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    Tuesday, July 26, 2005

    Original Willy Wonka Kids

    Look at the Original Wonkakids all grown up. How crazy is that!!!!! Charlies mustache is creeping me out, Veruca Salt should not look so I don't know 80's Barbie, and what is up with Augustus? You know you're dying to know what they're up to now. Poor Willy Wonka Kids all hit their hight points on this film, well high points as actors and actresses that is.

    Friday, July 22, 2005

    Lost 7

    breathing is a necessity, but you can try it in the comfort of your living room. behind a wall or a closed door. change the course of a breath by holding it, delaying its release for a few stolen seconds. an alteration, a blip in a pattern can sometimes trigger it all. can leave you gasping, gulping for air-fulls of oxygen, an expansion of lungs, a quickened heartbeat, a change in the every day mundane.

    Lost 6

    I would wear blue as well. sometimes I would mix my blues with browns and oranges. orange becoming the new blue. you could see me miles off. hips swinging. women have a low center of gravity. mine is somewhere near my knees.

    Lost 5

    stacks waiting for sifting through. a filing system is arbitrary and feels forced. things remembered can come hard and fast instead of in tabbed out quarters, parsed and worked into squared away edges. a wish for the neat and tidy.

    Lost 4

    moments, as in remembered.

    Lost 3

    the walls are layered. work like enclosures, corrals. a wide expanse of chopped up degrees. I can fit you in, maybe somewhere in sector 5—close but with uncomfortable moments.

    Lost 2

    your favorite sweater. the dark blue of wool, nubby and worn. the inside of my left arm imprinted with the weave. linked and locked for moments. passed off as past.


    You're lost to me. Now I'm just a floater something you might see out of the corner of your eye. The way the floater floats on the world, but lives somewhere inside. Floating there for about 15 seconds only to return in 10 months, 5 years, maybe 12. The walls are back, slathered in mortar not wood. Wood is breathable and bleeds.

    Thursday, July 21, 2005


    June 004
    Originally uploaded by kris497.

    I just typed my blogger login at least 6 times before I got it right. It's been one of those weeks.

    This is the Utah sky in June. I miss fluffy clouds and thunderstorms. I miss the blue, I've almost forgotten that the sky is blue, I can't see anything past the fog here. Everything is misted over.

    Snippets of overheard conversation:
    "There was so much I wanted to show you"

    "Doesn't someone miss you"

    "The reason above all reasons..." hushed whispers ensue

    I think maybe I've just been listening too hard to the background noise in coffee shops, but for some reason I felt compelled to record those snippets. I think they'll be useful at some point.

    Monday, July 11, 2005

    your arms full of lullabies, orchids and wine

    hot socks

    sweet santa claus

    top heavy with IT

    If you're curious and I know you are check out IT.

    I have 2 poems up at 42opus. You should read them.

    Wednesday, July 06, 2005


    Half-sies NY Eve 2003
    Originally uploaded by kris497.

    Half-sies from Chicago. I think it fits nicely with the notes on remembering. Half notes, with half thoughts, half remembered and half finished.

    Notes I remembered upon returning

    Chicago SOS

    1. Irving Park/Ravenswood
    More of a look, a time of day, the way ginger ale turns
    yellow at dusk on the patio behind Café 28

    The whooshing rumble
    our elevated train-so many feet above.

    My calves tip a bit,
    jolt jolt.
    But you expect it to be so
    and lift in anticipation.

    2. Wacker

    Your French connection picture
    blurry and abounding with details.
    The movement, propelled forward.

    I can see sounds, know them well
    can hear:
    Taxi cab yellow, dashboard gleam

    3. Clark

    Why would you insist on walking it,
    taking buses crumbled with dirt,
    crevices hinged on skin cells.

    I told you this is a driving kind of town
    you knew but didn’t care. The middle of the country
    sleeps inhaling oil fumes,
    you are west coast and took them in in gulps.

    I prefer the slow silent kind,
    the kind taken through tempered glass

    4. Adams/Wabash
    Ivan’s door seemed real enough to open—
    quite large a decade of pain and preparation.

    Ivan hidden
    on the floor that doesn’t quite
    match up, The new wing, the un-blending.
    Architecture un-aligned, un-matched, yet workable.

    You get to flank
    the next gallery, severely nodding.
    Would you have stopped and stood looking
    had I not taken you
    palm to palm to his feet?
  • Occasional Work & 7 Walks from the Office for Soft Architecture,Lisa Robertson
  • Observatory Mansions, Edward Carey
  • Siste Viator,Sarah Manguso
  • Point and Line, Thalia Field
  • 1913,issue 2
  • JetSetReady
  • Book Blog
  • Kid Sorrow
  • 14 Hills
  • Other Voices 2008 Younger Poets Anthology
  • Poe25{cent}em
  • sidebrow
  • eleven eleven {11 11}
  • New San Francisco Writing
  • Canwehaveourballback?
  • 42opus
  • Identity Theory
  • TellTaleHeart
  • Bri's Hub
  • Broke Robot
  • Musings from the God of Cities
  • Dinosaur Comics
  • Strong Bad
  • Rejected
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