the a list

  This is... a photograph - one in a series titled "studies in light'.  Part of an even larger series called 'Light is Life'.

That Time With 52 there are decades and breath mints and affinities to – the smell of burning earth rolling down your throat – forgetfulness; pills; Bed to car to eyes to ears. resolutions to just reconnect; to dance; with my wife; pictures and writing shit down. Torpor and stupor as god damn legitimate lifestyle options, but getting my ass on a trail. To a waterfall. work on time and back. On time. Skipping the soapbox, as if this ain’t exactly just that. Watching parents die and. Vortexes of coming. Cat litter. Keys. IRAs. Going. White privilege and loathing. Stealing road trips and making checklists. Bitter sights and sweet sounds. Sugar pee tests, colonoscopies, and the god damn word cardio. Making marks and just erasing them. Published on Rue Scribe

  Blooms: a poem and illustrations by andrew furst  was a fun little staple bound book project that balanced whimsy and and precise planning. Part of the humor comes from the cutouts that pull in partial images from the next page.  They amplify the absurdity of the poem and the images themselves. What is more absurd than falling into pants?  Well, for one thing - fish in pants! These were limited edition.  The one in the video is my sole copy.    Let's talk if you'd like to purchase it.

  These are a few of my favorite things: The twine bound notebook I made to keep notes on recording settings in my “music studio”.  This poem by Barent Labrecque  in Ethelzine. And this description of Ethel  that I'm going to attribute to Sara Lefsyk. Here's a nice way to spruce up your browser with  Modern and Contemporary Art in Every New Tab Now that I'm stretching and flexing my blogging muscles again, I am reminded of all the content I've generated over the last decade or so including over 100 minute meditations . My instance of Notion that I've been using to take notes and organize content.  

  Of Cider and Softness This conspiracy              I am willingly abetting             Wends its way             ‘twixt boulders             And sunsets. It holds you Responsible.              It holds grudges and faint whispers              In a homemade basket;              Brushes of skin on skin              And wafting lavender smiles. Neatly wrapped photographs              Folded into my heart              and into the back pockets of autumn’s worn jeans.              They taste of cider and softness;              Sandpaper and seashells;              elastic bound and torn ‘round the edges. This conspirator like a deity.              beyond sight or command; ill or erratic in temperament;              has planted the seed of longing for you Published on Rue Scribe

Thistle and Roots Sculpture/Photograph  

I've been playing with generating poetry using spreadsheet formulae for a year or more. why produce automatic poetry?  I encourage you to read up on John Cage and Chance Operations Coming from a software development background, I have an uncomfortable relationship with the idea of anything automatic.  The work that goes into a button you can push to automagically do something, is often complex and subject to variation. Automating anything to do with the english language implies even more complexity.  The language, in a word, is irregular - making it beautiful and a major pain to codify. Here's how I approached "automatic poetry". provide input to the spreadsheet about the structure of a poem. provide data  that the spreadsheet can use to construct its own poem. To me, the logical units of a poem are the words.  Each word contributes to a line in a poem by acting as a part of speech.  It's probably important to note here for the reader, that I don't even consid