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Thursday, May 28th, 2009
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12:20 pm
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Harper: In your experience of the world. How do people change?
Mormon Mother: Well it has something to do with God so it's not very nice. God splits the skin with a jagged thumbnail from throat to belly and then plunges a huge filthy hand in, he grabs hold of your bloody tubes and they slip to evade his grasp but he squeezes hard, he insists, he pulls and pulls till all your innards are yanked out and the pain! We can't even talk about that. And then he stuffs them back, dirty, tangled and torn. It's up to you to do the stitching.
Harper: And then up you get. And walk around.
Mormon Mother: Just mangled guts pretending. That's how people change.
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(comment on this)
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| Monday, December 29th, 2008
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2:51 pm - Rooms and Underwear
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 by Maki Miyashita "It’s important that the subjects are relaxed and the environment natural," Miyashita said, "that they don’t clean their rooms before the shoot, for example." But if the tableau is meant to be natural, then why the bra and panties dress code? "Because that’s what women wear when they are relaxing." -interview with Monty diPietro
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(4 comments | comment on this)
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| Friday, November 28th, 2008
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11:45 pm - foucault's other half
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"It is not the other half of himself that the individual seeks in the other person; it is the truth to which his soul is related-- the hidden medium of his love."
-Foucault
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(comment on this)
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| Wednesday, November 19th, 2008
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1:46 am - Noraysa: A kulintang piece
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This is what defines you. In the halls now bereft, you snake into your costume. You are helped by your mother who is missing the show and you quiver with graciousness, Loved. When it's your turn you skitter to the stage, brimming with emptiness. The balsa fits squarely in your hand, an extension of your arm. It’s good. You know it’s perfect because you've weighed it in your palms, an exhibitionist Sunday grocer.
You hold the sticks like flotsam on brine and you smile. You look to meet his eye, whispering in your head: look at me. When he finally turns to look at you, you know it's inevitable. You give a quiet nod and it begins. Tick. The metallic click in your ear turns on something inside you and you turn metal yourself, brass and unforgiving. Tick. Tick.
Time doesn't flow, it oozes. You lift your hand, bring it down, and it's a miracle. It's as perfect as water in clear glass. You are Confidence, radiating with the exoticness you now embody.
Three weeks ago your teacher frowned at you, beady eyes gleaming behind her thick glasses. She was as tight as the floss you wrap around your finger and you both feared the possibilities. This is what you do, she said, if you forget. Do not stop and most of all, do not stick your tongue out. Out of all the others you are the one to whom this secret is revealed, and you feel special in a horrible way.
Now the music is swirling in the vortex that is you. There is no time to reel from all the eyes and minds and expectations. The Muse is determined and will not wait for you, so you hit. Every. Single. Note. Right. On. The. Beat. All the while you smile a little, just the way you've been taught.
When the ringing stops you get up and you take a sweet, well-deserved bow. The crowd applauds loudly, fluttering with relief.
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(comment on this)
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| Friday, November 14th, 2008
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11:01 am - image love pt 1
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