The Strange Beautiful

anchor4.jpgWhen I was young, I walked through a door that led to the street. I saw the sun as if for the first time—first of the sun, first time I could see, first I felt of heat on my skin. The thing that is strange about this memory is that I didn’t know where I was, but there was a sense of homecoming that was both brutal and wonderful. Brutality of home an enigmatic longing for a time and place that was lost. But I could feel home on my skin and it slowly sunk in deeper. Time expanded and other worlds survived, my skin revealed to me from below—as light under the bones. The sadness that accompanied those days has stayed with me and turned into many things—openness, exhaustion, despair, disappointment, disaster, and, finally, a peace that always disrepairs.

The Ghost Cities~ I had been searching for home, a place I would feel settled and connected, for the better part of my life. I grew up in Philadelphia, a place I always knew I would leave. I moved from there in my early 20s to the West Coast, to the city by the Bay, San Francisco. Over the 12 years I lived there, I saw the city change from one city into another, becoming shadows of itself. San Francisco, on its most substantial day, is a ghost. A ghostly presence occupying space near a stunning, golden Bay and on the cold shores of the unforgiving Pacific. The Pacific Ocean defines San Francisco in the way wind forms rock. Only the city is made of sand and smoke and brightly colored facades resembling houses. Read More...

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Literary & Arts Events, Conferences & Announcements

POETRY: Scroll down to see events: Poetry Project, Ugly Duckling Presse, Belladonna, Bowery Poetry Club Segue Series, First Tuesday's Reading Series, Tarpaulin Sky Press, Poets House

MUSIC: Luminescent Orchestrii

ART: Madame Talbot's New Posters


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Most people go to great lengths to conceal their prejudices, and I’m no exception. Bias, therefore, is often like some gastrointestinal disorder: The only evidence there is of it is an occasional noxious emission you try furiously to deny. But I’m going to confess a prejudice I have, because I am trying, with every ounce of open-mindedness and liberality I possess, to rise above it. Okay, here goes. I’ve always hated hipsters.

Photopo

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Chris Whitley, 1960-2005

RIP

Chris Whitley died Sunday, November 20, 2005, from lung cancer. Our condolences to all his friends and family - and our hearts in melancholy.

As I was watching an Of Montreal show in Los Angeles some months ago, I was inspired with a concept for a film. A space rock opera, wherein groovy interstellar musicians flew their astral bodies around distant solar systems in search of the Eternal Vibration that creates colorful harmonious orgies of reality.