Over Near the Big Christian Indian in Lowell I got to a Lowell cemetery to the gravesite of Jack Kerouac. They say that information Is just alienated experience. That’s just another way of saying life is more fucked up than the news. So, it follows that the grave is just alienated information about a life. Senseless too. Senseless as Jack, whose is dead, and oblivious to the rhythms of you and your soulmate making love to the idea of screwing near Jack, and each other. Drunk on Cognac or boredom You’ll eventually come to terms With how separate anything afterlife is. It’s more meaningless than information. Less than memory, or being hated, or sharing a smoke with your soulmate after a good lay in the graveyard. Published in Duck Lake Books August 2019
This is another addition to a series of artist books I’ve been creating over the past several years. It features a collection of untitled images and photographs that come together as a unified whole. I find satisfaction in this collection, as it represents the result of years spent taking photos, modifying them, setting them aside, and rediscovering them through the power of computer search algorithms. Recently, much of my effort has been focused on this rediscovery process—searching through thousands of photos and images I've accumulated over the last 20+ years to uncover emotional and visual connections. I hope you enjoy the book. Please let me know what you think.
Quilts Sewn from what’s on hand, Scraps of love, and comfort, and longing. Each square tethered to the next Like family at the table. Threaded with tea and troubles. Steeped in unspoken sorrows and sequestered joys. These disembodied fabric versions of ourselves, Linger over the dreams of our daughters and sons In forms and memories we might not always abide. Published in Gravitas Dec 2019
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