Thursday, April 30, 2009

MAMMAL

a response to DICTIONARY 2 by richard chiem


surviving is water and gorgeous and
the selfish girl
walking away
true poetry
hail Mary

the afternoon glimmers
red and chrome
imagine
crushed square jaw
shattering
along its california faultline
unconscious

ochre coast
set the story
new american dysfunction
interracial families will breed
new savior

performance theory
you say nonsense
beauty
i say
i'm glad you're alive

Now it is summer


Original video and text. Thanks, Richard.

Self portrait: Kara Walker


Tracing paper, found fabric, thread

Deep like Atlantis

“Don’t think about making art, just get it done. Let everyone else decide whether it’s good or bad, whether they love it or hate it. While they’re deciding, make even more art.”

- Andy Warhol

Vivan

Daniel blushing

Sketchbook





Clearly awesome

Saturday, April 25, 2009

Blank

Grandma is gone.

I'm moving to New Orleans.

Freaks and Geeks
on DVD arrived yesterday.

There is no more time.

(I love you.)

Saturday, April 4, 2009

Thursday, April 2, 2009

Untitled 3/22/09

i think it's called
longing
a whisper
high school at
midnight

my flesh on end
static hush
of
(voice)
(sound)
(tone)

i press
the back of my hand
willing mine to
be
your
touch

long
in




April is National Poetry Month so I'm going to try and post a poem or two of mine when I get the chance.

Self portrait: train station


This quarter I'm taking portfolio drawing, beginning oil painting, and comic book-making classes. It's looking to be the best quarter ever. Maybe? Bittersweet, certainly.

Daniel drinking a beer

Daniel talking about family



I'm home now after 5 (at least) hours of travel and 3 (or so) hours at the hospital. My grandmother's eyes are so frightened. Her mouth moves and I lean in to hear but I understand nothing. Muffled. Everything is softened and I remember earlier softnesses, her fully white head, her round stomach and several chins. Now her grip is like steel, clamping my palm; her arms willowy and silken. So much air padding the skin. My dad has to tie her arms to the bedrail when we leave so she doesn't tear out her IV like she managed to last night. I'm proud and afraid.

Mostly, I am sad. Sad like expectant, like relief and fear and weight. A weight that grows and shrinks simultaneously.

Yesenia on the bus


This is my 100th post.