"On the No. Seven"
posted by tearful dishwasher at 12:48 PM
Sunday, August 21, 2005
About Me
- Name: tearful dishwasher
- Location: U.S. Outlying Islands
Fully engaged in the whole catastrophe
Previous Posts
- "We Can't Reduce the Risks to Zero"
- Walter and Margaret
- Sea of Love
- Zippermouth
- Call Out
- This One Goes Out to The One I Love
- In The Temple of My Heart
- 0359
- The Number Three Train at Chambers St. Station
- Laughter in the Ramshackle Gallery
5 Comments:
hey, this probably has no connection to what you posted, but i thought it'd be polite to ask your permission to link your blog through mine, its really been inspiring and though-provoking for me.
and btw, are these paintings and done by you?
i've studied this and studied this. there is such energy in the way the pointing boy is extending his arm when i observe how the muscles clump and stretch--it conveys and energy, excitement-- and of course, it's because of the dame on the barge. lol..
i don't get the feeling she's a corpse (as a similar mannequin drew that ghoulish association for me in the dumpster picture from your trip)- but rather that she's a sun-worshipper, traveliing up a lazy river.
what i am struck by most of all is the universal language of 'tits'.
lol....
no matter where, no matter when, they send the mercury up the notice-meter real fast, and i would suppose the young men are indeed in hog heaven getting their free peek from a close railing.
- k.
Karen-
Great read on this! Hog Heaven, indeed.
Thanks as always.
BoredPhuck-
Feel free to link, I'm glad you get something out of this place. The images are collages that I create using my own photographs and other images which I then either cut and paste with scissors and glue or work up in Photoshop.
Thanks for stopping by and sharing your thoughts.
Scott
I love this because it makes me think of the Diego Rivera inspired murals on the first floor of the Coit Tower, if those murals were to actually have a sense of humor, which then reminds me of having a blindly claustrophobic moment riding up that elevator with a man whose hair smelled of really sweet oil which then reminds me of a terrifying bus ride down Telegraph Hill by a bus driver who had gold hair gold eyelashes and gold fingernails which then reminds me of Frank O'Hara's Lunch Poems which I bought the same day at City Lights Books.
I love those murals. We walked up and back and so missed a terrifying bus ride, but we did then go to City Lights and by poems, Lee's "The City in Which I Love You" which is not nearly as appropriate as buying O'Hara's poems there, but there you are.
Thanks for triggering those memories, golden girl.
Scott
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