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Archive for the ‘Science’ Category

New Michigan Press: A Conventional Weather, by John Pursley III

In Confessional, Poetry, Science on September 8, 2010 at 6:25 pm

Such is the way of windows, of gravity and rock– conventional weather.
John Pursley III, from A CONVENTIONAL WEATHER

A Conventional Weather, John Pursley III

A Conventional Weather, by John Pursley III, is  an exquisitely written collection of 19  portraits of people, places and experience, published by New Michigan Press.

Pursley writes flawlessly, with profound insight and emotional depth, of the conventional lives of conventional people in environments so compellingly drawn as to be both inseparable from, and nearly separate, characters themselves. The Ground Is Swollen & Black: the Air Not Moving at All is a portrait of Pursley‘s father fully wrought with love and pain; almost unbearable to read. The opening lines introduce his father:

Tonight, my father walks the narrow row of railroad ties, now delicate
As the dirt itself & crumbling, the way a mushroom will, when

It begins to dry & draws its moisture to the surface, like a protective skin

and our image of him is inseparable from the land the man is walking: railroad ties, dirt, dryness. Read the rest of this entry »

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I have only one house

In How to, Poetry, Science on September 4, 2010 at 8:06 pm

circular motion does zero work
Evelyn Hampton

To attract a swarm of bees, hang a dark box
inside me. Is it my heart or my heart in my hands?
If only I could look closer I would be able to
understand the difference between modern buildings and the
people who built them. The nurses have blood on
their hands and I am the one who has to tell them. A bad
sign, I say, by opening and closing my drawer of
undies. Springs, slinkies, drill bits, and augurs
give the illusion of movement. A man leaves
by getting smaller than my door. A man comes in
by getting taller than my door. This table behaves
more and more like a wave every day. It interferes
with what I am trying to say about the weather,
how it is always hot and gray. The sides of my face
fluctuate randomly, echoing down the hallway. Laughter
the portraitist cannot paint floats to the ceiling
in a photograph of the hallway. Cease to follow the rules
of classical physics and they put you in a room where
four walls are so close together time hardly passes
except to say Bless you and Pass the tissue? At night
I can hear where I put my keys walking behind me. I have only
one house, but I see its doorway everywhere in the
forest. It grows from topsoil I would call enormous.

Not dead

In Confessional, Film, Science on May 31, 2010 at 9:20 am

Kathy Acker

I watched Man on Wire yesterday, about Philippe Petit, who did the most subversive thing in 1974, which was to walk a tightrope between the World Trade Center towers. It was a beautiful, sublime act, a fantastic insanity. One of the interviewed commented that Petit approached each day like a work of art. Someone else said that in order to pass as an American, he put a lot of pens in his pocket, because Americans like to do that, apparently.

I think we are all animals, and simply making the best of it.

Beehive is sick of all your poetry bullshit

In Photography, Poetry, Science on March 8, 2010 at 7:54 pm

Beehive Magazine has sent out a new call for submissions, and it goes a little something like this:

We need stuff to publish on the website and we are sick of all your poetry bullshit.

Here are the new guidelines:

If you think your piece of writing is profound or beautiful or zen or ironically unimportant or whatever, we don’t want it.

What Beehive is seeking is the stupidest irrelevant bullshit you have ever written/drawn/taken a picture of (whatevs). This means your dumb drawings during class, the syntaxy drippings of your blacked-out mind, space aliens, blood splatter, stuff you obviously didn’t write, pictures of your children (or other people’s children), pornography, scanned objects, failed craigslist ads, essays with all your teacher’s corrections scribbled on top, a list of all your bathroom contents, blueprints, schematics, graphs, charts, crayon drawings.

Really just anything you don’t care about.

The deadline is right now.

Sounds good. I like a lot of the stuff they have already, by folks like Alexandra Lukens, Michelle Puckett, Alexandra Ran, Kyle Hemmings, and especially Theresa Stefeniak of which I further post a sample:

Disfortunate
Theresa Stefaniak

tell me about your osmosis

about getting gobbled up by weather

I want to breathe wet

a slight chance of rain showers

in the end, bacon won the prize

katana swords make men (into) dinner

he’s going to bring cool catness back

baby loves digable planets

what about the assemblage of gingerbread?

Shakespeare takes a brand new job

if nothing foes wrong against horse thieves

or the dignified quality of an opera box

the Adult Services of a California blonde

indulge & unwind- New York Style

Somewhere between

In Photography, Science, Sex on February 23, 2010 at 11:47 pm

Caleb Charland, 15 Hours

Wonder is a state of mind somewhere between knowledge and uncertainty.Caleb Charland

River pig

In Art, Poetry, Science on February 4, 2010 at 6:21 pm

Albertus Seba

I cannot see her tonight.
I have to give her up,
so I will eat fugu.
Buson

Friday double feature

In Film, Music, Science on January 7, 2010 at 8:57 pm

Vodpod videos no longer available.

Vodpod videos no longer available.

Mungo Millenium, Best of (+ bonus new image and link)

In How to, List, Science on December 31, 2009 at 12:01 am

The last 6 months of 2009, anyway. It’s a young blog.

6/2009
Post-Civil War Re-enactment
Not Really*
It really is a lion

7/2009
The goddam regrets
How poets die

8/2009
Things to do on a plinth
Achy
Things like other things
Girl World

9/2009
Counterpoint
Some strange gravity
Stockings
Maybe crying

10/2009
We are in love
It’s nothing, nothing at all

11/2009
Lucia, Luis, and the Wolf
Easter Rabbit is here
Also, eggs

12/2009
I wanted to fuck a robot
I cried once when snow stopped falling
Somewhere graphite grey
A fastening

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.

Wound Man

In History, Prose, Science on December 4, 2009 at 4:55 pm

Remember how we used to annotate things?

We annotated everything. All the time. Our friends would say you guys, always annotating.

What happened?