foos

who doya think'll win?

-fly me to the moon, telluride co.

unbridled

his bed is an 18-page chapbook
split at the middle–
she slips into the binding

the heels of her feet
still have winter written on them
skin cracks: a white map of where she's been

he draws her smiles
like a bath,
even if she appears serious in sleep

she leaves without
saying goodbye
no note and never the expected reply

if you read this tonight...

find something other than drinking to do tonight to entertain yourself

thank you

-management

A (satur)Day in the Life of Que McCormick

First of all, this was a gift from her bartender at Williamsburg Cafe:


Oh, sweet magic. Too bad this girl has given up the elixir.

Anyhow, on my visit to ny, I was able to follow her around "en route" Saturday afternoon to see what her minimum wagey's are like. Needless to say, I wish I could promote trendy local artists in a hip town like Wburg for cash!

The journey begins with...

this huge fat cat at a bookstore called "READ". Jackie told me she goes and pets her while she sifts through the shelves and shelves of books about Buddhism and Zen. (And Nick is paying her for this?!)



She looks like Dagny's mother - long lost family!!! Let's just say I am glad she works in a bookstore and isn't hoe-ing it around town making millions of little Dagny's. I think it's safe to say Mrs. Dagny is an incredibly celibate nerd.



We were testing the length of Jackie's hair by stairwell steps instead of inches. The answer is 2 1/4.



"Okay guys, seriously, I need to go hand these out to people."



Jackie attempts to escape our company but we tracked her ass like Sacajawea:


After extensive stalking, we finally got her to stop and give us a bit of history behind this wburg graffiti mural.



A girl went around NYC and set up these simple, sturdy benches against sign posts to mark places where she thought people should take a moment to sit down and observe the beauty in that particular photo clip of the city.


I think it is quite obviously why this benchmark was placed here...


We need to stop and take a closer look in life.




My recent outlook on life is that we should all be alive like we could have a novel written about us, or write our own autobiography and stay INTERESTED, ENTHRALLED in it. This takes an attention to detail and an appreciation for the particulars.

Why SHOULDN'T we live like we're being narrated and everyone wants a peek into the plotline? Yes, I just watched Stranger Than Fiction last night with Will Ferrell, Maggie Gyllenhaal and Dustin Hoffman. If you've seen it, you'd probably agree: "why would anyone ever want to write a story about Harold Crick?" Well, my friends, it is the person who seeks details and thrives on the minutia in life that finds the entertainment and irony in stories like DEATH & TAXES. You think anyone would ever want to be Bartleby the Scrivener? No! But his story is intriguing because Melville found a way to extract the curiosities behind a superficially bland, boring character. Finding a philosophy from a IRS tax auditor's life is not an easy task, but it is possible. If that is possible, any one of us young folk shouldn't have lost hope yet that we are capable of living an interesting and fulfilling life.

Reason I liked the movie? Because it taught me something. It wasn't in a quick cliche quotation like "Live every day to its fullest!" "Dream as if you'll live forever, live as if you'll die today!" Kay Eiffel, the author of Harold Crick's novel says some very insightful things to Dr. Jules Hilbert in one of the last scenes. So this blog doesn't turn into a movie spoiler, I will allow you to check it out for yourself. . .

If my afterlife is watching a movie of myself when I was alive, I want to watch a good flick; I wouldn't want to be bored all over again. So I might as well entertain myself while I am alive and doubletime the entertainment for my after world.



Okay, waaaay off initial blog topic of Jackie's Flea Market Promotional gig in Williamsburg. But I do give props to Que for finding a job that enjoyable. Kudos and continue exploring your weekends in Wburg!!!

and one last post before sleep ensues...

...and i know this is not what you thought it would be
no whips no chains just dancing dancing dancing dancing dancing dancing dancing dancing...



And that we are... we're all just hangin from the wire...



Horton hears a HOOT

Mock, yeah. Ing, yeah.

What better thing to do on a sunny saturday in brooklyn than to mock things in the burg?

mock viking...



mock purple bicycles



mock shadow



mock brown shoes



mock dog squat



mock "The King"



mock mannequin



mock BIRD!





Have you heard?

Everyone loves time travel!

Prior to AGrey's exhibit, we attended a drum circle for the Full Lunar Eclipse! (that we half-way missed due to Wburg and subway and sweet potatoe fries, but really because of our own tardiness).

"Well, its a marvelous night for a moondance with the stars up above in your eyes - A fantabulous night..."



And just before that, some 23rd St Duane Reed (sp?) shenanagans (sp?) ...



Where's the camera?



Oh, there it is! There I am!



Squat - -



Pose ! !

CoSM

What better way to begin this string of blogs than with a fun mirror of funny faces from Alex Grey's Chapel of Sacred Mirrors? It was the only portion of the museum we were allowed to photograph and so we did- extensively. Here are some of the best:







Thank you to all participants (Jackie Sammy Rizzo Chelsea me) for obscuring your faces beyond recognition. Yea ugly!

Where do you get the nerve?

Indigo,

How can you be so bold- claiming a place on the electromagnetic color spectrum? Everyone knows your the "grey" of Blue and Violet: an amalgamated hue. Even in ROYGBiV, you are lowercase.

I am creating a new rainbow for the all-too-confused, self-assured colors such as you.


Fulvous Saffron Lime Aquamarine Indigo Burgundy


There. Now you have a rainbow more suitable for you.



A Rainbow has six colors; I don't care what anyone says (especially not you, Indigo!)


(and here are some color swatches, in case you are unfamiliar with this rainbow)


a fulvous duck


saffron batik


a lime lawn chair


a nicely shaped aquamarine backdrop


indigo (children)


sweet velvet burgundy (shade of Dubonnet)

dagnabit!

Ears as caves with coral-pigmented stalagmites
Erect as cars pass beyond the double-glazed window
Triangles lose hypotenuse

Also fell flat when she
first saw her reflection
(a hiss at herself)

Viridescent orbs speculate luminosity
Stare without contest
as if a proclamation of philosophic eminence

In pouncing position
sweet almonds, lined in black-soot,
dilate to the beat of her breath

her hine-leg pounce hop, a dance,
an arch of something sacred –
bend at the thoracic vertebrae
between the shoulder blades

With prey detected, a leap
no Catch –
right one winks, twitch (eyelid myokymia?)

Eight disintegrating stitches perpendicular her stomach’s length
top loop oozes puss
Shaven, reveals a stippled design:
Light Heather belly blotched with ink spots

gossamer whiskers pick up dust from unseen areas
her perception has a different bandwidth
hallucinates a mouse to pounce
attentive, in awe at the mandolin
curls tight to Bill’s chest while studying


tiny pale T marks the zenith of her face
as a wound in a rootstock
where one inserts the cut bud
exactly symmetrical – tactically perceptible
central yet camouflaged

jaw unlatches for a
yawn snap
releases fodderbreath
baby teeth planted in bed of her garden maw
ask for air

paws of soft gratitude
bow to god, genuflect in stretch
and after
graze the face of a rust-orange plush couch
without claws – respect

Just after waking, she sprawls on her back
Arms curled as a kangaroo
Tail coiled between back legs
Bathing in sun beam from pigmented window



(disappearance)




After garage wormhole, present again
tangled in a jade patterned scarf,
which mimics lines scribed across back legs
Slate grey mixed with Saturn dust
An Eclipse coat
Fleece sans flees

Tongue like pumice:
A Pyroclastic cleanser
If she were a he, Ida named him Ignatius

all the chapsticks tucked in jackets in closets
lost in pockets

in jeans, deceased

What am I?

It singes my nose hairs with the scent of contempt
I’m a plugged up tea pot with no place to vent
Hear the clear soprano whistle blow
when the Black Dragon’s brewed too long

Just take one sip, I bet
I'll tinge your tongue.

Perspective vs. Perception

Perspective: a view or position; a point of view

Perception: a way of regarding, understanding, or interpreting something; a mental impression; to seize and understand

Two words that are so close can be misleading. It is important to observe, depict and understand differences between seemingly interchangeable abstractions. I will begin my depiction by describing my particular perspective (or view) on these quasi-homonyms. One begins with perspective; one has a point of view on something and that is the base. From this angle, one can color the “something” with his/her perceptions. Perception is distinctly different because it adds many facets to the initial perspective; it adds to the stratum to make the initial “something” more complex.

For example, two “Constants” in an experiment can be looking at an exactly symmetrical statue from opposite sides in a perfectly square white room with a light directly above the statue, so that the statue is completely equivalent from either side. These two Constants have the same perspective. However, the lives of the Constants have been taken in many different directions, affecting their minds through the lens of particular life experiences. Their outer perspective of the statue is similar, but their perception of the image is most likely quite different. On a basic scientific level, maybe Constant 1 is colorblind or far-sighted. These attributes change pigmentation and depth perception. Maybe the statue’s shape stimulates a memory in Constant 1’s mind, while Constant 2’s mind passes over that particular contour.

A more commonly known psychoanalytic test would be the Rorschach inkblot test. In this “experiment”, it would be incorrect to state that two persons looking at the same inkblot from the same angle, distance and in the same light have different perspectives. It would be correct to comment on the distinctions between their perceptions of the blotch. Simply put: perspective is about the external factors while perception deals with the internal.


I’m not sure why I have been thinking about this so much lately, but the power of language and the intricacies within deeply intrigue me. As a good friend of mine said: “words are very much external”. I want to capture the essence of my internal mind, my perspective and my perceptions with words, not just images.
The dictionary cites the following as Art:

acrylic painting
action painting
mural painting
oil painting
painting
watercolor
woodcarving
woodcutting
stonecutting
brass rubbing
airbrushing
scumbling
sculpture
sketching
silk-screen printing
screen printing
cartooning
enameling
encaustic
engraving
grisaille
calligraphy
photography
photomontage
marbling
marquetry
montage
trompe l’oeil
pastel
stained glass
mosaic
mezzotint
batik
aquatint
linocut
lithography
lost wax
ceramics
gouache
collage
decoupage
sgraffito
fresco
impasto
intaglio
intarsia
cire perdue
cloisonné
conté
etching
tempera
distemper
drawing
dry point
pointillism
tachism
illumination!

Words capture images. Words create art through poetry. We’ve all heard the poet’s pen is his paintbrush – it could also be his woodcarver, wax dripper, glue, sponge etc... Whatever tool can mark up a page, wall, cave or surface is an artistic device. Do you think in words or images? What’s your cerebral tool?

Ode to Pooches

Sage - jen and evan's new pup




and this last pooch is MONKEY- a guest of Fiori flower shop a few weeks ago.
I will do an entire post for Oscar - Liz's famous chihuahua!

i'm in lub ! ! !

This is Dagny, our new 4th Street Warrior. She's a kicken kitten- watch out world!

i like books for dinner

I like heliconia for dinner–
so do forest hummingbirds

This lobster-claw imitates Strelitzia
with non-woody petioles often longer than its leaf

Heli’s homeys are bananas– Canna also shares aperitifs
before the Rufous-breasted Hermit
can come to have its feast

Heliconia, I’d invite you
to next weeks dinner party
But I think you’d rather kick it
alone in the tropics
of West Indies
(You oblong clumpy tree)

it's ofish!

i'll be runnin every day until my birthday with my dear dear friend mr. david. "Run til it's done" is apparently the slogan for the race so I be running lots. Shoot. Ain't I lucky I gots a creek to run next to and altitude to keep me in check?

http://www.stlouismarathon.com/

And I'll be running for Rachel Carson, who passed of asphyxiation of the heart on my birthday in '64. Great woman - check her out.

A scroll for every stroll

I talk to myself while I walk

Scrawl mental syntax on the sidewalk
in my head

Things I could've done
Sentences I should've said

This has all been said before
but I'll say it all again
Mouthing it to myself
by the beat of my footstep

What's a whisper - is it different
than writing words with pen?
Does it hold any less significance
if it's only been half said?

Each stride, an invisible lacuna divides
the line breaks of my restive mind.

Driver Mike

Talking to driver Mike on the 201
is painful like a conversation
with the Dentist mid-cavity crack
Buzzing lights (flicker a bit)
churning snowtires
Handicap wheelchair rack shakes

He's rambling:
"Archie's in rehab...

Carly Simon...
Mom's not here...

Itsy Bitsy Spider..."

I keep the exchange going with some:
"Really?" and "No kidding"s

He's humming a children's jingle
Lets out a hearty laugh from the gut

"Only two more hours!" he shouts.

My jaw takes on a pain
an ache emergent from
past bad dental experiences with Dr. Lehman-
There is a time for silence.

Celeb-reality

Yeah - he asked me where the bathroom was today while I was working out.
Second celebrity who's asked me where the bathroom is. Other, Donny Osmond.