Cami Park

Archive for December, 2009|Monthly archive page

Bad day Monday

In Art, Confessional, Philosophy on December 21, 2009 at 1:47 pm

What are you gonna do?

John Boultbee

Not far from where it was found

In Art, Photography, Prose on December 19, 2009 at 9:33 am

Yusuf Sevincli

small white almost faces

Best blogs

In List, Poetry, Prose on December 18, 2009 at 5:18 am

I have a hard green pear for lunch. It resembles your heart.Radish King
I have a hard green pear for lunch. It resembles your heart.

the story describes richie benaud’s face. how it has changed over the years. sunken in. how his eyes have evolved from tadpoles to frogs. eyes can be frogs, contends the story, and a recent photograph of richie benaud confirms the story’s assertion.

Happy (belated) birthday, Beethoven!

In Art, Music, Poetry on December 17, 2009 at 6:55 am

To Music
Rainer Maria Rilke

Music. The breathing of statues. Perhaps:
The quiet of images. You, language where
languages end. You, time
standing straight from the direction
of transpiring hearts.

Feelings, for whom? O, you of the feelings
changing into what?— into an audible landscape.
You stranger: music. You chamber of our heart
which has outgrown us. Our inner most self,
transcending, squeezed out,—
holy farewell:
now that the interior surrounds us
the most practiced of distances, as the other
side of the air:
no longer habitable.

We love you get up

In Celebrity, Music, Poetry on December 15, 2009 at 4:36 am

They spell very greatly

In Celebrity, Music, Prose on December 9, 2009 at 6:08 pm

10 eggs

In Confessional, Science, Sex on December 8, 2009 at 12:04 am

Windy, overcast & decidedly cold. Some sloes still on the bushes. Plovers sitting on the ground & crying.

10 eggs.

Has belly button

In Household, Photography, Poetry on December 7, 2009 at 1:41 am

I can’t put toothbrushes in poems, I really can’t. —Sylvia Plath

Quentin Tarantino’s foot fetish

In Art, Film, Prose on December 6, 2009 at 6:20 am

Inglourious Basterds is the feel good film of the year.

Kelly Sant, Not Blahnik

Red Shoes
Honor Moore

all that autumn you step from the train

as if something were burning

something is burning

running across the green grass bare feet

that day death was only

what we lose in fall comes back in spring

something is burning

from the train you climb

smoke between the skyscrapers

Paris was so beautiful, the sky–

all that autumn

then tears

Why do we do this again?

she turns to you in the kitchen

she puts her arms around you

she is wearing those red shoes

Imagine the signalman

In Art, Dream, Prose on December 5, 2009 at 1:24 pm

New World at Abjective.

van Gogh, Pollard Willow