What I’ve been working on is a new painting or two mixing catalogs and comic books. I’ve been playing with fonts and text (X’s and O’s of course). I’ve been painting and repainting. I’ve been listening to All Time Low. See the pics above. Of the painting, not the listening.
Did a new Examiner post today on the DeCordova’s Free Fridays in July which might be worth a look. Was fortunate enough to catch the opening of their exhibition “The Old, Weird America” there on Saturday and it’s a winner.
On the looking and listening front mixed with a smidge of All Time Low: My friend Maria told me I couldn’t go to the Vans Warped Tour and see All Time Low. Even if I am excited about their new album. She actually said I could go, as long as I was comfortable being the creepy old guy. Creepy old guy? And here I thought I had the market cornered on creepy young guy. So no Vans Warped Tour for me.
I’ve been doing some prep work for the Stop Traffic show at Tantric as well, which is coming fast. Seems like the opening on Saturday June 20th is going to be quite a time, so am looking forward to seeing you all there. For more info, check out tantricbistro.com.
I’ve been doing some poeting too, here’s one:
FROM A SATELLITE THIS INTERSTATE IS SURELY GUERNICA DRAWN
CAREFULLY AGAINST YOUR BACK
Repack the car, no, now
I say unpack it. These sounds, these
openings and closings of doors, these maps
found crumpled in the way-back seat where
you used to sit and press your feet against
the orange-lined rear window, channels for warmth
the sun and sock undersides reaching an understanding
and now an argument. Repack the car
or leave tomorrow. Either way the road don't care.
I say squint before putting on those foolish glasses
the ones that make intrestate more decipherable, the ones
you say make me look more educated, more docile,
less likely to miss an exit or two, a glance, a chance
at letting you talk and practicing my listening. I wouldn't know
what to do if I got a flat this far out, hand outstretched
against the wind cars create: The wind of things getting closer
and closer, closer than they appear, and colliding against
your skin up and down and up and down. I swear, my hair
a mess and tossled, this is the closest I've ever come to surfing.
Unstretch and stretch, get gasoline you need and coffee
no one could possibly want. Browse through nooked and crannied
bookshelves of snowglobes (NEVADA!) books on tape (another
by John Grisham?) in a search for fuzzy dice. Go the bathroom
again before you find the car and buy a pack of gum or two, something
you can get a receipt for, something for this gas station town to remember
you by. Take a picture in a mirror. Make graffiti in the side of your cheek
with teeth and persistence. Look at everything again. Bring it to
a close and close your eyes and breathe. 50 miles to go.
* * * * *
Also, I’ve been reading “Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close” by Jonathan Safran Foer on the recommendation of my friend Morgan. Holy smokes. It is enough to make this writer want to hang up his cleats.
For you non-South Bostonites: If you didn’t see the photo of John McCarthy getting the Medicine Man award at The Medicine Wheel Gallery in last week’s print edition of South Boston Online, well, I don’t know what to tell you. Move to Southie.
Happy weekend everyone.
Did a new Examiner post today on the DeCordova’s Free Fridays in July which might be worth a look. Was fortunate enough to catch the opening of their exhibition “The Old, Weird America” there on Saturday and it’s a winner.
On the looking and listening front mixed with a smidge of All Time Low: My friend Maria told me I couldn’t go to the Vans Warped Tour and see All Time Low. Even if I am excited about their new album. She actually said I could go, as long as I was comfortable being the creepy old guy. Creepy old guy? And here I thought I had the market cornered on creepy young guy. So no Vans Warped Tour for me.
I’ve been doing some prep work for the Stop Traffic show at Tantric as well, which is coming fast. Seems like the opening on Saturday June 20th is going to be quite a time, so am looking forward to seeing you all there. For more info, check out tantricbistro.com.
I’ve been doing some poeting too, here’s one:
FROM A SATELLITE THIS INTERSTATE IS SURELY GUERNICA DRAWN
CAREFULLY AGAINST YOUR BACK
Repack the car, no, now
I say unpack it. These sounds, these
openings and closings of doors, these maps
found crumpled in the way-back seat where
you used to sit and press your feet against
the orange-lined rear window, channels for warmth
the sun and sock undersides reaching an understanding
and now an argument. Repack the car
or leave tomorrow. Either way the road don't care.
I say squint before putting on those foolish glasses
the ones that make intrestate more decipherable, the ones
you say make me look more educated, more docile,
less likely to miss an exit or two, a glance, a chance
at letting you talk and practicing my listening. I wouldn't know
what to do if I got a flat this far out, hand outstretched
against the wind cars create: The wind of things getting closer
and closer, closer than they appear, and colliding against
your skin up and down and up and down. I swear, my hair
a mess and tossled, this is the closest I've ever come to surfing.
Unstretch and stretch, get gasoline you need and coffee
no one could possibly want. Browse through nooked and crannied
bookshelves of snowglobes (NEVADA!) books on tape (another
by John Grisham?) in a search for fuzzy dice. Go the bathroom
again before you find the car and buy a pack of gum or two, something
you can get a receipt for, something for this gas station town to remember
you by. Take a picture in a mirror. Make graffiti in the side of your cheek
with teeth and persistence. Look at everything again. Bring it to
a close and close your eyes and breathe. 50 miles to go.
* * * * *
Also, I’ve been reading “Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close” by Jonathan Safran Foer on the recommendation of my friend Morgan. Holy smokes. It is enough to make this writer want to hang up his cleats.
For you non-South Bostonites: If you didn’t see the photo of John McCarthy getting the Medicine Man award at The Medicine Wheel Gallery in last week’s print edition of South Boston Online, well, I don’t know what to tell you. Move to Southie.
Happy weekend everyone.
1 comment:
Hey don't act like anything above 20 ISN'T old to the 13 year olds that infest the Warped Tour. IIIII would be considered old, but mainly because I'm disgruntled.
Go for it kid. Attend the Warped Tour, just as long as you can do so without being asked by every CHILD in there to buy them beer.
THAT is why I don't sell bananas.
<3 Maria
Post a Comment