Human history is riddled with cursed repetitions, but goddamnit the unabashed presence of nazi white-supremacists who claim also to be patriotic Americans is as anathema as it is indefensible. It’s been less than 60 years since the Civil Rights movement; less than 80 since WWII— the atrocities of which are tattooed on the flesh, stitched… Continue reading Cowardly acts of fragile men
This morning I woke to find a black bird walking around in my kitchen. When I walked in, she startled and flew smack into the window a couple of times. I opened a screen for her, but she flew into the living room and affixed herself to a screen before I got another one open… Continue reading The bird in my kitchen, and other prophecies
You guys, let me tell you that life in the Big City is just one crazy adventure after another, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Why, this very afternoon, some crazy, impromptu shit went down! Or rather, came down, I should say. I was weekend-chillin’ in my apartment when I heard an alarming sound… Continue reading Life in the city is a nonstop #adventure!
Here are some images from a few months ago that I came across recently. Serene, the bright kind of overcast with a fine mist or drizzle. It’s a lovely thing to wander through neighborhoods I’ve wandered so many times before and see something in a way I never noticed before; or, literally, in new light.… Continue reading From a stroll on an overcast day in early spring
An unaccustomed sunlight filled the train car, formed faint prisms on the large windows where some chemical detergent hadn’t rinsed clean away. The scenes blurring past through the glass were all familiar for their mundane repetition along the eastern seaboard. Sometimes rows of identical houses, sometimes the iron tangle of abandoned industry. Occasionally the sleek… Continue reading Some thoughts from April in Baltimore
Here are the days— Heat, haze on the horizon like a matte painting, wavering This part of summer finds me un-hungry. I have no appetite. My desires simplified, bleached like the half-shells of bi-valves, left hollow on the sand. The sounds of waves, shrieking gulls, soft wind— And the gradual granular erosion of my skin,… Continue reading From here I can see the curve of of the earth
People disappear Sometimes all of a sudden without warning. Sometimes gradually like sunset on the longest day of the year, or how long it takes some trees to become naked in the face of oncoming winter. One way is like hitting a brick wall. The other is more torturous. An ongoing awareness tracing the slow… Continue reading Leave(s)
The morning, bright and grey, has brought that soft, all-day rain peculiar to certain regions, like here. Neither dire nor gloomy; gentle patterings on the sill And out the streetside window— Wet roads that sound like crushed velvet or old dresses, piled flat in a secondhand store. No slantwise wind or biting air Just a fine steady… Continue reading A Spring rain, soon forgotten
Monica Forsythe wrote an an article on Medium regarding my visiting artist talk for UMBC at the Spark Gallery during the Light City Festival in Baltimore. I'm honored and gratified to have made such an impression. It was a curious and enlightening endeavor. The preparation for the talk took me backwards through time, and reminded me where… Continue reading Luck is a residual of preparation: visiting artist talk
An outboard motor, its rotors dull and pitted, hangs from a century-old beam among the rafters. The darkness up there would be forbidding, were it not for the string of lights ‘round the mirror Which smudged reflection is filled with faces, flickering in shadows Of candles and various states of inebriation. The man behind the… Continue reading From the archive: an outboard motor and a few lines
e daggar art: THE MUSEUM 