March 2012
4 posts
5 tags
5 tags
3 tags
3 tags
February 2012
3 posts
3 tags
3 tags
2 tags
December 2011
1 post
7 tags
November 2011
2 posts
9 tags
3 tags
July 2011
1 post
3 tags
Proper Lady's Haiku
The peeling of tights
A nylon sensation of
the coming of spring
June 2011
1 post
9 tags
May 2011
1 post
7 tags
April 2011
1 post
6 tags
March 2011
1 post
6 tags
Four Noble Truths (四圣谛)
苦 What pain, Pandora,
from the start
集 of the world-
for all she had, she yet
desired .
滅 All released, almost empty,
道 at the bottom of the box,
there was!
February 2011
2 posts
5 tags
7 tags
January 2011
1 post
7 tags
December 2010
2 posts
7 tags
5 tags
Filling the Internet
Filling the Internet
Media: Web; Description: This is a piece about the space of the internet. Web 1.0, 2.0, and web 3.0 come together to increase John Baldessari’s digital footprint. Hopefully making conceptual art and artists more “accessible”.
tl;dr - I made 50-60 profiles and online personas for a stranger.
6 tags
Watch“Racist Button”, constructed from an ordinary touch light, recording module, acrylic paint, and hand-cut stickers. 2010.
November 2010
3 posts
1 tag
Friendship Erst
Silly Child, Merciless Thing pinned to the wall like a poster you had from age pink and purple to age leather and denim.
Dressed like you were (Richmond, VA) all over and under.
Hot Tranny Mess of sincerity have we made. A chance to be friends, you grant my wishes in a modern well.
Curly Haired Boy, your sharp nose and little hands made sandcastles of sound. Like a good, soft friend. Like an...
5 tags
September 2010
1 post
5 tags
August 2010
1 post
8 tags
May 2010
22 posts
2 tags
Guitar in Several Parts
I You were my hollow sweet sixteen. Red lacquered, nickel-wound erogeny, String suspenders holding up the pants Of talentless pretense. II When I dance alone I do it With one arm up and fingers curled As if entertaining an absent partner. The way you fit so intimately Etched into muscle memory. III When you dance you don’t. You stare at me with the cockeyed glance Of f-holes...
2 tags
Doll Face and her Pictorial Spread
Were the world dry of pretty locations My aesthetic priorities would be An easy jog through some rich editorial, All peaches and Norwegian chiffon. Currently framing their continuous movement Through wedding cake and statuesque Aperitif glasses as neat and striking as a tan line. The seamless indoor/outdoor experience is A vertical green nonchalance of headpieces. I will be a breeder but...
2 tags
3 tags
2 tags
3 tags
2 tags
In Parody of My Alter-Ego
That hairy chin was of a time and a place A locus of N*Sync and Charleston Chews so phlegmatic, we called it A Patchwork Orange. My trendy beard was so offensive. So monstrous, so what? It was so-so. Had you seen it you might have taunted, “We’ve broken our backs on Mount Vesuvianne Westwood. Mi idolo is spewing Ash Ketchum!” How else could I explain? I ran out of time to exhume The...
3 tags
2 tags
The Woodchips of Absolution
This is the playground of apologetics. Some would like to walk by on odd Sundays. Here the woodchips are all so soggy with crime, But they are barefoot, playing in a pile of shoes. See the sensitive lumberjack on his tireswing, Up he jangles on chainlink ropes To the treetops, intent to peak at their altitude. At the far end the see-saw is lonely, uncontentious At equilibrium, like a...
2 tags
2 tags
Outside the Galaxy Hut
The tightening of latex across chests, The straining to pull on jeans So tight they begged to be Zippered at the bottom. For feet they were rather red, Subjective color that it is. Red, not alizarin in the raping amphora. Just call it red. There were pages of guests to greet And all too pleasant to steal from. The ampersands were grainy and Maple leaves covered our disbelief. What a...
2 tags
An Apologetic Tanka Poem
God, I am sorry that everything is soiled. I am as worthless As hotel towels on the floor waiting to be picked up.
2 tags
2 tags
2 tags
2 tags
2 tags
Like a Virgin
The Madonna wasn’t just a material girl, simulating innocence in proper tulle and hoary makeup, her hands grasping some weirdly penitent and pockmarked teenager with an outmoded phrase on his shirt like, “Frankie says relax” or “L’etat c’est moi”. She was also this thin wax figurine in Haiti that cried periodically – but was probably a hoax. But that voodoo shit was real, so real, That every movie...
1 tag
1 tag
2 tags
1 tag
3 tags
March 2010
0 posts
4 tags
