fish
i had suffered for a long time from the illusion
that remembering inhibited one's experience.
now the illusion is almost my only memory--
and that i am cold and that i have been cold for
a long time and that this coldness was brought
on gradually by an illusion. yet, it is likely that i
will not be cold later. then, i will remember
something else and not this. i will have
forgotten the story to which i currently refer.
each person has her own theater. i propose this
as an exhibit or a symptom of my personal stage.

carla harryman, memory play

driving home

ellsworth, ks: a wind project. it reminds me of pink floyd. also, i'm not sure small animals should look like this. today i took one hundred pictures of the sky. and i made a lot of movies about it.

some things from the country

kansas city things

a coast of toast

m and i went to take pictures of the neighborhood and i found a toaster and a lamp hooked up to a streetlight. and i found a no yoga parking sign.

arrival

my new mustache picture came!

at the beginning

at the beginning of the road into the swamp they put up a sign that said macondo and another one on the main street that said god exists. in all the houses keys to memorizing objects and feelings had been written. but the system demanded so much vigilance and moral strength that many succumbed to the spell of an imaginary reality, one invented by themselves, which was less practical for them but more comforting.

ggm, one hundred years of solitude

kafka talks to joseph k

last night, we went to a play at the bindery called joseph k. the set was sparse: a large metal hamster wheel and a magician's box, which, at the top, sat a chair, desk with a typewriter and kafka with large black circles under his eyes. throughout the play, kafka reassures joseph k that he loves him and admits that some of the things that are happening he didn't intend. joseph k finds himself awake and accused and the build up to the trial is cluttered with interruptions from the landlord, the slutty tenant, court officials, a musical act, and kafka, who at one point trades places with jk:

"The story plays out in necessarily inevitable and murky fashion. Everyone disappoints Joseph, including, ultimately, his own author. Joseph pleads with Kafka to save him, but Kafka wonders if his characters are ever truly in his control — a point viscerally demonstrated when Kafka's fictional lawyer seizes him and, finding him as guilty as Joseph, slices Kafka's tongue out."

the set was industrial and shadowy. the props, which included a full, and later, a fully eaten apple, were proficient. the dialogue was lustful and quick. the play was stunningly imagined, cast, and performed. and it was written by a local playwright: martin mcgovern.

mustaches and strings

i just bought this:

http://shop.marcjohns.com/collections/prints/products/mustaches-on-strings-signed-print

which makes me think of this shadowbox, seen above, i put things in a long time ago.

i don't know why hanging mustaches are so pleasurable. i guess they just are.

to: denver

these are some pictures from in front of my house. this is what it looks like in front of my house when tornado sirens go on and on.

i'm pretty sure the best thing i've read today goes like this:










i called out for you twice & a boy
with your name showed up
with all the animals from the road
at the end of the storybook.

jmw, the book of whispering in the projection booth

or, maybe it was this:

the loud stuffing of people into corners with other people
and then the beautiful special people with skin kissing
each other. why does the morning seem all draggy and alive?

jb, take it