- Published on Monday, 22 December 2014 19:08
(A found poem based on his last blog post, written the day before he died)
by Josh Medsker
Through articles, books,
I admired film.
Now, I am the universal film,
Some part critic,
some… part of a...
Now I will be able to
be me, or you…
or a film, brilliant and
Thank you all,
- Published on Thursday, 11 December 2014 21:23
by Daniella Michaels
- Published on Tuesday, 11 November 2014 17:54
Our second Scale film, from Adam1 Leibowitz
Scales Film Project
To present a coordinated study of the inspiration of limitations, the relationship between sound and image, and the process of interpretation. To encourage experimentation with the audio/visual medium through a guided challenge, and the chance to share the results of ones work.
1. Each film must be set to the progress of a musical scale
2. Each film must be between 8 seconds and 8 minutes long
3. Each change of note must coincide with a significant change in the film
- Published on Tuesday, 25 November 2014 16:57
by George Zamalea
A DOG NAMED 'EVER-AGAIN' RUNS AWAY
I saw the eyes of 'Ever-Again' as I was
Passing in front of C.'s house,
Colorless and deep, against the morning of May
Looking left and right, with unwished waves,
A dog named 'Ever-Again', his woeful
Task remains, who runs away.
Arousing at length my curiosities, innocently
Of course, while at the same time,
My heart designed to live, learning
He was dying, and 'Ever-Again', who went
To C.'s house, and who starts dying there,
And the people from C.'s house have known him
For none of these gentlemen dared,
Or, busy as they were, took time to think
For a moment about 'Ever-Again', who went back and forth
To C.'s house, and who was already
Dead; everybody was astonished at
How this happened to ‘Ever-Again'.
THE RAT AND THE MONKEY
I did what the regular
Jupiter has done with the rat
And the monkey, said the useless
Brawnier under the stigmatic era, eaten them by tail,
Where the men and women are just unbreastless
In the growing whirl of useless love.
He brings the rat to the lab
And the monkey to the cage.
Rat looks at him: "Miserable! Bizarre sin!
I'm the monkey when beauty's genius
And the carnality of the franks does not have
The vigor of fire and of the night caravan.
I'm supposed to be there, where the fragrance
Of the lustful hole whose darkness
Has no respect for living, the shape
Of the moon with windowless witches!"
"You are, beast! You must be there.
And you will find it easier
Between anxious coition and the odorous
Crepitation of such wedding sense
Of being smart with lovely thing, that each
Coffin will send the same belly of such answer."
Monkey, jumping over stove and stove,
Then with the high gas behind him and passion
Written against the wall, finds his words
At last, “I’m the rat! The oozing blaze
Where the public decomposition beats down
My grass that voluptuous lips kiss
Whose freak sounds grimace along their pleasure.
I’m the rat, tomorrow or ever, and I’m supposed
To be here.”
“You are not! You must be there.”
And between the liquid of living and thirsty love,
The honey-bee sweeps over and the quaver
Madness dredged from his eyes strangely. “If you
Ought to be there, then beat it! Bring me
The reason sculpted by rapturous heart
And push then the peaceful misgiving of this last call
Made from hell!”
THEY KILLED HIM RUNNING
They killed him running
Naked down the street
When a man next to me asked what
I thought to answer until
The sun obscured me without slashing
The last words, and I thought
I was still sleeping
With joined hands and muscles
In front of a leading mass.
I am still thinking. Can I answer
Him as a teacher to a student
In a restless room with the dreamy dreams
That were once a part
Of the hunting? Of course I should.
I closed my broken mouth
And put a hand on his shoulder:
Can you feel me? The whole body
Shaken and I know he got the message.
- Published on Thursday, 06 November 2014 15:35
by Ben Nardolilli
A code is tabled up in the sky that we live out,
Bright suns of night mixed with the stretches
Of days which only shadows occupy,
Against the brick walls we rest or plot or scream
In accordance with the symbolism that drifts
Over the cracked horizon of our buildings’ decline.
Certain days we find full support and open streets,
With doors that are capable of moving aside
Through the expert notions of our knives,
Red reigns violently and we pay tribute with kicks
And slammed trashcans rolling in the alleys,
The moon then contributes its neon to our delinquency.
Sky, save us from the lull which brings stagnation,
Drags us coughing down the sidewalks
And across privately owned panels of hardwood,
Whatever is up there signaling, break the code
To keep the lights burning for each hour,
All the lightning you can manage for us, send it down.
Trying to make something out of this moonlight,
Since the orb produces no music like a speaker,
I find blue seas, fallen skies, atmospheres
Down on their luck and pending for a renewal,
I notice a halo and see a face in between
The trees unable to show its features over branches.
All I can offer is a knot that bends into itself,
In love with its own dark complications,
A composition reaching out for illusions of space
But really just making more loops for itself
To keep whatever spirit it possesses
From leaking out through the grand gutter ahead.
Planes of movement are closed off bus routes
Are being carved out of the darkness,
The pearl in the sky gives off enough of a glare
To show me where the sidewalks begin
And where there are spaces to walk with no cars
Trying to shake the asphalt under me into pieces.
Days of Morning
We lay our ribcages down side
By side and stare up at the ceiling,
Like ships docked in place,
We are ready to receive the cargo
Of a new day which cracks a dawn
Across the eggshell white
Maximum height of the shared room,
One day we may call this a cell
Look, but more importantly, listen,
I treat my time with you as a donation
Towards a more permanent union
And an American lung association.