politics
The White House cancelled a literary symposium set for next month in Washington over fears it would become too politically-charged. see Poets Against the War
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artists
". . . Storey and Richards take up a unique position in Canadian research establishments. They will become artists-in-residence at two National Research Council facilities and in so doing will bring artistic sensibilities to the science . . ." Art does not reproduce what we see. Rather, it makes us see. - Paul Klee
I knew that it would soon be my turn. Choosing the right song seemed impossible until someone whispered "Morning Dew." Of course, it made perfect sense. "Morning Dew" by the South Korean folk singer Kim Min Gi has been the song of protest demonstrations in the South for decades: When sorrow collects in my heart bead by bead like morning dew finer than pearl between each leaf after a long, wakeful night, I climb the morning hill and attempt a small smile. The sun rises red over the graves. The midday heat must be my trial. Here I come, to that wild field. Here I come, leaving behind every sorrow. The New York Review of Books: A Visit to North Korea by Suki Kim :: comment :: . . . know the truth . . . whose truth . . . know that there are only many ways of seeing/being . . . give knowledge meaning . . . still i have a voracious appetite for the truth . . .
Cocurrent
there's two faced alienated witnesses living together in semi-permanent former bliss as long as each avoids the agreed. _____________________________________________________ Everyone cares if the balance of power shifts just don't read about it what is heard can be ignored Cared and have been caring and will continue to care to go forward when the snow melts "What are you looking at?" groans the scratched eye. Shout above the playing video. (Is that you talking?) This is my life what were you thinking when you embraced me . . . it meant something . . . You destroyed my life! (Who is speaking?) _________________________________________________________ Trying to take away the anger, the violence I am. Wrath wraps over central park hanging from steel gates. Visit the virtual mapblast and paint it red the geo-url bookmarked police storm the door a programmer is with us The skins crack dry "Don't touch" the terminal blinks. Irritated coughs scratch inside ble...
Barba
"When we start in our profession, our greatest dream is to till the soil of our craft, to cultivate its trees of knowledge and meet in a combat-embrace its familiar spirits as well as those spirits that invade it from remote corners of the globe. When we start, we hold a flame in our hands to cast light on a distant voice: our vocation. With the passing of the years our hands clutch ashes, and all of our energy and experience strain to keep alive the ember that still glows. We have not landed on the island of freedom. We have been swallowed up in the guts of the monster. Theatre is a monster that slyly suffocates our original necessity with habit, repetition, excuses, and dull weariness. Theatre simply becomes a job, a familiarity with a craft that has lost its magic, its ethos, its ideals. At suppertime we sit down and eat. At bedtime we yawn. We see a tree and we pick its fruit. Theatre survives and helps us to survive enveloped in a healthy fatalism of indifference and tepidity...
art
''Our art has absolutely no purpose, except to be a work of art,'' says Jeanne-Claude. ''We do not give messages.'' ''It is absolutely irrational,'' says Christo,... ( The New York Times ) "What, more than art, can make us fully human? And what, more than art, can lead us to understand how tempting and disastrous it is to lapse into inhumanity?" (The Spectator : Only art can make us human.)
Thorneycroft
In Martyrs Murder , a new series of photographs with an installation by Diana Thorneycroft, the artist examines mechanisms that lead to public acceptance of violence and cruelty
OBSERVATIONS AT THE INSOMNIA TOWER
historian Rhiannon is so exotic looking this morning painted eyes a dark blue shade of black and a lot of side long forbidden glances take her to the flats where the pubic stubble shows under the snow abandoned rail cars burning, smoldering smoked chinook trout or tanning hides or even chokecherry mixed with bear fat my life has been shaped by the petty rejections and stains of ejaculating on old carpets adoration and false worship observe the holy war justice demands our rights Y O U ' R E N O T P E R F E C T - is what the ego screams ______________________________________________________________________ I look up and shape the mouth to taste the hunger you're the face of love I like you ______________________________________________________________________ Did you say you were leaving in your sleep - can I overhear your dreams besides the pillow talk - forgive but how could I, I know exactly how I got there and when I die forgiving is a subtle act of unwanted mercy Y O U ...
Notley
No one cares if the world is a big fat America as long as we've got our windows windows windows. (Change immediate past) Suddenly everyone says they care and they have been caring, that would be an example of changing the past in order to go forward "Well that wasn't what I did because I didn't have a motive yet. I was waiting for disaster itself." ...[Alice Notley. Circorpse in disobedience ]