January 2010
Art museum director Super Bowl trash talk →
The Complete Chart of "Lost" Characters' Past... →
Schjeldahl on the "mildly talented" Urs Fischer →
iteeth:
Urs Fischer’s Cumpadre, 2009 Suffice it to say Peter Schjeldahl didn’t love the New Museum’s show by the “mildly talented” Urs Fischer. The kicker, from his New Yorker mini-review:
It’s all nicely diverting—but from what? If you spend more than twenty minutes with the three-floor extravaganza, you’re loitering. The New Museum could just as well not have done the show while saying it...
Literary Manboys: how many do you think went to... →
(via condenast)
oh i shudder to think. can we expand the category to just “manboys”? i’m seeing all sorts of yale-blue venn diagrams in my head…
Diving into the Wreck, by Adrienne Rich
First having read the book of myths, and loaded the camera, and checked the edge of the knife-blade, I put on the body-armor of black rubber the absurd flippers the grave and awkward mask. I am having to do this not like Cousteau with his assiduous team aboard the sun-flooded schooner but here alone. There is a ladder. The ladder is always there hanging innocently close to the side of the...
I know I said. Listen I have An idea. Do you know her address? You know where She lives? You should go there Go and hide there Outside her house In the bushes Then when she comes out You jump out You confront her. You will see If there is love In her eyes or not. It can't Be hidden. You will know It can't be mistaken - excerpted from "Talking to Patrizia," by Kenneth Koch
panjandrum →
pandisnax:
i’ve always enjoyed this word. it sounds indian, and it should be indian, given the number of them in india. but we can’t claim it, alas.
beats poo-bah any day.
Watch“i should have known something might be wrong when i added cream and it didn’t change color. that’s a bad sign, isn’t it? i drank that cup of coffee, it took me like thirty minutes. it was the most amazing cup of coffee i have ever had in my life. oh my god, for that thirty minutes i could see into the future. it was amazing. i felt so alive.”
pandisnax:
eeeeeva:
AT NIGHT (2)
We were talking And then we were dancing And then it was quiet, and I thought This is what we were saying: —Sandalwood —Palace Fire —Ghost Limbs —Blindness —Oh that’s lovely —Thanks —Home —The color red —The real color red —Oral Plexus —Lightly, lightly —Salt Skins —Lightening —Night Work Your mouth My mouth
Michael Dickman
...
LOVE THE IDEA, hate the execution. "69 love songs,... →
AT NIGHT (2)
We were talking And then we were dancing And then it was quiet, and I thought This is what we were saying: —Sandalwood —Palace Fire —Ghost Limbs —Blindness —Oh that’s lovely —Thanks —Home —The color red —The real color red —Oral Plexus —Lightly, lightly —Salt Skins —Lightening —Night Work Your mouth My mouth
Michael Dickman
Poem, copyright ©...
AT NIGHT
There is a way through our bodies together out of hell, your hand on my face I can Feel it
Michael Dickman
Poem, copyright © 2005
GRIEF by Matthew Dickman
When grief comes to you as a purple gorilla you must count yourself lucky. You must offer her what’s left of your dinner, the book you were trying to finish you must put aside and make her a place to sit at the foot of your bed, her eyes moving from the clock to the television and back again. I am not afraid. She has been here before and now I can recognize her gait as she approaches the...
“Because I’m stuck like this, my thoughts are crazy, perfidious tripe: anyone shoots badly through a crooked blowpipe.
My painting is dead. Defend it for me, Giovanni, protect my honor. I am not in the right place—I am not a painter.”
excerpted from Michelangelo: To Giovanni da Pistoia, “When the Author Was Painting the Vault of the Sistine Chapel” —1509 (via...
Cleaning my room
mathsquad:
The shoes in the photo I bought with my mom in the Trumbull Mall to take to CTY summer camp in sixth grade. I went to great trouble to find different-colored shoelaces for them. They cost $20, they’ve been my back-up shoes for 11 years, and they finally have holes in the bottoms that I can’t ignore. I’m throwing them out.
Aside from all of the usual ways old shoes are...
