Science Fairs: Triumph of the Trifold [13 Nov 2009|11:51pm] iaaphoto via an amazing oldschool gallery hosted at infiniteurine. By gallery, I mean folder of jpg files. Also seen in various other places around the web. No idea about the original origin of any of these images. ( Read the rest of this entry » ) Post fed from IAABlog (Feed Comments) 2 comments|post comment

"For Jenn" - Andrea Gibson [13 Nov 2009|10:22pm] theysaid [nurseyourlove] At 12 years old I started bleeding with the moon and beating up boys who dreamed of becoming astronauts. I fought with my knuckles white as stars, and left bruises the shape of Salem. There are things we know by heart, and things we don't. At 13 my friend Jen tried to teach me how to blow rings of smoke. I'd watch the nicotine rising from her lips like halos, but I could never make dying beautiful. The sky didn't fill with colors the night I convinced myself veins are kite strings you can only cut free. I suppose I love this life, in spite of my clenched fist. I open my palm and my lifelines look like branches from an Aspen tree, and there are songbirds perched on the tips of my fingers, and I wonder if Beethoven held his breath the first time his fingers touched the keys the same way a soldier holds his breath the first time his finger clicks the trigger. We all have different reasons for forgetting to breathe. ( cont. ) 6 comments|post comment

belatedly posted poem for 11/11/2009 [13 Nov 2009|01:46pm] theysaid [flaaa_blah] HERE DEAD WE LIE Here dead we lie Because we did not choose To live and shame the land From which we sprung. Life, to be sure, Is nothing much to lose, But young men think it is, And we were young. -- A E Housman 2 comments|post comment

Day 1046 [11 Nov 2009|06:02pm] jnphotos I photographed Cherice for our commercial photography class. post comment

Day 1045 [10 Nov 2009|06:01pm] jnphotos It was a hideaway type of day. 1 comment|post comment

Day 1044 [09 Nov 2009|05:59pm] jnphotos I made cardboard boxes for a project for my asl class. It was nice to do an art project post comment

The joys of three kids [12 Nov 2009|11:54am] super_sonic So this week has been a rough one. Penny was going through a growth spurt because she was nursing or trying to around the clock. Tuesday, she finally calmed down and slept all night long which meant my boobs were about to explode. Thankfully, JP nursed as normal to relieve a little bit of it. Yesterday night, my 3 year old decided that sleeping is for the birds. So I was up until midnight trying to get him to sleep. Then this morning he decided to wake up at 9am. All I wanted to do was sleep in because the twins were BOTH sleeping. So the bad mommy that I am I turned on spongebob and went back to sleep, lol. So I got an extra hour of sleep today...going to need it because now JP is going through a growth spurt wish me luck! post comment

What the Doctor Said | Raymond Carver [12 Nov 2009|12:32pm] theysaid [oneofthefirst] He said it doesn't look good he said it looks bad in fact real bad he said I counted thirty-two of them on one lung before I quit counting them I said I'm glad I wouldn't want to know about any more being there than that he said are you a religious man do you kneel down in forest groves and let yourself ask for help when you come to a waterfall mist blowing against your face and arms do you stop and ask for understanding at those moments I said not yet but I intend to start today he said I'm real sorry he said I wish I had some other kind of news to give you I said Amen and he said something else I didn't catch and not knowing what else to do and not wanting him to have to repeat it and me to have to fully digest it I just looked at him for a minute and he looked back it was then I jumped up and shook hands with this man who'd just given me something no one else on earth had ever given me I may have even thanked him habit being so strong 4 comments|post comment

Two Foxes | Jefferson Navicky [11 Nov 2009|08:18pm] theysaid [little___green] Your hair contains an entire dream full of sails and masts.    When I gnaw on your rebellious sea hair, it is as if I am eating memories, happiness espoused to water.   At the start of your tawny tentacles, follicles give way to the soft matter of your brain.  Your hair is the arm of your brain.    I saw two foxes on my way through your hair yesterday. Something was in the air; the animals were stir-crazy.  Hundreds of geese were circling the pond.  3 comments|post comment

Philip Larkin - MCMXIV [11 Nov 2009|04:02pm] theysaid [foreignthinks] MCMXIV Those long uneven lines Standing as patiently As if they were stretched outside The Oval or Villa Park, The crowns of hats, the sun On moustached archaic faces Grinning as if it were all An August Bank Holiday lark; And the shut shops, the bleached Established names on the sunblinds, The farthings and sovereigns, And dark-clothed children at play Called after kings and queens, The tin advertisements For cocoa and twist, and the pubs Wide open all day-- And the countryside not caring: The place names all hazed over With flowering grasses, and fields Shadowing Domesday lines Under wheat's restless silence; The differently-dressed servants With tiny rooms in huge houses, The dust behind limousines; Never such innocence, Never before or since, As changed itself to past Without a word--the men Leaving the gardens tidy, The thousands of marriages, Lasting a little while longer: Never such innocence again. -- Philip Larkin 2 comments|post comment

For Tess | Raymond Carver [11 Nov 2009|09:59am] theysaid [stidesadeline] Out on the Strait the water is whitecapping, as they say here. It’s rough, and I’m glad I’m not out. Glad I fished all day on Morse Creek, casting a red Daredevil back and forth. I didn’t catch anything. No bites even, not one. But it was okay. It was fine! I carried your dad’s pocketknife and was followed for a while by a dog its owner called Dixie. At times I felt so happy I had to quit fishing. Once I lay on the bank with my eyes closed, listening to the sound the water made, and to the wind in the tops of the trees. The same wind that blows out on the Strait, but a different wind, too. For a while I even let myself imagine I had died – and that was all right, at least for a couple of minutes, until it really sank in: Dead. As I was lying there with my eyes closed, just after I’d imagined what it might be like if in fact I never got up again, I thought of you. I opened my eyes then and got right up and went back to being happy again. I’m grateful to you, you see. I wanted to tell you. 5 comments|post comment

I Saw in Louisiana a Live-Oak Growing | Walt Whitman [10 Nov 2009|05:28pm] theysaid [presentpossible] I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing, All alone stood it and the moss hung down from the branches, Without any companion it stood there uttering joyous leaves of dark green, And its look, rude, unbending, lusty, made me think of myself, But I wondered how it could utter joyous leaves standing alone there without its friend near, for I knew I could not, And I broke off a twig with a certain number of leaves upon it, and twined around it a little moss, And brought it away, and I have placed it in sight in my room, It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends, (For I believe lately I think of little else than of them,) Yet it remains to me a curious token, it makes me think of manly love; For all that, and though the live-oak glistens there in Louisiana solitary in a wide flat space, Uttering joyous leaves all its life without a friend or lover near, I know very well I could not. 1 comment|post comment

Rehab // Damon McLaughlin [10 Nov 2009|04:34pm] theysaid [february_sky] The summer we tried to kill ourselves it was humid. The summer the floods came. We ran headfirst into the water, and when that didn't work we swam casually into the middle of the river and it took us over the dam like bits of trees it had busted but couldn't sink. Always to the side we floated, pieces of the flood bubbling up as we choked and shivered, kicking the silence off the porch at night. Like retired ghosts passing through the dark we walked naked around the block in the rain. We thought we were angels. We were so white and so cold. 9 comments|post comment

Day 1043 [08 Nov 2009|11:31am] jnphotos All Souls Procession! ( more ) 2 comments|post comment

Elizabeth Heppenstall: Sketchbook and Baby Art [08 Nov 2009|08:37pm] iaaphoto A couple rather fun things on her website: the inclusion of a sketchbook of sorts and a gallery of art made by her as a child. The Baby Art gallery starts with an image predicting Beth’s later career path and continues with a lovable selection of crayon drawings. The sketchbook is much more varied. I think that it will be done through wordpress later, but for know it’s an insanely packed html page full of scanned drawings, some paintings that weren’t included on other pages for whatever reason, collages, and even a fair amount of notes in the margins. I have the ability to see into her head more often than most, but even with that I’ve found some stuff in here I haven’t seen before. Definitely worth a look. And with that, we’re wrapping up Elizabeth Heppenstall Week. I’ve got a lot of other stuff I need to post about this upcoming week. Some features, some deadlines. You know, the usual. Hope you’ve enjoyed Beth’s work! Feel free to send her an email letting her know what you think, or subscribe to her blog for updates. I’m sure I won’t be able to resist posting more in the future. Post fed from IAABlog (Feed Comments) post comment

What Is the Correct Subject? | Sarah Manguso [08 Nov 2009|11:24pm] theysaid [little___green] Love is too indulgent and death is too sad. It’s time for a new mystery. Rabbits! Blood! Animals dabbed on the cave wall! We can rely on the painted rabbit to teach us about the real rabbit. And yet— the real rabbit… * The moon shines on the gravel road. Rabbit on the road, rabbit in the sagebrush: more than one rabbit? Moon, never the same light from night to night: more than one moon? More than one moon-experience? Which is the correct one? Moon, rabbit: You don’t seem to change each other but, then again… In Japan they tell a story of the rabbit whose job it is to clean the moon. His reason for doing so is obscure. There exists a netsuke carving of a moon that, upside-down, becomes a rabbit that, upside-down, becomes a moon… The guardians understand even more than this. 1 comment|post comment

For Saundra by Nikki Giovanni [08 Nov 2009|05:58pm] theysaid [xtrue] i wanted to write a poem that rhymes but revolution doesn't lend itself to be-bopping then my neighbor who thinks i hate asked -- do you ever write tree poems -- i like trees so i thought i'll write a beautiful green tree poem peeked from my window to check the image noticed that the school yard was covered with asphalt no green -- no trees grow in manhattan then, well, i thought the sky i'll do a big blue sky poem but all the clouds have winged low since no-Dick was elected so i thought again and it occurred to me maybe i shouldn't write at all but clean my gun and check my kerosene supply perhaps these are not poetic times at all 1 comment|post comment

from My Beloved | Charles Simic [08 Nov 2009|04:42pm] theysaid [little___green] In the fine print of her face Her eyes are two loopholes. No, let me start again. Her eyes are flies in milk, Her eyes are baby Draculas. To hell with her eyes. Let me tell you about her mouth. Her mouth's the red cottage Where the wolf ate Grandma. Ah, forget about her mouth, Let me talk about her breasts. I get a peek at them now and then And even that's more than enough To make me lose my head, So I better tell you about her legs. When she crosses them on the sofa It's like the jailer unwrapping a parcel And in that parcel is a Christmas cake And in that cake a sweet little file That gasps her name as it files my chains. 2 comments|post comment

I Cannot Answer You Tonight in Small Portions by Richard Brautigan [07 Nov 2009|08:14pm] theysaid [vitals] I cannot answer you tonight in small portions. Torn apart by stormy love's gate, I float like a phantom facedown in a well where the cold dark water reflects vague half-built stars and trades all our affection, touching, sleeping together for tribunal distance standing like a drowned train just beyond a pile of Eskimo skeletons. 4 comments|post comment

Changing What We Mean // Eloise Klein Healy [07 Nov 2009|10:52pm] theysaid [iatrogenicmyth] Turning your back, you button your blouse. That’s new. You redirect the conversation. A man has entered it. Your therapist has given you permission to discuss this with me, the word you’ve been looking for in desire. You can now say “heterosexual” with me. We mean different things when we say it. I mean the life I left behind forever. For you, it’s a new beginning, a stab at being normal again, a desire to enter the world with a man instead of a woman, and of course, there’s the word you won’t claim for yourself anymore, you who have children to think of, you who have put me in line behind them and mean to keep the order clear. It’s really my word against yours anymore in this new language, in this battle over how a man is about to enter this closed room of desire we’ve gingerly exchanged keys to, but desire isn’t what’s at issue anyway, you say to me. Instead I learn a man can protect you in a way a woman only means to but never can, and my world is too new when there’s real life out there, word after word for how normal looks, each word cutting like scissors a profile of desire— a man facing a woman, nothing particularly new or interesting to me. I’ve wanted only to face you and the world simultaneously, say what I mean with my body, my choice to not be a man, to be a woman with you, forget the man’s part or how his body is the word for what touch can contain, what love means. If this were only about desire, you say, I’d still desire you. But it isn’t passion we’re defining, new consequences emerge when a man and desire are part of the words we hurl, you changing how you mean loving—this terrible final news. 22 comments|post comment

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