Thursday, July 31, 2008

Ana-back to basics.

Ready to be home

Almost there...almost there.
When I get there, I think I'll stay a while.

labneh...I'm will be too!

Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Different Faces


Night Brings Completion!

And yes...on Night 53 the book is...
(big sigh. bigger thanks.)
WOO HOO!!!!!

how to draw a labyrinth

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Art Day 53, Twilight


Art Day 53, Twilight
The Conceptualist

booooo....hoooo........Scrabulous Barred to North American Users

NEW DELHI — The Calcutta-based brothers who developed the popular online game Scrabulous bowed to legal pressure Tuesday and barred North American users from playing the game on facebook.

The software developers, Rajat and Jayant Aggarwalla, whose adaptation of the board game Scrabble attracts more than half a million players a day on Facebook, said they were forced to pull the game down from the popular social networking site after Facebook received legal notices from Hasbro.
read more at nytimes

I really, really love this bird.

rendered helpless

Monday, July 28, 2008

clean or dirty?

Different Faces


After Noon

In breath
Out breath

Something about the late afternoon light on those trees, especially that one, fills me. Today I read this: "...when a lot of things start going wrong all at once, it is to protect something big and lovely that is trying to get itself born. This something needs for you to be distracted so that it can be born as perfectly as possible."

Come Join Us!

$8 Tickets online or at the Door
Puchase Tickets Online at Frontgate Tickets

Musical Showcase and Visual Art Showcase Free!

Sunday, July 27, 2008

Different Faces


Edgar is a Liar

But he swears he made this video.

Liar. It was a vidresponse to this one by Gore.

But um ... yeah. So I was talking to my BFF in LA and she was all: "Yeah girl I finally made it to the beach last week. It's wild cuz it was the first time I'd been to the beach and normally I would have been to the beach a million times by this late in the summer. It's just really not been very warm here this summer. It was like 100 degrees all during the spring, but the summer ..."

Edgar says, "Hey. We been all over the damned country this summer (Sorry, Dakotas. next time.) and it's like the climate change shit is everywhere evidenced. Maybe it'll break into Night more. But Night is kind of a pussy so ... Yeah Night! Stay your ass in that gym so you can outrun them tsunami waves! Pussy."

Saturday, July 26, 2008

Almost Home

Night Contemplates Flight
Past & Present on Future + Humiliation/Joy
Art Year 1, Night 52
-The Linguist

Planted at ye olde Art Colony

Penz in the Florence Griswold Garden

Old Lyme, Connecticut
Night 52


when i was little, and i'd have sleep overs in my parents room (this just meant sleeping on the floor) (and i dont know why we did this), we'd say goodnight to each other, and my mom would always say "g'nite John Boy." It was part of a little routine we had going for a long time, though I never discovered who John Boy is.....

: )

Friday, July 25, 2008

When I was a kid I thought I might marry

Johnny Appleseed.
Or, Because he would probably
be kind of old and gross, maybe
I'd just be him when I grew up.
You know. But me. With apples and seeds.

Art Day 52, Twilight


Art Day 52, Twilight
The Conceptualist


being broke = : (
Do It Yourself = : )

Being Broke = Do it Yourself MORE!

infiniphonic's cousin

sempiternal \sem-pih-TUR-nuhl\, adjective: Of never ending duration; having beginning but no end; everlasting; endless.

Thursday, July 24, 2008

in case of emergency

Tonight I'm reading this:

don't bite me in the face.

Different Faces


Wednesday, July 23, 2008

So I Searched for Saint ...

...and all I got
was this bony handbag.

Materials: leather, horn, metal
Price: Don't even ask.

things to try in this lifetime

jumping from the high dive
scuba diving
baking a tart
speaking yoruba
making a pair of leather shoes
growing my hair out
writing with my left hand for an entire year
running a 5k
sailing lessons
(to be continued)

Different Faces

Mami Wata

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Area (Night) 51

Quiet on Comfort (Black & White)
-The Linguist

Different Faces


Monday, July 21, 2008

Art Day 51, Twilight

In the Darkness of Night

Art Day 51, Twilight
The Conceptualist
Rufino Tamayo. Women of Tehuantepec, 1939

Sunday, July 20, 2008

it's a thin line between......

_________and _________


The news is so crazy these days.....

Different Faces


Today, this is me. You?

Saturday, July 19, 2008

Sooo, I totally did this BEFORE I saw Scryptkeepers. I guess we are having some kind of special connection : )

Destination: Journey

Friday, July 18, 2008

"...I'll think you are my supper."

"The consensus is that if Holy Apostles is going out of business
anyway it might as well do some good before it does."
Night 50: ManicOrganic

something delicious

one of my favorite beaches, playa rincon

Different Faces

Quan Yin


The Night-Hag Visiting the Lapland Witches
c. 1796
Oil on canvas
40 x 49 3/4 in. (101.6 x 126.4 cm)
Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York

Thursday, July 17, 2008


The Moon
(for Anastacia)

Art Day 50, Twilight
The Conceptualist

one of my favorite fruits


from RobotsWillKill Graffiti Gallery

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

i wanna see you dance the_________


Call for Submissions: Graffiti
For: Hush, a Play in the Austin ArtSpark Festival
Deadline: July 22, 2008
Formats: .jpegs
How: by email,

Pënz readers everywhere!!!

Tag "Hush" somewhere in your city, your neighborhood, your body. Take a photo, send it in to

The photo will be posted on the website and will also serve as background to the upcoming production of the play, Hush, a production of the HBMG Foundation ArtSpark Festival.

Different Faces

Resurrecting Night.

First there was the flower.
One dying. One squeaking through
the birth canal. Bloody. Old and new.
The aroma was nothing to write home about.
But the bees came anyway. Petals grew.

Night Ressurrection

I've never been to see the bats.
It's quite possible that Austin has been famous for years.
Centuries or at least even decades and I've just missed it.
Caught in the undertow of imaginary East Coast / West Coast beefs.
Yankee snows and Lobster rolls and working hard to keep my service
to a minimum. Failing at least at that. Even southern stints missed
Texas much like I've missed those damned bats. But they're everywhere.
On the telly. In everyone's mouths. I don't hang with the crowd that asks
about the Longhorns last (successful? eh, who knows.) season. But I often
get asked about the bats. (eh, who knows)


Thank god this pastoral calm has me reading Bailey's Cafe. I've no idea how I've forgotten it. Perhaps when I first read it, it was in my sleep. I wonder how much of my life I've conducted in my sleep. Too much I assume. Waking up is painful. Creaky. And it seems sometimes, much to the consternation of those who would support me, that the universe has this pesky way of conspiring to keep me from reaching for my best self. Or at least, or perhaps, it simply demands that if I'm going to reach, I'd better reach hard and cover my face cuz it's throwing everything it's got at me.

If I'm gonna get to any sort of promised land, says god, you've got a helluva desert to cross. Fucking dilettant.


Sheeeeeit. That ain't me, says Universe. That's your own fucked up beliefs and road blocks. Remember? When you were sleeping? You're a helluva Mason in dreamland.

So yeah. A nomad. A yankee. A camel herding water follower. A restless wanderlust. A woman without a homeland or perhaps a few too many. But I recognize this kind of land when I see it. The blinking stop light. (Much like the one that almost took my life, the day after I received my drivers license. Flashcut to flashing lights: "Do you know your name?" "Hey! Girl! What's your name? What's the date? What's your phone number? Does your mother know where you are? Hey! Girl! Do you know your name? We're gonna get you outta here. Don't you worry." -- stop the jaws of life long enough to please "Please. Don't call my mom...")

Yeah. I know these blinking red lights. These soft, curving roads. These whispering trees. and insects. Ponds full of fish in the back yard. But isn't it all a bit of romantic gunk? Imaginary? I spent as much time as ever, which is never enough, in my father's back yard this month. About 2 days total. About 2 hours total. And then, again, the plane. the plane. the freaking planes. I hate to think it, but these days, when I remember the saying that flying is safer then driving I realize that I think they're referring only to people who actually drive more than they fly. I tell you. I've gotta drive more. Freaking gas prices.

Funny. Remember when $3.05/gall was like outrageously expensive? I think it was last week or the week before. Outrageous.

4.939 -- f u

Yes. That's what I saw in the desert. Actual "highway robbery" -- $4.93/gallon. Was that last week? Or the week after? Or yesterday? I can hardly keep track anymore.

But here. These Walden Pond fields, these morning roads, these turkey-filled forests, this is bringing me back to myself (note to Erica & Naomi: "Whatever that means!"). Thank heavens.

Everyone I love, gimme a minute. There's a shell breaking. It's not one of those shells that protects you before birth. It's more as one made of ice that collects because you're moving through fast through the high atmosphere. Cracking. Thawing.

Night resurrecting. Missing Penz is something I could hardly imagine doing. But has it been days or weeks? I remember somehow managing to be present with the art day in New York, even on some plane, one of the 2 dozen planes I've been on in the past couple of weeks. But then ... presence fell away in light of survival.

But no. Now. Here we are: Resurrecting Night. Filling up our moon belly. Art Day by Art Day, in these things I pray. Come along if you wanna; you don't even have to kneel. I've heard though, that sometimes it helps.