the when, the why, doesn’t matter any more. The why is why not?

I drive the snowy roads and remember that wintry day, the white out,
our photograph on the front page of the Atlanta Journal Constitution. Barely daylight,
there we were throwing snowballs, in the front yard on Highland Avenue. Happy. Our lives on fire. We were one.

12-1-07

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