Photomaton

TULIPS had our first show on Saturday. Angie and I played in a sweet backyard in Highland Park with a built-in stage backed by these beautiful floral bushes. The home had been in the family since the birthday girl, Dr. Drea’s, grandmother.

We left our practice headquarters in Forgotten Edge (Echo Park/DT) with a modest fleet of cars driven by friends, who helped us carry all our equipment up a gnarly hill. Cindy came all the way from OC! Susan took photos with a disposable camera and Soo documented with her iPhone. I gave Pedro a gift of a novelty avocado egg-shaker, and we passed out percussion instruments to the crowd to provide a collective drumbeat. We fracked up a million times but got 2 gig offers in August. See y’all at Los Globos this summer.

Mobius

A rose is once upon the man now saying and
Is a time I love it’s what is said
A rose there was who now in it
Is a story that doesn’t now and what is a rose
Began love it’s to be said in.

thenewinquiry:

Solitude is a problem for writers generally, who spend so much time alone rehearsing a form of ideal communication. And men —as a practical matter — are often worse at being alone than women. But for male writers, however often an appearance of self-sufficiency can be stripped away to reveal a hidden structure of support, there is a writerly tradition of solitude that has existed at least since Romanticism: Rousseau’s “my habits are those of solitude and not of men,” or Shelley’s “Alastor; or, the Spirit of Solitude.” A man who chooses to be alone assumes the glamour of his forebears. A woman’s aloneness makes us suspicious: Even today it carries connotations of reluctance and abandonment, on the one hand, and selfishness and disobedience, on the other.

- “The Lonely Ones” by Emily Cooke

Reblogged from The New Inquiry

visual-poetry:

“black alphabet (detail of the letter v)” by fiona banner

[26 overprinted photocopied pages. each letter section, from a-z, of the oxford english dictionary reduced to one page]

Reblogged from Visual-Poetry