tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7210745777940005122024-03-18T21:11:52.093-07:00Electric Suturista movementkirk michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974947538877737968noreply@blogger.comBlogger50125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-721074577794000512.post-23759969407568371052009-06-05T15:03:00.001-07:002009-06-05T15:05:09.790-07:00Octopi Are Suturist<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipvRGoVuJTGgtlwiG5Urr408IY0SMvjCp1A7JW5Qv6HHc1HN5ofhPsh4HZyOiX7QuBHEbvMw4cRbcGZohePdgDSzLm0fIVqdxw8oRGogAQNMrhkH0jtwf4koiW6BeQ3lPu8HNq0qohdoNq/s1600-h/daikichi+octopus.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 290px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipvRGoVuJTGgtlwiG5Urr408IY0SMvjCp1A7JW5Qv6HHc1HN5ofhPsh4HZyOiX7QuBHEbvMw4cRbcGZohePdgDSzLm0fIVqdxw8oRGogAQNMrhkH0jtwf4koiW6BeQ3lPu8HNq0qohdoNq/s400/daikichi+octopus.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343967876197054178" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO_UTXsF1wjxVAfAzWTByH65Kbrttqut4ZW0LxOFRIGhf4w1Rc9G-XLOCinfFoPRjbXaj3BIy9qD-Jt8QTu5gyDiggkBJNbrKjT6pJD2lsUANMvujtEDKj1MrrVCT96w1oRgkswQ-0o6oU/s1600-h/daikichi+octopus+ii.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO_UTXsF1wjxVAfAzWTByH65Kbrttqut4ZW0LxOFRIGhf4w1Rc9G-XLOCinfFoPRjbXaj3BIy9qD-Jt8QTu5gyDiggkBJNbrKjT6pJD2lsUANMvujtEDKj1MrrVCT96w1oRgkswQ-0o6oU/s400/daikichi+octopus+ii.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343967875766929570" border="0" /></a><br />Daikichi Amanokirk michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974947538877737968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-721074577794000512.post-92186690273438020262009-05-12T14:58:00.000-07:002009-05-12T15:00:41.101-07:00Tennis Bracelets<span style="font-style: italic;">Tender Is the Night</span> rises<br />from a desk drawer and I<br />catch up with you there.<br />This is a boom time for the manic<br />depressive memoir (you too bought<br />a spree of snakebite kits), the kind<br />you were writing when I knew you,<br />before you stopped and I went back<br />to red desert and gas-green lights.<br /><br />Let’s remember how quickly we came<br />under neon-streak firefly trajectories,<br />dead like a story we already knew. <br />A story that wishes us one more<br />go around—you call by accident and I<br />pick up the phone and a tennis racket,<br />swing backhands, slice you away.<br />You come through the space<br />in the catgut anyway.<br /><br />There is clay and a too tight smile<br />strung across my face as you pinpoint<br />that day defined by the sun gilt-edging<br />storm clouds, every elongated slide<br />a frictionless shot of memory.<br />The baseline side to side blurs<br />to nighttime bracelets of light in the town<br />below the sanitarium, I know<br />they’re interlocking, getting closer. <br /><br />I touch my wrists and you touch your wrists.kirk michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974947538877737968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-721074577794000512.post-71348346545465237862009-05-12T14:57:00.000-07:002009-05-12T14:58:39.467-07:00Spring Is Sprung<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif54vkgXb3aXWh528fY1hLVGQ_JxGPwT4kxYQqsSckAf8xa2pmoNApvaner9F-AVJNprJnY701EeZ5qXYuWTaG4uF8KkjIhdMVrZEVAApDBbHJ1SfAspoZBMWNj5tExU5ns8yzfzUPqBRG/s1600-h/scojo+face.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif54vkgXb3aXWh528fY1hLVGQ_JxGPwT4kxYQqsSckAf8xa2pmoNApvaner9F-AVJNprJnY701EeZ5qXYuWTaG4uF8KkjIhdMVrZEVAApDBbHJ1SfAspoZBMWNj5tExU5ns8yzfzUPqBRG/s400/scojo+face.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335060191736112194" border="0" /></a>kirk michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974947538877737968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-721074577794000512.post-33025994273819795322009-03-01T10:38:00.001-08:002009-03-01T11:24:44.928-08:00Last TimeThe door left open<div>Your car parked in the drive</div><div>My last invitation.</div><div><br /></div><div>You looked right in the heart of my eye</div><div>As if you were trying to memorize</div><div>My face<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>indefinitely</div><div>And I did the same with yours as we faced</div><div>At the entrance. A sad long gust swept through</div><div>Hushed around the back of my neck and ears</div><div>The way your hands once did.</div><div><br /></div><div>Outside, I looked for indication from the day the sun</div><div>Blending with the clouds the grass</div><div>On your front lawn neither dull nor shine.</div><div><br /></div><div>I didn't hear you walk away.</div><div>I half expected you to be there, half hoped. Watching me go</div><div>Casting me off to face the rest of the world without you</div><div>But I'm glad you didn't.</div><div>I could never have left</div><div><br /></div><div>In the dark, your sad eyes roam towards me in dreams. </div>akphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09999494892044210797noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-721074577794000512.post-55537868775998149402008-12-27T09:52:00.000-08:002008-12-27T13:22:44.764-08:00Dreams of Eurydice<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';">I dreamed last night of you in a crowd</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">walking with a rose, the pink one I bought you, pulling</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">away its petals letting them fall to the ground.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">You were looking for me, you were with someone else.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">I was gone.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">I had another dream of an eerie street of brownstones</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">dark except for the sole decayed light bleeding orange</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">leading to a basement structured in steel painted in dripping black</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">a Man inside, sitting at an empty wooden table</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">in there alone, brooding with a crimson face</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">He turned</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">and His eyes shot through me as if to say</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">she is gone and there is nothing.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">A car on the street pulled up to the curb, a brown rusted Cadillac</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">and the window rolled down smoke pluming out and I couldn't see in.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Eurydice</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">, the wind whispered, and the car took off.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Through a fence with barbed wire I watched lightning strike</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">the ocean, a flash of a wave being surfed by a man under gunpoint.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">In a wet jungle, lightning shone on the path as I searched for you</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">stealthily maneuvering around guerillas, winding trunks and </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">slapping leaves to sinking mud and walls of trenches. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Crawling through this never </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">ending maze I cried out to the wind, rain </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">pouring into my mouth. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">The wind didn't answer.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">The rain stopped </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">and not another bolt of light. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Then, I woke up. </span></div>akphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09999494892044210797noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-721074577794000512.post-27814688712298026132008-12-26T08:46:00.001-08:002008-12-26T16:29:39.347-08:00She<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Strong first encounter</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">A planted kiss with beer on his breath</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Vodka on hers</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Leading the way hand holding down the pier promenade on a t-shirt warm night</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">The ocean a lake of radio silence letting them tune in to one another</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Who pays for what</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">One night stand bluffs did you did I</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">On the brick wall he leaned against her at closing time, the crowds </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">crookedly walking watching their beginnings through a film of yellow </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">poisoning but not, just</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">alcohol. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">They didn't fuck that night.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">A whirlwind of in between</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Youth and </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">adult</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> love that we're told</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Exists</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Where past lovers are forgotten</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">And friendship becomes the basis before sex.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Instead, they shake each other and pop the corks exploding </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Out, and up the rickety elevator as high as they can</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Hoping for the penthouse</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Not the roof where all they can do is look down,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">A dread remembrance of their ride.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">They should have taken the stairs. </span></div>akphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09999494892044210797noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-721074577794000512.post-40289671517487444682008-09-11T11:20:00.000-07:002008-09-12T08:43:31.347-07:00A Change of Season<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Before, at the end of Spring</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">There was an open sky</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Limitless and forever</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">The days would end in a brilliant blaze</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">A bright smile before</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">The tender breeze of night.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">In waking, the day rose in a soft yellow</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Everything full of green vigor. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">A brush of sweet air would wrap around me,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Your voice. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">There was feeling then.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Now, the coldness begins to reach my bones.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">The ocean slaps angrily against itself.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">The wind torments loose leaves and then ceases–-</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Abandons--</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Once they fall.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">There is no pleasure to your giving.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">A routine like the appearance of a forgotten sun</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Lifted and dying, blocked by an irrational gray haze.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Only a noise now, a mechanical drone</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">The huff and rupture from a monotony of cars</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Taking the same routes, hoping for the earth to crack.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">A pencil scratching against a calendar.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Erase.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Fill in. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">I look out at the sea slush, the white peaks</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Waiting for stillness.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">The seasons have changed</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">I accept</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">And I know as a whip of wind smacks down against me</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">The season will change again.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">But as I grow resilient to your cold,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">I wonder if I will feel the same. </span></div>akphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09999494892044210797noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-721074577794000512.post-71940412796287484162008-08-13T19:20:00.000-07:002008-08-13T19:21:02.733-07:00Metaphor/SimileMy youth was cardinals<br />red as Renoir kerchiefs afloat on the snow<br />sea of home. I moved to be the red-winged<br />blackbird, flashing in flight like Reno<br />through Tahoe, the lake night a pigeon neck<br />purple-grey. Adolescence landed light like cockatiel<br />screech, so I made myself thousand-mile Pacific.<br />I still write towards toucans’ beaks like peaches,<br />today I’m the ocean pant, looking up<br />never as still silver as the pendant, its oneline gull.kirk michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974947538877737968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-721074577794000512.post-80780238636229223212008-07-28T09:55:00.001-07:002008-07-31T14:36:59.292-07:00Birthday<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';">White petals falling from trees, showering knees grassed green in the playground. Nicholas, reflecting on his childhood, his knees, never recalling a time where they were made wet or stained by fresh grass. He remembers his feet though, tightly tied in hard shoes that clattered against hard cement, books in hand, uniform tucked in and buttoned tight. </span><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">He came here for Rebecca, Matthew's Mother.<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">He looks at the children, and can hardly relate to young Matthew. It's Matthew's birthday today, his fourth, and Nicholas showed up with a present, a toy truck. He wrapped it carefully at the toy store after he made the purchase. A man in a suit waited behind him as he taped the red wrapping paper around the box. Nicholas speculated that this man was a father buying a gift for his son after a days work. Maybe it was his son's birthday.<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Strange, disembarking from the metro onto the gray concrete of the suburb outside of Helsinki, where he used to live with his Mother. Bad memories of gray days made ominous by their repetitiveness, not a clear sun for months on end. His Mother was a beautiful woman made ugly by her own addictions. Birds don't sing on this street. Nicholas sees the balcony of his Mother's apartment, the open door. He tucks his head down and embraces the shadow made by the lid of his black cap. Birds don't sing on this street, only alcoholics.<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">One of Matthew's friends has a tantrum. The mother slaps the child on the hand, an echo in the courtyard. Nicholas doesn't flinch.<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> Nicholas</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> sits with Rebecca, both in foldout chairs. She waits for Matthew's Father to arrive. Nicholas can relate to Matthew on this point alone. A father appearing and disappearing, as if in a recurring dream. Sometimes a nightmare, other times just a dream. <br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Matthew has already unwrapped the presents and has made everyone aware of his favorites by holding the boxes of the gifts liked best the longest. Nicholas' toy truck was one of those gifts. The </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">educational</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> toys were collected in one location against a rock. These toys faced the rock, as if the toys themselves felt underappreciated and decided to shun the crowd. <br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Matthew's Father arrives at the end of the party, when most have already gone. Nicholas watches Matthew's Father lift up Matthew. He showed up in workout gear; a gray hooded sweatshirt and gray jogging pants. He looks strong and forceful but has a calm disposition that reminds Nicholas of his own Father, and the truth behind the mask of calmness. <br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Matthew's Father towers over Rebecca. Her blank face and her attempt at unfeeling eyes are also a mask. She stills loves him. Nicholas wonders if he had ever hoped for his own Mother and Father to be together again when he was younger. <br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Fallen white petals fill the chip bowls, the soup bowls, the red cups with drinks unfinished. Nicholas helps Rebecca carrying all the containers back to her apartment kitchen, up three flights of stairs. During each trip up to the apartment, he has to turn the hallway light back on. The light is on a timer. He says goodbye to her in the hallway. They look at each other, and the light goes off again. In the dark, she tells Nicholas to wait for a minute. She's going to tuck Matthew in for bed. <br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> Nicholas</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> waits outside among the white petals and the growing dusk. He waits but she never shows. She might be asleep with her son, he decides. He remembers how she fell asleep so easily that one night after they made love. The only time they made love. He couldn't fall asleep that night. He listened for cars in the desolate streets outside his apartment. He listened for rain and wind. He heard nothing.<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">He walks back to the metro and on his way to the station, he looks up one last time at his Mother's balcony. Her balcony door is still open, the drapes flowing inwards by a soft breeze. He doesn't want to see her tonight. <br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">He waits for a couple minutes at the metro station and boards a train back to Helsinki. He feels a sense of relief as his seat begins to jitter and the train lunges forward. </span><br /></div>akphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09999494892044210797noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-721074577794000512.post-16385967941542785932008-07-25T12:01:00.001-07:002008-07-25T12:02:05.419-07:00<a href="http://thecia.com.au/reviews/n/images/no-country-for-old-men-0.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://thecia.com.au/reviews/n/images/no-country-for-old-men-0.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://thecia.com.au/reviews/n/images/no-country-for-old-men-0.jpg"></a><br /><br /><div></div></div>kirk michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974947538877737968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-721074577794000512.post-57001227433863832942008-07-25T11:43:00.000-07:002008-07-25T12:00:41.131-07:00Hammersometimes i make the light shake <div>the ambient fixture flickering </div><div>sometimes i make the light shake</div><div>outdoors corner of everyone's eye</div><div>they know behind is my lightning</div><div>even a sun day they know.<br /></div><div>my old robot truck is ruststruck</div><div>and mine with lightning.<br /></div><div>i go out in cloudbreak</div><div>warm in lobo fur and first love</div><div>where raspberry canes scrape</div><div>under my youngagain transmission<br />mustard colored body named romance</div><div>the lightning bed of it forever</div>a rumbling nerve. lay down.<br /><div><br /></div><br /><div></div>kirk michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974947538877737968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-721074577794000512.post-69265889666836396842008-05-21T15:26:00.000-07:002008-05-25T17:25:57.762-07:00101 near King City<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><div style="text-align: justify;">On the 101 heading north eighteen miles from King City</div><div style="text-align: justify;">another splatter of bug cements on the windshield.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Easing along the low incline two lane highway</div><div style="text-align: justify;">hunched hills on the left with grassed hair blown ochre by the high sun.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">She sits next to me, her summer dress mint green and patterned arabesque sinks away as we rise on the road towards the sky blasted cerulean.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I switch the AC dial off and with the same hand warm her left thigh.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We turn away from what lies ahead and her eyes luminesce like two pools of rich gold brown, the warm midday light falling on her face. </div></span><div><div><div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">I stare through the mosaic of mosquito spread and can't sight the horizon.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">The sun has begun its descent and I watch a black bird sweep down and away.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">I turn to her one last time and wait until her smile begins to fade before I face the road and prepare with the land from the fleeing sky. </span></div></div></div></div></div>akphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09999494892044210797noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-721074577794000512.post-37939184548647832492008-05-17T11:16:00.000-07:002008-05-17T11:26:33.715-07:00Summer Day, GreenlakeI leave with the sun in the same place<br />On the horizon of my mini-blinds<br /><br />I walk north, no time for the rose garden<br />only the briefest moment with the animal smells<br /><br />I rush the water. <br />I keep the lake at my left shoulder<br />and watch the sun and then the moon<br /><br />I watch women burn down the path<br />and call me a misogynist but I still<br />think they look best in pink or white tank tops<br /><br />But it’s surprising hard to draft after<br />a particularly nice ass so I drop back—<br />I walk pretty fast though<br /><br />Walk, see people pass, leaving my headphones on high<br />Don’t want to hear any sirens<br />The pop is Swedish<br />I’m dancing I’m invisible<br /><br />I cross the Scots tennis team once, then again—<br />at the center of the phalanx a girl’s mouth makes<br />the shape of “Then she said—”<br /><br />A golden retriever getting hit in the head with a plastic bag<br />of its own shit every second step<br /><br />I’m not yet the guy with grey armpit hair<br />staring down the women keeping a hula hoop<br />afloat on her waist while walking<br /><br />I’m not yet the man rollerblading with the aid<br />of modified ski poles<br /><br />The backstretch of the lake is getting dark<br />my sweat cools my back tightens<br />I scroll back to older beats<br /><br />At the point where I started<br />children skitter across the shore<br />They’re laughing they’re gamboling<br />They involve themselves in foam footballs and Canadian geese<br /><br />It’s dusky and getting uphill and I don’t want any water<br />I want “Billie Jean” I’m putting one foot more directly in front of the other<br />I’m rolling my shoulders I’m missing beats<br />Someone in the woods might hear one or two “woo!”s<br /><br />Fuck it I’m almost home and I hear my heartbeat<br />in my ears and “Smooth Criminal.”<br />A block off the main road I give it a sideways slide<br /><br />I go inside to make my hierarchy and look back and all I see<br />is an exuberant Boston Terrier leaping off the twilit edge<br />of the path at a cloud of gnats—its owner<br />looks, understands and lets the leash go—kirk michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974947538877737968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-721074577794000512.post-87557107775051966482008-05-15T18:37:00.001-07:002008-12-11T16:38:53.002-08:00Suturist Rosenquist<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYu2p904PspNWL4rWzcr5zlioAHFRKk1-P0Dt2lgcRjYF_gvZz51adZE86PG4LIitY6k_AtsPSVU5kTJ4RonGu-DloyjFLRs9ONoAnlQtGpnvb8cvt6IM_1I2PnM7KinMojV73XYiQpa0/s1600-h/1_61_06.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYu2p904PspNWL4rWzcr5zlioAHFRKk1-P0Dt2lgcRjYF_gvZz51adZE86PG4LIitY6k_AtsPSVU5kTJ4RonGu-DloyjFLRs9ONoAnlQtGpnvb8cvt6IM_1I2PnM7KinMojV73XYiQpa0/s400/1_61_06.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200784096158962930" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDGGH8LwsowoviRV77SSephe8TzKhmdTEnKsKGhiVmn2_qNk7eTT5nd-x3TaIizqOYT8fNZTKUh42LtBoM5nCtQQ_ouETazrbKb-VSjwycPhQ_sE2JdG8uQ_j4hoEWAcJ9EAdOeJAAnhM/s1600-h/Rosenquist_President.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDGGH8LwsowoviRV77SSephe8TzKhmdTEnKsKGhiVmn2_qNk7eTT5nd-x3TaIizqOYT8fNZTKUh42LtBoM5nCtQQ_ouETazrbKb-VSjwycPhQ_sE2JdG8uQ_j4hoEWAcJ9EAdOeJAAnhM/s400/Rosenquist_President.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200784018849551586" /></a>akphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09999494892044210797noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-721074577794000512.post-25551063925572405852008-05-14T14:21:00.001-07:002008-05-14T14:22:37.238-07:00Gerhard Richter Suturist Style #4<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://stateoftheart.popphoto.com/blog/images/2007/08/08/pl_arts_580.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://stateoftheart.popphoto.com/blog/images/2007/08/08/pl_arts_580.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />(this is an actual stained glass window in an actual cathedral.)kirk michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974947538877737968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-721074577794000512.post-49894896564665507312008-05-13T09:12:00.000-07:002008-12-11T16:38:53.421-08:00Suturist Gone<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD79fGs3uyNaQ7yoUxI6ti1g-RQtSzK6ghYi9FaogQUkBLOdXHmqcrGvddvclwkyc9OqQXTbVenRwsvvUZ5eYqJBiT_gAwNKTo4DvGv42kcdHcUN47Zgmcq0Q8FlDbpeEabdSQKK68vPA/s1600-h/13rauschenberg2-500.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD79fGs3uyNaQ7yoUxI6ti1g-RQtSzK6ghYi9FaogQUkBLOdXHmqcrGvddvclwkyc9OqQXTbVenRwsvvUZ5eYqJBiT_gAwNKTo4DvGv42kcdHcUN47Zgmcq0Q8FlDbpeEabdSQKK68vPA/s400/13rauschenberg2-500.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199896919124366546" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/14/arts/design/14rauschenberg.html?_r=1&ref=arts&oref=slogin">Rauschenberg</a><div><br /></div><div>click link above</div>akphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09999494892044210797noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-721074577794000512.post-12646646884920104032008-05-08T15:38:00.001-07:002008-12-11T16:38:53.675-08:00New Serra Suturist Installation<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6fBkbd0LmTdqD6UR6iA41RsoeFR1h7VRchQHi_2BU-_M9l35jMw8fjPKkIF0vrpElsPhYKmKeQEPS1I3tffKsda8WRV2QiUnU8p1LCl9ZwXO3IwRYFha2N0AzKDJUTuo1XNPZq2c46YF8/s1600-h/07serra600.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6fBkbd0LmTdqD6UR6iA41RsoeFR1h7VRchQHi_2BU-_M9l35jMw8fjPKkIF0vrpElsPhYKmKeQEPS1I3tffKsda8WRV2QiUnU8p1LCl9ZwXO3IwRYFha2N0AzKDJUTuo1XNPZq2c46YF8/s320/07serra600.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5198140348966005442" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/07/arts/design/07serr.html?_r=1&oref=login">Monumenta<span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></a>.kirk michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974947538877737968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-721074577794000512.post-3598848907804403522008-05-07T09:06:00.001-07:002008-05-07T09:07:01.619-07:00Gerhard Richter Suturist Style #3<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://whatimseeing.com/upload/donald_fisher_3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://whatimseeing.com/upload/donald_fisher_3.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>kirk michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974947538877737968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-721074577794000512.post-55950823558959217752008-05-07T09:04:00.000-07:002008-05-07T09:05:54.490-07:00Gerhard Richter Suturist Style #2<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://images.artnet.com/artwork_images_423817074_305104_gerhard-richter.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://images.artnet.com/artwork_images_423817074_305104_gerhard-richter.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>kirk michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974947538877737968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-721074577794000512.post-35269840072377655822008-05-07T09:03:00.000-07:002008-05-07T09:04:47.076-07:00Gerhard Richter Suturist Style #1<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://johnfenzel.typepad.com/john_fenzels_blog/images/2007/07/02/gerhard_richter_tiger.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://johnfenzel.typepad.com/john_fenzels_blog/images/2007/07/02/gerhard_richter_tiger.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>kirk michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974947538877737968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-721074577794000512.post-13740093743134550732008-04-29T13:23:00.001-07:002008-04-29T13:35:19.215-07:00Another Costa Rican Beach<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><div style="text-align: justify;">Open mouth smoke green rivers and their still alligators. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">Riptides can suck in swimmers one hundred meters. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">I've yet to see a stingray jet.</div></span>akphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09999494892044210797noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-721074577794000512.post-88907444130770169502008-04-27T16:21:00.000-07:002008-04-28T09:12:09.899-07:00When you roll with us<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">We enter under the tubular arches filled with flashing sketches of neon reds and blues, the lights illuminating the street like one of those old theatres on a Friday Night Premiere.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">We are seated at one of the many long tables varnished in deep red, sitting down in tall slender chairs like kings.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">We recount our last few weekends, our trips to Vegas, Cabo, college towns in Arizona and Texas scoring on undergrads, and count our collective </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">kills</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">We order drinks, and, like a procession we are delivered foamy beer in fake wood kegs, sake in vials that look like they're made out of porcelain, and know this won't be the last porcelain we drag our mouths across, just as long as it isn't in this bar's bathroom, but our own. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">We look at the prospects referring to them as girl in black or girl in pink or girl in blue.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">We have our waiter do a countdown for the first bomb, and quake our fists against the tabletop at the rush of </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">three,</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> chopsticks tripping off, sake cups plunking in beer mugs, shooting up syrupy squirts of high gold that are caught as we raise our glasses and kamikaze them down our gullets.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">We announce our birthday boy and frenzy our eyes over potential birthday girls.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">We do another bomb.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">We stand on our chairs and do another bomb.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">We announce our names and state that </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">we like ladies</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> and do another bomb.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">We order sushi platters and make bets on how much we can eat and which girls we can get, the girl in black the girl in blue or the girl in pink, and do another bomb.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">We shimmy our asses against the asses of other girls standing on the chairs next to us, and we do another bomb.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">We hand over our empty kegs of beer and sake containers and ask for more and in the meantime with what is left do another bomb.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">We try to eat our food and decide that we are too full to eat but not too full for drinking so we pour more into our glasses, pound the table, and raise another.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">We spill sake, beer, and soy, and the trays and plates slide closer to the edge as if at the end of a flat world's ocean, and we do another bomb.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">We cheers to the birthday boy being a </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">fag</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">, bang and do another bomb.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">We cheers to someone else coming out of the closet, laugh our asses, slam and do another bomb.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">We cheers to all the girls we will <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">crush</span>, and do another bomb.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">We cheers to all of us being </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">the man</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">, and do another.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">We are the only ones left and do another, pay the bill in a flurry of twenties, and do another.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">We are still reeling from all the bombs we dropped as we exit on the slick sidewalk undulating at each step and wish we could do another, but we got the motion down now for the next bar, and the next night, and the next group of girls. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">The only thing we haven't figured out is the next morning, our cracked lives appearing fine in a hazy mirror blurred by our own eyes. </span></div>akphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09999494892044210797noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-721074577794000512.post-81818402667616130512008-04-26T10:09:00.000-07:002008-04-26T10:10:16.804-07:00Tennis<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I catch up with you</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">In this boom time of the manic</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Depressive memoir, (a spree </span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Of snakebite kits) the same book</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">You were writing when I knew you,</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Before you stopped. But I know you</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Will, at least, start one again</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">And we will have at least one more</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Long conversation like the last—</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">You wishing for one more chance</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">To come back, go back to back then</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">And me actually picking up a tennis racket</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Swinging backhands to bat you away,</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">You coming through the space</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">In the catgut anyway. </span>kirk michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974947538877737968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-721074577794000512.post-88033136122150560342008-04-23T20:13:00.000-07:002008-04-24T14:14:09.937-07:00Looks good<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Bundle of light heads racked together labeled and named after sultry women. </span><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Brigitte is grabbed by a black-gloved hand.</span><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Cables twined through scaffolding above, a plug inserted, Brigitte lights up.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">High-watt orifice casts down a fan of light on a mahogany office desk.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Reflections are swiveled clear from the gimbaled glass panels.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">A bleached blonde stand-in sits in, and the light is studied across her face.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">How's this? Like this? </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">A voice asks from a ladder, hands mending and bending black-wrap around the burning eye of Brigitte.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Guess all those arts and crafts classes helped you out, </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">somebody yells and laughs.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">A woman, maybe an actress, maybe an extra, splashes through pages of </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">People</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> off to the side on a couch. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Someone important watches the setup, shoulders slumped over a bowl of cereal. He cleans some milk away from his manicured beard with his hand, just above the cuff of his clean white shirt, and peels away into the shadows of the stage.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Two cameras are set on two different tracks.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Monitors are on, the chairs aligned.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Looks good</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> somebody else says.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Chapped lips radio in hushed orders.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">An actor arrives.</span></div></div></div></div>akphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09999494892044210797noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-721074577794000512.post-44146494079694667942008-04-16T17:17:00.000-07:002008-12-11T16:38:54.126-08:00THE Suturist Doing Suturist Things<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyBMwjdJciewWxgrnSUtMsXus9hqnn53yM3pBSkTo6dgxSM_m2vmyTlUGQb6MCG9IYz5HSPq3PxtwjbHbCmQIzJ53yTgcV5JPg0_bDrYgo0qMgZ5PmZ7JR8PnCGK6pEDKINBRiQ3pep1Qt/s1600-h/n726273358_429226_8910.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyBMwjdJciewWxgrnSUtMsXus9hqnn53yM3pBSkTo6dgxSM_m2vmyTlUGQb6MCG9IYz5HSPq3PxtwjbHbCmQIzJ53yTgcV5JPg0_bDrYgo0qMgZ5PmZ7JR8PnCGK6pEDKINBRiQ3pep1Qt/s320/n726273358_429226_8910.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190002080656462386" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIK-thDYpecBFUC6n-4yO7NfQ58ekivP6UGloRgC5SbcKKS-ww9mTMAUq6NQ64331-hFS76Hz5jATm3ejpItwKIpvNp2Vx-Cw0L_WGX7lqPW4u4F4eFfnqHesYoxlqXAqSi5a-QmEagWe3/s1600-h/n640559048_366156_4250.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIK-thDYpecBFUC6n-4yO7NfQ58ekivP6UGloRgC5SbcKKS-ww9mTMAUq6NQ64331-hFS76Hz5jATm3ejpItwKIpvNp2Vx-Cw0L_WGX7lqPW4u4F4eFfnqHesYoxlqXAqSi5a-QmEagWe3/s320/n640559048_366156_4250.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190002084951429698" border="0" /></a>kirk michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974947538877737968noreply@blogger.com0