Do our cells take family portraits? Yes. Do they comb their cilia out into gelatinous manes? They do. The photographs go up on cellular walls. When are the shots taken? Whenever there is a flash, a burst of white. When do these opportune moments come?… Read More
Zebulun’s comet flashes like a derailed pendulum. A hot stone mad with joules.
The vast temple in the void. A slow tomb full of elegant regret. The portal is always open, is always closed. The whistle of space being compressed. We believe danger dances most truthfully when death closes its eyes before throwing the dart.… Read More
I’ve had 7 studio spaces in my life.
1. The floor of my teenage bedroom, half-way in the closet with a shade-less lamp. I would spill paint on the carpet and cut it out with scissors (sorry mom.) I would work after everyone else went to bed, staying up through the wee hours of the morning drawing not very good surrealist pictures and pasting together maybe-pretty-dope-still collages.… Read More