So, I moved. I’m now living alone in a small building (not really a house) in the country about thirteen miles out of town. The full impact of my decision hasn’t really hit me yet I don’t think.
The building is small. It was an old country store. I’ve had a runny nose since I moved in. There are sounds at night and the cement floors and white washed brick walls are perpetually cold. I hear horses and cows at night and during the day.
The experience of time here is far more plastic than in town. On Broadway time is something you try to ignore while here the hours are easy and pleasant to sit through. I’ve started crocheting a blanket which I expect to be finished with by my birthday.
The days are bright and the darks are dark. Very dark. Nights here are a little darker than I’d prefer I think. And the little noises are… troubling. But, I have solid doors. One with a fat dead bolt and another with big thick metal bars that I have to pick up and stick over it like a castle door or something.
I’m situated pretty near the local NPR radio tower. So the radio is clear all day which is good because as far as being connected to the world is concerned I don’t have WiFi and my phone’s data plan is limited at best. I haven’t look at tumblr or twitter in a while. Which is a shame, maybe. But I guess I’ll have lots of comics to read when I come back.
And now I am tired. I’ll post some photos tomorrow. -j
All my friends are here.
“Love Poems for Nobody”, xerox poetry zine
finally finished my free illustrated poetry zine, if you want a copy let me knowww
Joseph Beuys, How to Explain Pictures to a Dead Hare, 1965
One of the artist’s most famous performances, Beuys covered his head first with honey, and then with fifty dollars worth of gold leaf. He cradles a dead hare in his arms, and strapped an iron plate to the bottom of his right shoe. Viewed from behind glass in the gallery, the audience could see Beuys walking from drawing to drawing, quietly whispering in the dead rabbit’s ear. As he walked around the room, the silence was pierced by intermittent sound of his footsteps; the loud crack of the iron on the floor, and the soundless whisper of the sole of shoe. (via)
i think about this a lot