I tell stories from life fragments - arranging reality flat upon the page until it shows signs of order. Recently, the process has been here in this public space.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Monday, November 9, 2009
be afraid, be very afraid
The instructions were very clear: 'Maintain a 70%+ nitrogen environment to inhibit pod growth'. Pretty easy instructions, right? Just keep the pod on planet earth, exposed to air and all will be OK. We sold quite a few dormant mindworm pods, assuming everyone could follow these easy instructions. Some careless customer has failed to heed the warning. Now we have a mess...
Coming soon: Mindworm Pod #2 - Signs Of Life
Coming soon: Mindworm Pod #2 - Signs Of Life
original mindworm pod | mindworm pod showing signs of life |
Saturday, November 7, 2009
werckmeister harmonies
It is easy to forget how formulaic movies have become until we see the hand of genius sweep away - in broad and simple strokes - our preconceptions of film-making. There were only 39 shots in Werckmeister Harmonies, quite a small number for a 2.5 hour film. It would be difficult to forget a single, drawn out one.
Director Bela Tarr has succeeded in taking my perception of the world, shifting it on it's axis a degree or so, and returning it a bit richer.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
the flower
Once in a golden hour
I cast to earth a seed.
Up there came a flower,
The people said, a weed.
To and fro they went
Thro’ my garden-bower,
And muttering discontent
Cursed me and my flower.
Then it grew so tall
It wore a crown of light,
But thieves from o’er the wall
Stole the seed by night;
Sow’d it far and wide
By every town and tower,
Till all the people cried,
‘Splendid is the flower.’
Read my little fable:
He that runs may read.
Most can raise the flowers now
For all have got the seed.
And some are pretty enough,
And some are poor indeed;
And now again the people
Call it but a weed.
~Tennyson
I cast to earth a seed.
Up there came a flower,
The people said, a weed.
To and fro they went
Thro’ my garden-bower,
And muttering discontent
Cursed me and my flower.
Then it grew so tall
It wore a crown of light,
But thieves from o’er the wall
Stole the seed by night;
Sow’d it far and wide
By every town and tower,
Till all the people cried,
‘Splendid is the flower.’
Read my little fable:
He that runs may read.
Most can raise the flowers now
For all have got the seed.
And some are pretty enough,
And some are poor indeed;
And now again the people
Call it but a weed.
~Tennyson
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