Saturday, April 12, 2008

Tartan Day Ball, 2008 (photo)





Tartan Day Ball, 2008. We're partying like rock stars. Got me green bottle in front of me. Ironic, I view the world (and read) through my left eye, and take photos with my right eye (it's a lazy bugger)—and in photos of me, my left eye is always the squinty one. And, no I didn't need glasses then! I did have a "lazy" eye as a kid, but didn't wear a patch. I think it has something to do with how our brains process information. I'm right handed, but left-eyed. Dyslexic trait? I'm also left footed. And I can switch-hit at baseball. Right eye processed by left brain; left eye processed by right brain. All I know is that in this photo, I'm squint-eyed happy. Floyd Busby photo. 

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

UNTITLED FREEWRITES Draft


DRAFT
I sent
A sunny day, impeccable blue
Clouds roiling like lost sheep, Greenfields
Outback of the bleachers, we threw foam pies under blue skies
We were busy naming the earth our mother under blue skies
God knows where Kelly was in thehay HAI GHC ?
The hate was the siren call under blue skies
And good old Joewas beginning his days in some bar in the city, no blue sky space
One monthto the summer of love for sense eternal under those lost blue skies.

March April, 2008  could be May 2009
with Tobey Kaplan at Montara School
I rewrote this several times, no idea which came first.



It was late summer in New York City
These voices cracked against the strain of washer
The unmentionable motion of the earth spinning and measured light
The cold cutting into what we have heard what we have found
A room of words wearing lace and sunglasses
The feeble instruments of this body.


First draft late spring in New York City Friday afternoons we played kickball against the back wall of the school these voices is cracked against the strain of water ups and sky the whisper and the measured light the crescent moon a pale candle

A string of light the feeble instrument of this body the measured light the room of words wearing lace and sunglasses the feeble instrument of this body a room of words a string of light, words measured water light measured light a strain of words a room of words wearing lace and sunglasses the feeble instruments of this body

The strain of water what you intend the earth spinning what we have heard the cold cutting into the wind

We played kickball against the back wall generations Friday afternoons after school like spring in New York City
Their voice is cracked against the strain the water and sky
And measured light, crescent moon, a pale candle
The unmentioned motion of the earth spinning the
The cold cutting into what we have heard what we intend a split on the entity in a roomful of words wearing lace and sunglasses the feeble instrument of this body I dance of light upon the waves