tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80756603716047005852024-02-20T07:51:14.178-08:00SpiNionLyrical SlicesSpinionettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15375868638581378002noreply@blogger.comBlogger38125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8075660371604700585.post-41212923765334828862016-03-25T12:08:00.000-07:002016-03-25T12:08:59.484-07:00Three.3.Three<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I wear the same dress everyday<br />
Stitched in pebbles, embroidered in grime.<br />
It feels weightless<br />
But one shift<br />
and it's half up my thigh<br />
catching y'all's eyes.<br />
<br />
It's been ages since I wrote you a line<br />
One that's not rooted in goodbye.<br />
I just want to tell you<br />
The sky looks dusty<br />
and you remind me of a smokey bar.<br />
<br />
The smokestacks are capped,<br />
Suffocated.<br />
They send no more of your letters.<br />
Huffing and puffing is what I do<br />
Now.</div>
Spinionettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15375868638581378002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8075660371604700585.post-86807760745970471992015-12-26T20:45:00.002-08:002015-12-26T21:04:52.609-08:00Monologue for Basquiat<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxEuoBoxtmd6YLW0HyM4bzsEJjqB872u0biHEatpkT-FtFPM7TkCtyj_LOCjOKG0TiIKFGgP0itfVW3lg1y91BZtfIehWkt0BxDW9OWPb0FscHnmVSwVS-6_JEzGzJ9xArKAylh78Gu7E/s1600/FullSizeRender+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxEuoBoxtmd6YLW0HyM4bzsEJjqB872u0biHEatpkT-FtFPM7TkCtyj_LOCjOKG0TiIKFGgP0itfVW3lg1y91BZtfIehWkt0BxDW9OWPb0FscHnmVSwVS-6_JEzGzJ9xArKAylh78Gu7E/s400/FullSizeRender+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It's nothing new when artists or figures of genius proportions are lauded, studied and replicated once they're dead.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I was at the museum last week. Mistakenly, I went on a Saturday. Even with high ceilings and central air, the place was a zoo. All types of sounds, smells and sights in housed in a space designed to crystallize genius immortality.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">We all came to see this artist's exhibit. It doesn't matter who, because the point is, he's dead and more relevant than a god or terrorists. Which actually may be a better figure to worship...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">His, the artist that is, his journal entries were on exhibit. His journals. Each page was torn out, probably with a laser, and then framed. Some were enclosed in Plexiglas, as if the fumes from his number two pencil needed to be protected by our raunchy breath. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I'll tell you, I am no better than the people who were taking photos of his scribbles, doodles and smudges. I was there to ogle too. Maybe catch a whiff of whatever artistic genius that wasn't enclosed behind bullet proof glass.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It wasn't until I saw a framed composition notebook page that was only filled with three words:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">1. milk</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">2. bread</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">3. ink</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I got irrationally angry. So angry that I wanted to rip down the frames, punch the Plexiglas and steal each page from the walls, away from everyone's stoic gazes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">This man's grocery list is up for display along with the inner workings of years' worth of torment, glee, doubt and in this case, hunger. And it's all displayed neatly, cleanly, under high security cameras and fluorescent lab lighting; when I bet when these journals were alive,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">they were run over,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">stepped on</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">crinkled,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">cut,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">spat on,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">ashed on,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">burnt</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">and even drowned.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">If I owned these pages, I'd be one of two things: pissed that my secrets are revealed, or piss drunk laughing at how my grocery list is framed, like I'm some god damn marvel of human nature.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
Spinionettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15375868638581378002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8075660371604700585.post-25285433482919172532015-08-06T16:41:00.004-07:002015-08-06T16:42:26.229-07:00Mono. 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://www.spinion.blogspot.com/">SpiNion</a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbVSAeyyAykGAGTT22ANmAXhcColoZZp-qHcwCBzwMY9je_HxnBQUAFi8LXq05voDw8XsBE6xI35fhc1bixHhmoBzNLd22jb6UyvZsya1uatA_bSarJJPXY3SRA-LCf_kGLGqDuHbRVXI/s1600/Photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbVSAeyyAykGAGTT22ANmAXhcColoZZp-qHcwCBzwMY9je_HxnBQUAFi8LXq05voDw8XsBE6xI35fhc1bixHhmoBzNLd22jb6UyvZsya1uatA_bSarJJPXY3SRA-LCf_kGLGqDuHbRVXI/s400/Photo.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I just bought a new desk. It’s this modern – or, contemporary
– piece. A desk. It’s asymmetrical, you know… the color blocking, on the
leather, I mean. The top of it, where I write is divided into two. The left
side is white and black is on the right. The white side is much smaller than
the black..<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I try to write on the black side. You know, it won’t get
as dirty with my smudges, being a leftie and all. But the white, it’s so
beautiful, it’s not stark white, but it’s a warm white, if you know what I mean.
I keep it pretty clean. I polish it every day. It’s the nicest piece of
furniture I’ve ever owned. It was such a stark comparison this beautiful,
polished, dignified desk floating in a room full of stained rugs, tattered
ottomans, chipped coffee table. So I cleaned. Vacuumed, <i>mopped, </i>tsk, even steamed, everywhere . The
living room, the kitchen, my <i>boudoir</i>,
bathroom. All of it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before I knew it I was done, wiping down that grimy bathroom
mirror, and I saw myself. I mean crystal clear. And I looked like I just made
love with the hero of my life. Hot cheeks, hazy eyes, sweaty brow, and the
best, panting.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
So E__, that’s what I’ve been up to.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Spinionettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15375868638581378002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8075660371604700585.post-30841655386679465772015-07-13T17:29:00.001-07:002015-07-23T09:50:57.163-07:00Monologue No. 4 <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaRCguZQcyVEiqRAID39DhW2WrtjJmvPBwvLHmratL6u3nRBCJwWfxMV-lTftLIugxNSJsq6O4i5T8YYzPgtJw9blpQTpT_UrbW0NSiRg95VsKP35Ltyy83owmc6AtEpfZHQLRYiN6rYA/s1600/FullSizeRender+%25282%2529.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaRCguZQcyVEiqRAID39DhW2WrtjJmvPBwvLHmratL6u3nRBCJwWfxMV-lTftLIugxNSJsq6O4i5T8YYzPgtJw9blpQTpT_UrbW0NSiRg95VsKP35Ltyy83owmc6AtEpfZHQLRYiN6rYA/s320/FullSizeRender+%25282%2529.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Hey, I know it’s late. I was selfishly hoping you’d be up right now about to go for a run or making a juice or something. I need someone to talk to. Well just you, actually. My ears are still ringing. The sun is almost up. I just got back from this party somewhere in deep Bushwick. You had to be invited or some shit like that. I can see why though, the music was unbelievable. House at its finest. Too good to be in public. It’s a good thing I wore sneakers because the dance floor was waxed and people were moon walking like they were dancing on butter. It was like high school in there. Balloons. A spiked punch bowl. And a buffet. Ha, kinda like adolescent heaven. You know, nostalgic and whatnot…<br />
<br />
Listen, I’m not sure if what I’m gonna tell you won't surprise you or shock you. Either way, it’s fucked up. I was walking back through some crusty street back to the train. I turned the corner to see a dead man splayed on the ground. “Splayed.” That’s the only time I think I’ve used that word. “Splattered’s” drunk cousin. He was dead, Jo. Blood and everything. We even had a staring contest. Remember that Ginsberg poem? Something about Brooklyn. But I immediately thought of that line, “I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked..”<br />
<br />
Shit. If I skipped that last butter dance that could’ve been me. Dead man in my path. Like some voodoo tarot shit. No one was around. And Jo, for the first time in my life, I felt this raw fear. I was surrounded by concrete, windowless blocks. It’s dead there. No life. I was in the void of the jungle. Not even rats hang here. And nothin’s more terrifying than being alone in a void where at any given moment, you’re the prey. <br />
<br />
Anyway, I got my run for the day. The sun’s up. I’ll catch ya. Night.</div>
Spinionettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15375868638581378002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8075660371604700585.post-51231718736863610012015-07-12T15:08:00.001-07:002015-07-12T15:08:29.909-07:00Mono. 1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaqigHCliCHOKObFEKjor1RDoO2EElNgjvX5bFcY7dqSM4aGWvaVTAkIvWj7G7MWhyphenhyphenBRQA-qE-N1KRSQVIJztxOC_59Vl91dXGH588JMQE9QcFzlIt30GrqChn191rDTNl7yMFZUyAcBw/s1600/IMG_6433.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaqigHCliCHOKObFEKjor1RDoO2EElNgjvX5bFcY7dqSM4aGWvaVTAkIvWj7G7MWhyphenhyphenBRQA-qE-N1KRSQVIJztxOC_59Vl91dXGH588JMQE9QcFzlIt30GrqChn191rDTNl7yMFZUyAcBw/s320/IMG_6433.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When are you really done? Is it after three days when your
phone stops ringing? Is it when you find the job of your dreams? Is it after
you cook that meal to sheer gastronomical perfection? Is it when you move to
the city of your dreams? Is it after you ripped up the letters? You know, the
ones that are now cigarette-soaked top soil in Steuben Park? Or is it when you
start cleaning again? Polishing, scrubbing, perfuming… Are you really done once
you walk from 1<sup>st</sup> Avenue Loop up to to E. 60<sup>th</sup>, and back?
Are you done when you start dancing in the underground platforms, waiting for
the G at 4:07 AM? Are you done after you had a spontaneous intimate
relationship with the toilet bowl after Mr. Bullit told you to go fuck
yourself? Are you done after riding a bike with a crooked wheel down an overlooked street? Or when you find a soul mate on the dance
floor? Are you done when you stop questioning your logic? Or when you let your
emotions sift through you to silently salt the sidewalk? I love sibilance. Or
are you done when you fill up a page? Or 10? Or 20? Or a book. Or a magazine.
Or an obituary? Are you done because you’re supposed to be done? Or are you
just treading water until the Unrequited pays another visit?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Spinionettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15375868638581378002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8075660371604700585.post-46854450800899867822015-02-09T08:53:00.000-08:002015-02-09T08:53:11.423-08:00Quickie in the Board Room<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.spinion.blogspot.com/">Spinion</a><br />
<i><br /></i>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUV_qZ8FUJJkm0LGZcOlHlPipYpT5nW2bMXnEi-4x_PNOD2V6NdXpGaRVW8-UGpH0DnziqZTSIcnFnotXhJixakKXDk39HYgV_NEftxua5n__mxqN5cYgTfzH7LFs6uwXB72mixdEJ0W0/s1600/FullSizeRender+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUV_qZ8FUJJkm0LGZcOlHlPipYpT5nW2bMXnEi-4x_PNOD2V6NdXpGaRVW8-UGpH0DnziqZTSIcnFnotXhJixakKXDk39HYgV_NEftxua5n__mxqN5cYgTfzH7LFs6uwXB72mixdEJ0W0/s1600/FullSizeRender+(2).jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<i><br /></i>
<i>please wipe that bored look off your face</i><br />
<i>as i can see</i><br />
<i>your mind, too, wanders </i><br />
<i>off to sultry places</i><br />
<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i></div>
Spinionettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15375868638581378002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8075660371604700585.post-37576064520230926962015-02-09T08:40:00.000-08:002015-02-09T08:40:47.456-08:00Play | She's Art <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="http://www.spinion.blogspot.com/">Spinion</a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzykYN-0sqFoFzq1mnVCcRaJxEZruu4Io8gMEx_57jBZNkh7ygZ1OE-2Mk7VsOORao_8GtMUhkgYhZBU72_rPu9T5q3KJSL3BKnVzF8Y8HXte4xFZRKs_t3hTNJy6CPZO32YdkGpeWvCs/s1600/FullSizeRender+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzykYN-0sqFoFzq1mnVCcRaJxEZruu4Io8gMEx_57jBZNkh7ygZ1OE-2Mk7VsOORao_8GtMUhkgYhZBU72_rPu9T5q3KJSL3BKnVzF8Y8HXte4xFZRKs_t3hTNJy6CPZO32YdkGpeWvCs/s1600/FullSizeRender+(1).jpg" height="400" width="251" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
| Incipiens |<br />
<br />
<i>sharpen this pen</i><br />
<i>coil strummed strings</i><br />
<i>around my teeth</i><br />
<i>as white as piano keys,</i><br />
<i>and play</i><br />
<i>to a beat</i><br />
<i>that is my own.</i><br />
<br />
ladies. yes, ladies and gentlemen,<br />
she's losing her hair,<br />
and her eyes,<br />
the color of violet rain.<br />
and she's here<br />
to shed her locks<br />
and cry amuck,<br />
while the grand folk<br />
rattle luscious jewels,<br />
suck on stringy baubles<br />
and quizzically mutter,<br />
<i>she's art.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #0000ee;"><u><br /></u></span><a href="http://www.spinion.blogspot.com/"></a></div>
Spinionettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15375868638581378002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8075660371604700585.post-58924678848817286632015-02-02T19:17:00.000-08:002015-02-09T14:20:24.087-08:00R&B: Red&Blues<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGdUOqrNagFTFdqiQ2KjK-bsNVrxnrcE6KTvWEgt-jq3wjRxOM8yp9iXw9qUcTmLu_RIqjbzDxFBKkHCqbjkT8tNEycLl3Ay0VKa3GwDA4RojSyPlBSx3GASH9wFiNUoOPYe5ZVV-vtl4/s1600/FullSizeRender(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGdUOqrNagFTFdqiQ2KjK-bsNVrxnrcE6KTvWEgt-jq3wjRxOM8yp9iXw9qUcTmLu_RIqjbzDxFBKkHCqbjkT8tNEycLl3Ay0VKa3GwDA4RojSyPlBSx3GASH9wFiNUoOPYe5ZVV-vtl4/s1600/FullSizeRender(1).jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ma sit here</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While the paint dries.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wet since last night.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last night,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When the lights were out,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And without a doubt</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mine was yours.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yours and mine.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Your blue,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
those blues,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
even in the dark</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
are electrified. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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But those walls,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once smooth</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wet,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now cracked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Those blues</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
even in the light</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
are black. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Daylight unveils</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The flailing shadows</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I bathed in</div>
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Last night.</div>
</div>
Spinionettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15375868638581378002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8075660371604700585.post-36109800090877244762015-01-24T09:38:00.002-08:002015-01-24T09:38:42.000-08:00In the Garden <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>Image by <a href="http://www.randiward.com/" target="_blank">Randi Ward</a></i><br />
<a href="http://www.spinion.blogspot.com/"><i>Spinion</i></a><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_pb04D3JzgduQCb8QUectfbdIlhquabqS1ojhdZhFAP9WciKMmnmQZcPbfYr8K7pvvOtcFmj9obtpxPCBdSMRrqNkyr5F42IhxbxMgM0Qhy5wipsBd-rgO9kPzLexbDOcuDMObPaHFRk/s1600/XXI.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_pb04D3JzgduQCb8QUectfbdIlhquabqS1ojhdZhFAP9WciKMmnmQZcPbfYr8K7pvvOtcFmj9obtpxPCBdSMRrqNkyr5F42IhxbxMgM0Qhy5wipsBd-rgO9kPzLexbDOcuDMObPaHFRk/s1600/XXI.JPG" height="297" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Holdfast XXI</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
In the Garden<br />
where footsteps<br />
much smaller than hers<br />
pave paths to dwellings<br />
much more fragile than hers,<br />
she sits in a clearing<br />
under the shade of a willow<br />
to listen<br />
to the Tiny Green Gnome Band<br />
bellow out a tune so loud,<br />
she could finally say<br />
she knows the wind<br />
is a siren soprano<br />
and the bees buzz a bass<br />
keeping the Band's heart beat.<br />
In the Garden,<br />
she is Home.</div>
Spinionettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15375868638581378002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8075660371604700585.post-72205845786132417822015-01-22T07:31:00.000-08:002015-01-22T13:34:21.759-08:00Cave <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>Image by Elizabeth S. Gilliam-Hedgepath</i><br />
<i><a href="http://www.spinion.blogspot.com/">Spinion.com</a></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivzZ0UhQbBE0BZgUUyjXEAl8xDq8QsenuImiYV-IxzkFiasdUrcVmc_LLBR1iP9gmMB9Ht5BWEj8yioNSXdMm38NUdXJcvXBrv_jpqTpndHbCn4QVtjmy62gToMixPxHIkklv0DoRQhPM/s1600/IMG_5498.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivzZ0UhQbBE0BZgUUyjXEAl8xDq8QsenuImiYV-IxzkFiasdUrcVmc_LLBR1iP9gmMB9Ht5BWEj8yioNSXdMm38NUdXJcvXBrv_jpqTpndHbCn4QVtjmy62gToMixPxHIkklv0DoRQhPM/s1600/IMG_5498.JPG" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<i>I want to see all of the caves</i><br />
and stride so gracefully,<br />
through its spiky, glistening, chilly<br />
teeth,<br />
that even the darkness<br />
wonders at my ghostly<br />
presence.<br />
I will<br />
spelunk silently,<br />
swiftly through<br />
silent streams, and<br />
crystallized pools<br />
reflecting icy, daggered ceilings; where<br />
a frost so palpable,<br />
the streams marvel<br />
at their own reflections<br />
in the dripping sky. </div>
Spinionettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15375868638581378002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8075660371604700585.post-8305612172017820122015-01-16T13:19:00.002-08:002015-01-17T15:14:50.530-08:00Winter: Under the Mayo Bridge<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
Take me down by the river,<br />
Where the waves<br />
wave <i>hello</i> and <i>go,</i><br />
where sharp stones<br />
stab my toes<br />
and once<br />
scraped<br />
the basins<br />
of now-forgotten<br />
batteaux;<br />
and stones that scrub<br />
my skin away<br />
from dead<br />
sin.<br />
<br />
Take me down by the river<br />
Where blue herons<br />
crack their reflection<br />
when their wings graze<br />
against an endless<br />
pacing,<br />
current.<br />
Stuttering ripples<br />
crashing into<br />
my ankles,<br />
as I watch<br />
the grey sky<br />
now speckled<br />
with blue.<br />
<br />
Take me down by the river.<br />
Take me down by the river.<br />
Take me down.</div>
Spinionettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15375868638581378002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8075660371604700585.post-45313824975036812282015-01-14T11:59:00.003-08:002015-01-14T12:16:01.627-08:00The Observatory<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span id="goog_817888058"></span><span id="goog_817888059"></span><br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
i'll admit<br />
i came for the booze --<br />
a liquor<br />
whose fragrance<br />
wafted and whirled<br />
through a room<br />
of grotesque, mummified things.<br />
a fragrance that<br />
morphed into a curled finger,<br />
beckoning me,<br />
enticing me,<br />
to ogle the color of her hair:<br />
pink like the jarred worms,<br />
encapsulated in formaldehyde.<br />
the sweetness<br />
of anise<br />
and licorice<br />
pulled my wallflower taste buds<br />
off my tongue-floor<br />
to waltz<br />
the way we would<br />
on a crowded dance floor<br />
in a dive bar<br />
during Prohibition.<br />
<br />
i now know why<br />
Van Gogh himself<br />
lost an ear<br />
to the luscious green<br />
concoction:<br />
his senses<br />
squished together<br />
craving clear air,<br />
the way we did<br />
in a dive bar<br />
during Prohibition.<br />
<br /></div>
Spinionettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15375868638581378002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8075660371604700585.post-62418184203774407442015-01-13T09:33:00.000-08:002015-01-13T09:33:37.984-08:00Winter's Bite<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVFPP-lFTWZtW_5JwvEpzUx5pV7SyeFbs4jbLdtaHEBXxMU25y1-Jzrff4bbavaobHxtW_rSgnTvVe_64JIcB3axpoyIXphmWIHEQ_IUFSBMPzO7qobSulw3c5x7rq9eNlIF6BICoMZGE/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVFPP-lFTWZtW_5JwvEpzUx5pV7SyeFbs4jbLdtaHEBXxMU25y1-Jzrff4bbavaobHxtW_rSgnTvVe_64JIcB3axpoyIXphmWIHEQ_IUFSBMPzO7qobSulw3c5x7rq9eNlIF6BICoMZGE/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
My lip split,<br />
sliced<br />
from Winter's dagger.<br />
<br />
The Wind shouts,<br />
<i>en garde!</i><br />
And I falter,<br />
<br />
For I wish not<br />
To bicker<br />
With Winter's bite.</div>
Spinionettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15375868638581378002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8075660371604700585.post-36814996336358123952015-01-12T13:26:00.001-08:002015-01-12T13:31:06.945-08:00Video: Silent Whistle<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
* <i>Spinion Note: This piece was previously published in <a href="http://www.quailbellmagazine.com/the-unreal/poem-video-the-fog-decay-your-love-silent-whistle" target="_blank">Quail Bell Magazine</a>.</i><br />
<br />
Director: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/2ties/with/14231727074/" target="_blank">Tyler Rosado</a><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwjESHKJQt7-88mdaKaPbPXTpCOTIWusnrAT623sUKgJrJdrZFn_ODtrSQJp2mBLVmzye8Q0yQm6iLbanWRaA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<br />
<br /><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/2ties/with/14231727074/" target="_blank"></a>
<br />
Winter. Sparse. Cold.<br />
Yet nature continues to cycle Her course. Bare branches resemble cerebral synapses. A symbol of a macro and microcosmic unity between all organisms.</div>
Spinionettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15375868638581378002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8075660371604700585.post-71518512082333664862015-01-12T12:46:00.000-08:002015-01-12T12:46:56.361-08:00Book Review: The Green Condition<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><em style="font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none;">*Spinion Note: This piece has previously been published in<a href="http://www.quailbellmagazine.com/the-real/book-review-the-green-condition-by-elizabeth-colen" target="_blank"> Quail Bell Magazine.</a></em><span style="font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none;"></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><em style="font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none;">The Green Condition</em> is
a lyrical collage composed of raccoons, metal-casting, Roman history,
Seattle, and the trials and tribulations of moving. Though Colen dives
into these distinct and metaphoric images in a stream of
conscious-style, she ties them together through the narrator’s revealing
one-liners:<br /> <span></span><br /> <span></span> <em style="font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none;">Once I know what to listen for, I hear it all the time.</em><br /> <span></span><br /> <span></span> <em style="font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none;">The Green Condition</em>
evokes the lush, overgrown arboreal environment that is the Pacific
Northwest. At the same time, it evokes the loneliness that comes when a
new job absorbs a significant other. The narrator has no choice but to
observe her (his?) new surroundings.<br /> </span><span style="font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none;"><span><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span><em>When she leaves I put her toothbrush in my mouth. I hold it here two hours.</em></span></span><br />
Comparisons of Seattle and Rome further evoke the narrator's loyalty to
nostalgia. Unlike Rome, Seattle stands, and continues growing. Does the
narrator hope for the fall of Seattle where the couple can return to
their old life?<br /> <span></span><span></span><br /> <span></span><em>At one point we had a symbiosis. An understanding of how a life should look.</em><br /> <span></span><span></span><br /> <span></span>
Enter the raccoons and metal-casting the narrator continues dissecting
during these lonely days. Colen weaves these vastly different images
together in a way that reveals a the narrator’s resolve in this new
environment: scavenging to survive and building a thick skin despite a
dissolvable core.<br /> <span></span><br /> <span></span> <em>In the green condition there must be adequate strength for handling.</em><br /> <span></span><br /> <span></span> <em>I
am most interested in the bronze sculpture of the wolf, and the core
that was made to hold it. The core that was designed to come apart in
the end once the casting metal had cooled, held shape.</em><br /> <span></span><br /> <span></span>
Was it the move? The raccoons? The longing for a fading love? The
casting of a new shell to survive? We won’t know—but through these
images, though at first glance appear irrelevant, Colen deconstructs
them in a way that inspires readers to find symbolism and meaning in the
most uncharted manner.</span><br /> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none;"><span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none;"><span></span></span><br />
<i><span style="font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none;"><span><br /></span></span></i>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b><i><span style="font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none;"><span>Elizabeth J. Colen is the author of the poetry collections <em>Money for Sunsets</em> (Steel Toe Books, 2010) and <em>Waiting Up for the End of the World: Conspiracies</em> (Jaded Ibis Press, 2012), as well as flash fiction collection <em>Dear <a class="kLink" href="http://www.quailbellmagazine.com/the-real/book-review-the-green-condition-by-elizabeth-colen#" id="KonaLink0" style="font-family: inherit ! important; font-weight: inherit ! important; position: static;"><span style="font-family: inherit ! important; font-weight: inherit ! important; position: static;"><span class="kLink" style="font-family: inherit ! important; font-weight: inherit ! important; position: static;">Mother</span></span></a> Monster, Dear Daughter Mistake</em> (Rose Metal Press, 2011). She lives in Seattle.</span></span></i></b></span></div>
Spinionettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15375868638581378002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8075660371604700585.post-6794125693415710192014-08-20T05:47:00.002-07:002014-08-20T06:51:18.677-07:00Leyla's Lament<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh93E_4wjt9HWlk7SJcbW2iWiW1eChGrG-RjnfzE5WlIbaXazmV2r6pyc1OhvFRMyYDM3BN4bcGjdUTzh_u2dw0G9rQXcg_Mr_iZAALWl0mBxKUt82AYChwAgoyZqBFKep9lTanYBwwaJU/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh93E_4wjt9HWlk7SJcbW2iWiW1eChGrG-RjnfzE5WlIbaXazmV2r6pyc1OhvFRMyYDM3BN4bcGjdUTzh_u2dw0G9rQXcg_Mr_iZAALWl0mBxKUt82AYChwAgoyZqBFKep9lTanYBwwaJU/s1600/photo.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: DAZ</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Mama, how do you make the pain go?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Do I wear my veil</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">and tuck my tears</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">in for sweet dreams?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Mama, do I cover my skin?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Will the thick, black cloak</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">hug my scars</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">the way you hug me?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Mama, do I sit behind latticed windows?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Are those lacy shadows</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">just whispers</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">of your lullabies?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And, Mama, will my scars shine?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Shine like the sun through my window,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">where wind parades past the bars</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">and twirls my eyelashes into a curtsy?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Wait, Mama, what about my eyes?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Will they crystalize when tears flow?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Like gems in a dark cave?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Will they still shine?</span></div>
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Spinionettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15375868638581378002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8075660371604700585.post-13175597105746242212013-02-28T14:20:00.000-08:002013-02-28T15:02:06.296-08:00Stone Cold Fox<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk3b-O6qeAN3EWwlDCJb-r4IXnaIV1ZlkkfjhQvmugRSFK9siprY69OaKS6yhMKPTpH4Pl4XPm5UwBJU7vJtTzYLQ1gBkOKgQaQmnaxikbmn58uQ0SYPTVoiEOyf4UfBCuEHde1oMuYIM/s1600/304273_10151394551105923_2044648139_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk3b-O6qeAN3EWwlDCJb-r4IXnaIV1ZlkkfjhQvmugRSFK9siprY69OaKS6yhMKPTpH4Pl4XPm5UwBJU7vJtTzYLQ1gBkOKgQaQmnaxikbmn58uQ0SYPTVoiEOyf4UfBCuEHde1oMuYIM/s320/304273_10151394551105923_2044648139_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: small;">photo: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10151394551105923&set=a.467802305922.266317.567470922&type=1&theater" target="_blank">Rachel Thibault</a></span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<u>Stone Cold Fox</u></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
lush Lux peach</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
celestial azure orbs</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
misty musk soddened mounds</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
siren squeal start</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
listen glisten glow</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
scatter scented glass</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
shatter shrill drop</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
crunch squeeze crunch</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
crumple stumble stop</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
flip flop buzz deflate</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
nuzzle pulsate</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
fade</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
fade</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
fade...</div>
</div>
Spinionettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15375868638581378002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8075660371604700585.post-39053789381446925342013-02-28T14:16:00.001-08:002013-02-28T15:02:13.224-08:00Under the Table<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaRfO-OOjxPC4wtOWovwzz8kpvM-n7R0RxsDjJtBqzscidO-bL9Mb7LNbiAO5Ucbh3Qh8nLWvAoZSZGkRa-1gCx9aR5IHG6oj6plHEFYoPlnI_WX7F7IT-8l6NxdVz9P-Kt3_yiVRZLDo/s1600/photo(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaRfO-OOjxPC4wtOWovwzz8kpvM-n7R0RxsDjJtBqzscidO-bL9Mb7LNbiAO5Ucbh3Qh8nLWvAoZSZGkRa-1gCx9aR5IHG6oj6plHEFYoPlnI_WX7F7IT-8l6NxdVz9P-Kt3_yiVRZLDo/s320/photo(1).jpg" width="190" /></a></div>
<i><span style="font-size: small;">photo: DAZ</span></i> <br />
<br />
<u>Under the Table</u><br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I could be losing my touch.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
That complex cleverness dripping my muchness</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
into a puddle of doubt on the floor</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
underneath a table of gum stalactites: </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
crystallized, chewed-up, neon mounds,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
once full of cerebral flavor,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
oozed in muse booze, now</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
withered and wrinkled.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I'm left alone to spelunk</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
for my gems of rhymes.</div>
</div>
Spinionettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15375868638581378002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8075660371604700585.post-21615965494875386922013-01-29T11:02:00.000-08:002014-08-20T06:14:20.467-07:00Subterranean<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj56_Xlkq0ClgEXyXc3Rd9v-LtrU7eW4bkxlHCavwW3VwBWexKK5mKCbBm72ODCGoP5qw9Bigk18n8F0TH9e3Vso0EKSiLz_ohWaV-StBsQlFHlZQn1GTdgCpE7Nt5DSwGkGpAX1h_zEgI/s1600/9119_641516568788_7028205_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj56_Xlkq0ClgEXyXc3Rd9v-LtrU7eW4bkxlHCavwW3VwBWexKK5mKCbBm72ODCGoP5qw9Bigk18n8F0TH9e3Vso0EKSiLz_ohWaV-StBsQlFHlZQn1GTdgCpE7Nt5DSwGkGpAX1h_zEgI/s320/9119_641516568788_7028205_n.jpg" height="320" width="237" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">photo: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=641516568788&set=a.525894576188.2114737.29708259&type=3&theater" target="_blank">Lib Hedgepath</a></span></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<br />
<u>Subterranean</u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Take me into the tunnels below</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">the manholes and oak roots,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">where lights no longer echo</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">and noise falls mute.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There I'll find my voice of reason</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">amidst cackling pipes</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">and graffiti of treason -</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">signs of a once-lived life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Where darkness becomes a friend</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">and no longer alien.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Within these walls I mend</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">myself beneath the subterranean.</span></div>
</div>
Spinionettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15375868638581378002noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8075660371604700585.post-76664907539339239882013-01-29T10:52:00.000-08:002013-02-28T15:02:30.542-08:00Denial<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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</div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPGUEL40hhcIxZaIp9zo2e_ZwFO9ftN7k9NOxSgIB4KmS5eakfRIfSXdcB6KJ5evoxWBEF5DUZsJh3SK6gmGsBkvV68FL0Y-BXx8S_Vt7Lca4c9jE2sVoRD8ijSJB7byN08UUJeez4kFI/s1600/240_536252039748_9048_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPGUEL40hhcIxZaIp9zo2e_ZwFO9ftN7k9NOxSgIB4KmS5eakfRIfSXdcB6KJ5evoxWBEF5DUZsJh3SK6gmGsBkvV68FL0Y-BXx8S_Vt7Lca4c9jE2sVoRD8ijSJB7byN08UUJeez4kFI/s320/240_536252039748_9048_n.jpg" width="183" /></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">photo: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.525894576188.2114737.29708259&type=3" target="_blank">Lib Hedgepath</a></span></span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><u>Denial</u></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">click clock staccato of rain drops</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">against her window pane</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">that frames a charred horizon</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">stained with lofty clouds.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">the door creeps open with a creak,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">pouring in a draft that trips the light</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">into a shadowed promenade against the walls, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">as the moon of her lust and doffed desire</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">waxes through the threshold.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">his bare feet shuffle to the hearth</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">and stop at the edge of heat,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">he sits next to her and tells her</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Please tame this fire." </span></div>
</div>
Spinionettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15375868638581378002noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8075660371604700585.post-48312213436893465202012-11-24T15:19:00.001-08:002012-11-24T15:19:46.412-08:00Holiday MashupSanta Claus is really just karma with a red velvet suit; thus, Christmas is really just Halloween for Karma Claus. AND since all the presents (or coal) arrive on the 25th, then we might as well label it our annual Judgement Day. And it could be that Black Friday is just a testament to how thankful you are for the non-tangible things in your life.
<br>Eh, just a theory. Merry Karmaweenmas!Spinionettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15375868638581378002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8075660371604700585.post-72901252630521130272012-11-18T19:31:00.002-08:002013-02-28T15:05:43.043-08:00Imprint<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvp9QeWkZsbLrVYBKWet4bxcWq_62D-1J22MOv20_cPSio1TeK7EJfiaK-0k6h7EuEFA_CElVPdnjcLsfm8bKNwpuakhA-rtrsGbWTnGs5Yzg3QgWxzsldSgkFFU4f21_m2R5XgfcBY_0/s1600/378_565665355228_7659_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvp9QeWkZsbLrVYBKWet4bxcWq_62D-1J22MOv20_cPSio1TeK7EJfiaK-0k6h7EuEFA_CElVPdnjcLsfm8bKNwpuakhA-rtrsGbWTnGs5Yzg3QgWxzsldSgkFFU4f21_m2R5XgfcBY_0/s320/378_565665355228_7659_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<i>photo: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.525894576188.2114737.29708259&type=3" target="_blank">Lib Hedgepath</a></i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
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<u>Imprint</u><br />
</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
the way a pen hovers</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
over a page before</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
an injection of blue-black,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
you sit close,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
grazing your knee with mine:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
track marks of elation.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
your mark,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
my bruised lips.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
your lips, pink,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
drain this stale pain from my veins</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
into your lungs.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
exhale.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
your mark,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
my grazed cheeks,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
scrawled from scruffed bristles</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
to scrub away skin of dead sin.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
your knee pulls away,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
we sit side by side; while,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
a huff of your breath</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
seals this sensation of </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
salvation</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
Spinionettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15375868638581378002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8075660371604700585.post-87294514789496841892012-06-28T21:50:00.001-07:002014-08-20T06:11:50.244-07:00The End<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid2i0ch_SfauZ_hAMcxsVnofXwm5zoi73HEGtxW_FlRjB4xoITBR4WexzanavroexVtvLYrJ7Me8QxAamrhNHRW1Q_FsI3Ay8h1DibvdOPPpwNfpg9BlBS91e83Pp5eLE1rmiLoVEtxp0/s1600/mini+oakwood+fall+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid2i0ch_SfauZ_hAMcxsVnofXwm5zoi73HEGtxW_FlRjB4xoITBR4WexzanavroexVtvLYrJ7Me8QxAamrhNHRW1Q_FsI3Ay8h1DibvdOPPpwNfpg9BlBS91e83Pp5eLE1rmiLoVEtxp0/s400/mini+oakwood+fall+2.jpg" height="322" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photograph: <a href="http://www.neelyjohnsonphotography.com/" target="_blank">Neely Johnson</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
There she was: her left foot stood
on top of her right. The frayed ends of her red flannel shirt dusted the tops
of her thighs as she watched the truck disappear among the dust clouds from the
gravel driveway. The crackling rocks under the tires were a rumbling thunder
that echoed in her stomach. As the sun finally peaked its core past the clouds and
into her eyes, she squinted away the last bit of mica and salt.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She bent
down to the ground, still on her right foot to grab a chunk of the broken
driveway with her left hand. The gravel felt sharp and hot as she fingered for
a rock as big as her fist.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Breaking
her stork-like balance, she steps back with her left foot, winds up her arm and
throws the mass with her entire past towards the evaporating bull’s eye amidst
the lingering dust clouds; a fading abyss. All she heard was the distant
crackling thunder from the worn tires; or was it her crackling pulse that was
pounding into her ears?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her throw
threw her a couple of steps forward, right onto the outskirts of the cloud.
Panting, she walks backwards into the dewy grass, her gaze following the silver
truck as it disappears into the silver dust.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her feet
planted into the grass, drops of dew leaving her feet covered with glimmering
sun. The quenched feeling underneath her bare feet creeps up her legs, pinches
her pelvis, flips around her gut, squeezes her lungs, punches through her
heart, and finally climbs up her throat as she exhales for the first time,
“Goodbye."</div>
</div>
Spinionettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15375868638581378002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8075660371604700585.post-22695621280810277282012-01-05T15:39:00.000-08:002012-01-13T18:27:42.853-08:00Bad Circus: Sense Of Motion<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4nDI7gDzNPG9oOOwrcw6YqOFBJapFDihrbMH8CtI8MF2SKUbceiXYJzNrvEj_Nn-gULSD05hm2buFb12ErFgO1g18VQCswooq0TUhZ2DM8nK3D9_Ib8D11N16f5qC4N0zrIUAyFw-d5k/s1600/albumart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4nDI7gDzNPG9oOOwrcw6YqOFBJapFDihrbMH8CtI8MF2SKUbceiXYJzNrvEj_Nn-gULSD05hm2buFb12ErFgO1g18VQCswooq0TUhZ2DM8nK3D9_Ib8D11N16f5qC4N0zrIUAyFw-d5k/s320/albumart.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">Imagine watching a muted television screen filled with static. Now unmute. The void is now a sensory overload of white, anarchic noise. In an era where information is a click away, we are clogged with a smorgusborg of voices competing for the coveted labels of “fact” and “truth,” only some of which achieve such status; self-governance is an obstacle and social media is now the static (cue Facebook statuses and Tweets <i>everywhere</i>). <a href="http://www.badcircus.net/">Bad Circus</a> alludes heavily to this concept in their first EP, <i>Sense Of Motion,</i> where their mix of sounds and textures blast them into a more experimental realm filled with whimsy and edge. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">Formed in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Banner Elk, North Carolina in 2009, Bad Circus sculpted their sound as a loose jam rock quartet, whose muses range from Widespread Panic to Pearl Jam. Comprised of brothers Will and Taylor Smith on vocals and bass, respectively, Gary Addison on lead guitar, and Mitch Heishman on drums, they uprooted from the tranquil mountains and into the hustle and bustle of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Raleigh</st1:city></st1:place>. Thus, <i>Sense Of Motion</i>, is a collaborative effort by all band members to depart from their jam band roots and to explore more deeply the heavier sounds and concepts of the avant-garde realm in which they have established themselves. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">As their first EP, the album’s concept alluded heavily to Ray Bradbury’s novel, <i>Fahrenheit 451</i> – set in a dystopian world where television is the main course and books are left on the backburner to char. <i>Sense Of Motion</i> is loaded with samples of frenzied sounds and narrations paralleling the novel’s chaotic world of uncontrollable word vomit. This decoupage of the band’s experience mirrors the collage of sounds and textures through a more electronic medium. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">The album’s musical arrangement, with edgier tracks like the rasp-bluesy “Mechanical Hound Blues” and the wispy “<st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Snow</st1:placename> <st1:placename w:st="on">Covered</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Island</st1:placetype></st1:place>” is a testament to the band’s departure from their roots and toward something new and visionary. The simple lullaby “Strange World,” a lo-fi track composed of airy guitar strums is a contrast from the epic progressions and digital sounds prevalent throughout the album. Smith’s faint vocals gently croon, “This strange world that I call mine/teaches us to occupy our minds,” as if the perpetual noise from media’s static has drowned out his voice. Surprisingly, the interludes “<st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Elm</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">City</st1:placetype></st1:place>” and “Parlor Walls” were more of a tease than complete, independent tracks, as they both would have added that extra electronica spice to the album’s mix. The fusion of electronic, acoustic, and climactic progressions similar to My Morning Jacket (“Touch Me I’m Going To Scream, Part 2”) brings a more futuristic feel, channeling the sporadic sampling of Hi Fi Killers supported by jam roots.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">Bad Circus is on the up, as they have a lot of room to play around with different styles and sounds. As a band that is driven to make music their day jobs, these explorers clearly understand that change is the only constant. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
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</div></div>Spinionettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15375868638581378002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8075660371604700585.post-307719513641926762012-01-04T17:43:00.000-08:002012-11-17T18:09:19.179-08:00A Feast on RVA Hedonism<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">With a bit of oddball timing and a peach moonshine buzz, I was able to show my girls, ZannyEm and LibLove, Richmond hedonism of getting</span> dolled up, grubbed down, and grooved on all on a Thursday night.<br /><div>
<br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Starting out with a hurricane of exploding suitcases - 4 pairs of shoes for a one night fest?</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Eh, traveling light is overrated - gotta have your options on the road.</i></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"> A mish-mash of flapper, goth, ballerina, and even disco - we find our evening attire amidst the mini consignment shop that became my room.</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"> **Props to the navy leather </span>chain-mail<span style="font-family: inherit;"> top courtesy of ZannyEm's mama -- paired on top of a vintage </span><a href="http://www.victoriassecret.com/" style="font-family: inherit;">Victoria's Secret</a><span style="font-family: inherit;"> white lace leotard and an <a href="http://store.americanapparel.net/" target="_blank">American Apparel</a> blazin blue pair of disco pants with grey suede </span><a href="http://www.apepazza.com/it/home" style="font-family: inherit;" target="_blank">Apepazza</a><span style="font-family: inherit;"> knee highs - one of my favorite ensembles to date**</span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Funky Fraiche </span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><br /> Bootlegged, we stomped on over to<a href="http://www.ipanemaveg.com/"> Ipanema</a> -- RVA's finest in South American-style vegan dining. Sipping on margaritas and munching on polenta fries dipped in kalamata ketchup (one of the best twists on a condiment as I've never met an olive I didn't like) and jalapeno and queso fresco pupusa cakes paired with salsa (a mouthful in many ways).<br />The braised tofu sandwich is a staple-- whatever they do to this bland-tasting block of soy is a pure gastronomical delight - tastes like chicken! (An omnivore's comparison as my compadres are vegan). The tempeh with black beans and greens were a favorite -- vegan comfort food at it's finest! <br /><br /> With bellies on the brink of a food coma, we paid our bill (around 30 bucks each for appetizers, entrees, and drinks) and headed out to work off the itis at my own version of a gym: dancing at the <a href="http://www.thecamel.org/">Camel</a> (shout out to the bouncer for offering to hold on to our savory leftovers, while we cut a much needed groove)<br /><br />The three of us had no problem carving out a boogy spot as <a href="http://www.yarnmusic.net/home.cfm">Yarn</a> played some good ol' fashioned blue grass that makes you dance with a twang. Pair it with some bourbon and we might as well be back in the Blue Ridge mountains (check out Sedalia, Virginia).<br /> <br /> Come 2 AM, the feast we saved was the creme fraiche on a delectable pupusa cake of a night!<br /><br /><br /><br /></span></div>
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Spinionettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15375868638581378002noreply@blogger.com0