Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Monday, July 6, 2009
RIP MJ SHIRTS
RIP MJ.
Contact jeff [AT] neighborhoodprints [DOT] com for more info.
White shirts available too!
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
VARIATIONS ON THE WORD LOVE
by Margaret Atwood
This is a word we use to plug
holes with. It's the right size for those warm
blanks in speech, for those red heart-
shaped vacancies on the page that look nothing
like real hearts. Add lace
and you can sell
it. We insert it also in the one empty
space on the printed form
that comes with no instructions. There are whole
magazines with not much in them
but the word love , you can
rub it all over your body and you
can cook with it too. How do we know
it isn't what goes on at the cool
debaucheries of slugs under damp
pieces of cardboard? As for the weed-
seedlings nosing their tough snouts up
among the lettuces, they shout it.
Love! Love! sing the soldiers, raising
their glittering knives in salute.
Then there's the two
of us. This word
is far too short for us, it has only
four letters, too sparse
to fill those deep bare
vacuums between the stars
that press on us with their deafness.
It's not love we don't wish
to fall into, but that fear.
This word is not enough but it will
have to do. It's a single
vowel in this metallic
silence, a mouth that says
O again and again in wonder
and pain, a breath, a finger
grip on a cliffside. You can
hold on or let go.
This is a word we use to plug
holes with. It's the right size for those warm
blanks in speech, for those red heart-
shaped vacancies on the page that look nothing
like real hearts. Add lace
and you can sell
it. We insert it also in the one empty
space on the printed form
that comes with no instructions. There are whole
magazines with not much in them
but the word love , you can
rub it all over your body and you
can cook with it too. How do we know
it isn't what goes on at the cool
debaucheries of slugs under damp
pieces of cardboard? As for the weed-
seedlings nosing their tough snouts up
among the lettuces, they shout it.
Love! Love! sing the soldiers, raising
their glittering knives in salute.
Then there's the two
of us. This word
is far too short for us, it has only
four letters, too sparse
to fill those deep bare
vacuums between the stars
that press on us with their deafness.
It's not love we don't wish
to fall into, but that fear.
This word is not enough but it will
have to do. It's a single
vowel in this metallic
silence, a mouth that says
O again and again in wonder
and pain, a breath, a finger
grip on a cliffside. You can
hold on or let go.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
DAMN.
i feel silly saying something felt off today, but it did. i read a chapter on death in "norwegian wood" and i couldn't sleep last night. i checked the time at 12:21pm and as soon as i went online at work there were CNN reports about his having been in the hospital. it was too weird. it really shocked me. i grew up with MJ. i always felt for him. he had such a tragic life. but he was so talented. i loved his music videos. i loved watching specials about him. it's crazy how many have grown up and been inspired by him.RIP MJ
PIKTURA
i had something important to say but i can't remember what it was, so i'll just leave you with these. i took the first and last. the rest by jeffrey:
Thursday, June 11, 2009
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