44 steps in providence, idea for project

for (count = 1, count <=44, count++) {photos();walk fourty-four steps;} function photos () {point camera at feet, capture photo;point camera eye level, face forward, capture photo;point camera eye level, face left, capture photo;point camera eye level, face right, capture photo;}

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cupid

how can one body pack so many pounds of ugly feeling, then aim it directly towards itself. it’s not right. it’s not the way to success and future glamourshine. hold on i have to go make some tea.(brew)she’s nuts!and cream, and sugar, and butterfat. down her throat into the belly, bypassing nutrition due to craving… Continue reading cupid

quiet essay, pt 2

In Holland, the government has reacted to predictions of a silence shortage by establishing Silent Zones (Stiltegebieden), defined as areas “in which the sound load caused by human activity is not high enough to disturb the natural sounds in the area.” My quiet is not the lack of sound. I am trying to make a… Continue reading quiet essay, pt 2

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quiet essay, pt 3

digital devices in our bedroom:Stereo system, CD player brokenDiscmanThree-piece speaker systemPlaystation 3Nintendo WiiTelevision with DVD and VHS playersFax machine, brokenCell phone foyer:PrinterScannerLaptopFlat-screen monitorDSL Internet routerWireless routerExternal hard driveDVD burner living room:Two-piece speaker systemLaptopSound mixing boardMicro ModulatorUSB MIDI hubDigital effects processorLaptopWACOM tablet and penCell phoneCell phoneProjectorMicrocontrolleriPodPlaystation PortableNintendo DSGPS Bluetooth transmitterMP3 player The apartment is filled with… Continue reading quiet essay, pt 3

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look inside this book!

you’d think we were sorcerers or astrophysicists, the way we dole out stars to products and services from our unlimited supply of judgement.

two pens, new notebook

with every sweet drop thatmy mouth enjoys thereare 99 devils thattake a molecule for them-selves and yet thiswill not satisfy theirticklish bellies sothey askfor more.

excuses

last week i thought it was the Russians. i blamed their aching orchestrations, familiar and distant. Tchaikovsky, Stravinsky, Rachmaninoff. finally, the broadcasts finished. this week i blame Marguerite Duras. how can one read a novel titled The Malady of Death and not fall through the cracks, fall to a high and lonely place? the stillness.… Continue reading excuses

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