Tuesday, June 14, 2011

overheard on the corner of clark and addison at 8:30 a.m. on a tuesday:

"...as long as it isn't urine or gasoline, i think you'll be fine."

Thursday, June 9, 2011

meh meh something about clocks

Of opulence and heart attacks
Uneven hands snap invisible fingers
against a rhythmic moment.
Steady, dark, and sweet components
digress, outlasting only twelve
crushed against a wall and nailed
to
morrow.
Only hands.
Deaf and dumb and
eyeless face.
Only hands
cradle that fire (in which we sunbathe)
with such a sad, hot, tight embrace.
Tickling ivories: the clicking soundtrack of lives.
Talking.
Not talking.
Talking again.
Stillness is a myth.

Concerning the Brat Pack

So. I've been wanting to do this for a while now. Mostly because I laugh out loud every time I think about how much fun it would be. I want to do a series of paintings/sillyfun multimedia portraits with those timeless teens as robots. Or maybe just one great big mantlepiece-worthy family portrait. I was considering getting a kitten a while ago and had (still have) my heart set on naming it Robot Lowe. Because...well, seriously. Like I have to justify naming something Robot Lowe. And then I was all, yep. This is happening. And then I moved and got distracted ( BAD liz) and abandoned the idea. But I've made a promise to myself to start working on Android McCarthy this weekend. These are the names I have so far: Robot Lowe, Android McCarthy, Ally Sheetmetal, and--my personal freaking favorite--TIN CANTHONY MICHAEL HALL. Emilio Estevez, Judd Nelson, and Molly Ringwald are, as of yet, without robot names. Any suggestions are welcome suggestions. Especially for Estevez. Estevez or Estevaz? I don't know. Anyway, if you're starting a band, you should name it either Judd Nelson Mandella or Anthony Michael Hall and Oates.


The end.


Tomorrow (according to my practicing definition): n. An undisclosed day in the future. Apparently.


So since it's tomorrow, I'm going to hammer out day TWO of BIPSBAT. Ready? Go.


NUMBER FOUR: Gil Grissom, aka William Peterson, aka the dad from "Fear". William Peterson is an old man. He is also chubby. Also, he has a history of taking on characters who collect maggots and hate on Marky Mark. There's nothing admirable about either of those hobbies. HOWEVER, as we all know, this man made a lengthy appearance in the cinematic gem Young Guns, which might potentially negate all of the aforementioned blahness. And might be (read:totally is) the subconscious foundation of my two-year-long need to watch CSI marathons back to back to back. Not healthy, and I know it. One time I followed a man around a thrift store in St. Mark's Place in NYC waiting for him to put down a CSI shirt so i could buy it. It was a weird time in my life and I'm sort of horrified I just put that information out into the world. But not too horrified to delete it.