Monday, August 26, 2013












Hysteria - T.S. Eliot

As she laughed I was aware of becoming involved in her laughter 
and being part of it, until her teeth were only accidental stars with 
a talent for squad-drill. I was drawn in by short gasps, inhaled at 
each momentary recovery, lost finally in the dark caverns of her 
throat, bruised by the ripple of unseen muscles. An elderly waiter 
with trembling hands was hurriedly spreading a pink and white 
checked cloth over the rusty green iron table, saying: 'If the 
lady and gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden, if the
lady and gentleman wish to take their tea to the garden . . .'
I decided that if the shaking of her breasts could be stopped, 
some of the fragments of the afternoon might be collected, and
I concentrated my attention with careful subtlety to this end.

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Alphabet


Who couldn't love these?
David Doran


Yann Le Bec


Eibatova Karina


Yong Chen


?

Tuesday, August 20, 2013


Apart from exciting road trips, potting plants, family time, books, Lost, The Walking Dead and hour long phone calls with far-away friends...my summer was spent with paint. I finished my paintings of deceased birds and found myself on an insect-painting kick. 


Monotype this semester and I can not wait.


Sunday, August 18, 2013

I'm a senior?


Andy made it to China and I couldn't be more thankful. If you want to keep up with him, here is a link to his blog : http://southbyfareast.wordpress.com/.

Now, I'm back in Tuscaloosa and starting my senior year. I'll be here for a couple more years so that I can make sure that I am completely equipped for graduate school. But still.. the thought of being a senior is too odd. I don't feel the way that I thought I would feel. It's strange. 
Being back in Tuscaloosa means that I'm close to Birmingham. This is a very good thing.







Also, I'm enjoying this rain and these cooler temperatures. Thanks, God. 


Sunday, August 11, 2013

Heavy and Full

"Heavy and Full"
By: Andy Thigpen



Heavy are the days
and full are the nights.

Full are the nights
filled with foggy ghosts
that whisper what used to be
like uneven cobblestones on Mobile Street
like guitar chords rambling down Court Street
like pool balls cracking and records scratching all the way down Tennessee
like street lamps turning on and dropping, flickering out
like neon and dawn mixed purple and blue in the morning.


Heavy are the days
and full are the nights.


Heavy are the days
on my shoulders, tangled in my hair
and heavy they sit/ and stare/ and sit/ and stare,
and try as I might, I can't see my house from the top of
the Christian Book Store:Pharmacy:Masonic Temple.
But at night, I can see
lights cutting through me while I balance
on the ledge and wonder what it would feel like to jump.


Heavy are the days
and full are the nights.


Heavy are the nights,
and heavy are you in my mind tonight,
but as long as I feel as strong as I feel,
I will carry you as long as I can.
And I feel pretty strong
tonight. But if I am tired in the morning,
will you lay with me awhile
and breathe with me awhile
and let me remember?


Heavy are the days
and full are the nights.


And heavy will be the air
that takes me away to the land
we once dug holes to.
Holes filled with earthworms wriggling
wet with the earth that I'll watch from my window
with no eyes to see the skyline of the cities
that fill the land where fortunes are not
printed on paper baked inside of cookies,
but instead trail out in smoky wisps from the nostrils of red dragons
that wriggle like earthworms through billions of people
throwing fireworks.


Heavy are the days
and full are the nights.


And heavy is the air
in the summer nights
wet with whiskey and full with a song
sung for each star.
I'm ready to go anywhere
I'm ready for to fade
into my own parade
cast your dancing spell my way
I'll promise to go under it.
And heavy is the night
when the songs end
and the stars wink shut
and all we have left are each other
full of each other
full of grace and fearlessness.


And full I am
of you, tonight.
And strong I am
to carry you, tonight.
And heavy are you
in my mind, tonight.
And full is the night,
tonight,
of ramblings and words and music and tears and fires and blues.


And heavy are all the days and nights,
and full is this life.


"Heavy and Full" is a poem that Andy wrote about leaving for China.



China, take care of Andy. He loves milk. He is trying to start drinking more almond milk since real milk is pretty gross. He hates being hot when he is indoors. He gets really frustrated when he is hot. He recently found out that he loves sweaters. One time, he slept for twenty six hours straight. The ladies love him. He loves peanut butter cookies and strange beers. He hates spiders. He can't draw...at all. But damn can he write. He was my first best friend. I've been trying to look out for him whenever I've found a way but now that he will be teaching English abroad...I can't. I used to come in his room when he was sleeping and make sure that his face wasn't under the covers because I was scared that he would smother himself accidentally. I used to beg him not to go too far out into the ocean because of sharks and rip tides. I used to worry that he would go through with that one dream that he had of becoming an astronaut. I used to worry that he would get in trouble with his teachers since he would never do his sketchbook assignments in elementary and middle school. I worried that he wouldn't get along with anyone when we both transferred to public schools. I worried that he would worry about me. And, sometimes he did, but he could always take care of himself. I shouldn't have worried. But, what can you do? He is out of my reach now. I can't hug him now. I can't touch his flappy face and say "Wynona Rider" in a long, drawn out way. I can't charge at him during a brother-sister battle. It'll be a year or more before I can see him and one of the things that I keep asking myself is, "What kind of people will we both be in a year?" He won't be the man that he is now. 
I won't be the woman that I am now.
How will we have changed? What will have changed? He will still be great, though. He will still be insightful, I assume. He will still be realistic, I'm sure. He will still be charming, no doubt. 
Handsome, of course. Placid, definitely. And oh, how I'll still love him and I'll still think that he was the one who hung the moon and stars and splattered paint all over the planets.







So, my main man... I'll be missing you. I'm so proud of you and the man that you have become. It is a true honor to have you as a brother and I know that you're going to have your biggest adventure yet. If you love it in China and don't want to come back, I'll understand. But still, I hope you hurry back. Thank you for the years that you've given me with you. Thank you for always being there when I needed you and for knowing what I'm thinking before I even say it. Thank you for understanding many parts of who I am and for loving me- even when it isn't easy. Thank you for being part of so many of my favorite memories. You'll never know the impact that you've had on me. But hey, that's okay.

Like I have said before, you've made me glow. 

All my love,
Little Baby Sarah Woolah Woolah Doowah Darlin'

Saturday, August 10, 2013

Tuxedo
Jean-Michel Basquiat
1982

Lines For The Fortune Cookies
By: Frank O''Hara

I think you're wonderful and so does everyone else.

Just as Jackie Kennedy has a baby boy, so will you--even bigger.

You will meet a tall beautiful blonde stranger, and you will not say hello.

You will take a long trip and you will be very happy, though alone.

You will marry the first person who tells you your eyes are like scrambled eggs.

In the beginning there was YOU--there will always be YOU, I guess.

You will write a great play and it will run for three performances.

Please phone The Village Voice immediately: they want to interview you.

Roger L. Stevens and Kermit Bloomgarden have their eyes on you.

Relax a little; one of your most celebrated nervous tics will be your undoing.

Your first volume of poetry will be published as soon as you finish it.

You may be a hit uptown, but downtown you're legendary!

Your walk has a musical quality which will bring you fame and fortune.

You will eat cake.

Who do you think you are, anyway? Jo Van Fleet?

You think your life is like Pirandello, but it's really like O'Neill.

A few dance lessons with James Waring and who knows? Maybe something will happen.

That's not a run in your stocking, it's a hand on your leg.

I realize you've lived in France, but that doesn't mean you know EVERYTHING!

You should wear white more often--it becomes you.

The next person to speak to you will have a very intriquing proposal to make.

A lot of people in this room wish they were you.

Have you been to Mike Goldberg's show? Al Leslie's? Lee Krasner's?

At times, your disinterestedness may seem insincere, to strangers.

Now that the election's over, what are you going to do with yourself?

You are a prisoner in a croissant factory and you love it.

You eat meat. Why do you eat meat?

Beyond the horizon there is a vale of gloom.

You too could be Premier of France, if only ... if only... 

Friday, August 9, 2013

Counting.

"0 through 9"
Jasper Johns
1960

Three days until my older brother leaves to go teach English in China for 365 days.
Five days until I move back to school.
It's been three months since I've seen Abbey.
It's been two months since I've seen my roommate.
Thirteen days until I start my senior year.
Eighty-five days until Trey and I take a vacation.

Saturday, August 3, 2013

Beth Hoeckel

Vacation

Foliage

Face to Face

Glacial

Moonrise

Cream

To buy: click here