September 22, 2009
August 22, 2009
lets start from the
[storytime]
There isn't anything to say tonight. The sound of fog breaking, maybe. The still commotion off another neighbors roof, the production of an empty street, the anticipation walking through your thoughts as you make it to the door. I came back from 50th street tonight, from the everyday phenomenon of driving home and looking out my window. Maybe I was a little tipsy. It was storming some where, I'm not sure where exactly, I'm not a weather man - but it looked convincing enough.
Lightning appeared from a distance as I walked back to my car, "Get me home tonight God," slightly inebriated. I put in the usual ten CD's I own, fitting in the most-melancholy-nonsense-I'm-in-love-with I could think of, and I made my way. The whispering crack in the panorama, the grey-white light hiding in the night - I love you philly, especially when it rains. The same ten roads streaked down my vision as the characteristically shoddy-neighborhoods of West Philadelphia became something else. As though I drove through ten minutes after the end of the world - closed buildings revealing a presence, car lights in the way off, streaming like a footprint. And I noticed all this while evading the fuzz, naturally. Though cars are unfortunate, as I pulled up to my block - they always take you right where you end up stopping. Nothing seemed more staged than my doorstep as I sat sitting-up in my car listening to the end of my night, arms on my steering wheel looking out. I twisted the key, and like all moments - and cars for that matter- the music stopped. In the strangeness of life, you keep on living - slipping out of those last few feelings was like slipping into a public pool. "Where the hell is that storm coming from", I thought. I could use some commotion.
[goodnight]
There isn't anything to say tonight. The sound of fog breaking, maybe. The still commotion off another neighbors roof, the production of an empty street, the anticipation walking through your thoughts as you make it to the door. I came back from 50th street tonight, from the everyday phenomenon of driving home and looking out my window. Maybe I was a little tipsy. It was storming some where, I'm not sure where exactly, I'm not a weather man - but it looked convincing enough.
Lightning appeared from a distance as I walked back to my car, "Get me home tonight God," slightly inebriated. I put in the usual ten CD's I own, fitting in the most-melancholy-nonsense-I'm-in-love-with I could think of, and I made my way. The whispering crack in the panorama, the grey-white light hiding in the night - I love you philly, especially when it rains. The same ten roads streaked down my vision as the characteristically shoddy-neighborhoods of West Philadelphia became something else. As though I drove through ten minutes after the end of the world - closed buildings revealing a presence, car lights in the way off, streaming like a footprint. And I noticed all this while evading the fuzz, naturally. Though cars are unfortunate, as I pulled up to my block - they always take you right where you end up stopping. Nothing seemed more staged than my doorstep as I sat sitting-up in my car listening to the end of my night, arms on my steering wheel looking out. I twisted the key, and like all moments - and cars for that matter- the music stopped. In the strangeness of life, you keep on living - slipping out of those last few feelings was like slipping into a public pool. "Where the hell is that storm coming from", I thought. I could use some commotion.
[goodnight]
June 12, 2009
Updates
I haven't updated in awhile, so here's a nifty photo.
It's by Martin Wilson, who creates everything entirely from film, shooting it in order and creating an artsy-poetic contact sheet. Sagmeister eat your heart out?
Right now I'm in a bit of limbo between projects and life things, but I'm about to embark on a tour of the confederate states that promises to be life-affirming, next week. For the hairbreadth possibility I'll survive this trip, I'll be updating this blog semi-regular-like. Destination? New Orleans, Texas and everything in between. Not exactly, like 5 things in between + inevitable begging, and chases.
And don't worry. I'll have my over priced sketchbook. They tell me Picasso also paid $14 dollars for this.
It's by Martin Wilson, who creates everything entirely from film, shooting it in order and creating an artsy-poetic contact sheet. Sagmeister eat your heart out?
Right now I'm in a bit of limbo between projects and life things, but I'm about to embark on a tour of the confederate states that promises to be life-affirming, next week. For the hairbreadth possibility I'll survive this trip, I'll be updating this blog semi-regular-like. Destination? New Orleans, Texas and everything in between. Not exactly, like 5 things in between + inevitable begging, and chases.
And don't worry. I'll have my over priced sketchbook. They tell me Picasso also paid $14 dollars for this.
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