lebuc-reblogs

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hey boss i can't come in today it's a sunny day and there's a lovely breeze coming in through my window, yeah it's rustling the branches of the tree outside that's finally bloomed so it's pretty serious

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when days drift to tomorrows and memories finally fade when every corner doesn’t become a chance to run into you…again after a lifetime of days longing for just that one day i’ll be free to be me once more if only i could remember what for

forgetting you  is what i fail at the most

and the years roll by

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searching for the night in the moonlight

breaking off our share of the vast obsidian glass sky

held up by a floating sheet of cardboard

firm, edges papercut sharp

no fear of failing flight

we are freeing the stars

& they are turning, burning away

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Another year, another group of my delightful ninth graders trying to spell the word "tragedy" for their Romeo and Juliet assignment.

Last year's collection

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Osijek, Croatia.

Leaf art by Nicola Faller of Slama Art project.

August 2021.

(source)

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[Writing] is a solitary independent activity in which practice can never bestow seniority. Fortunately anyone can take up the activity. Whatever the motives, […] the writing becomes as soon as I begin, a struggle to give meaning to experience. Every profession has limits to its competence, but also its own territory. Writing, as I know it, has no territory of its own. The act of writing is nothing except the act of approaching the experience written about; just as, hopefully, the act of reading the written text is a comparable act of approach.

To approach experience, however, is not like approaching a house. Experience is indivisible and continuous, at least with a single lifetime and perhaps over many lifetimes. I never have the impression that my experience is entirely my own, and it often seems to me that it preceded me. In any case experience folds upon itself, refers backwards and forwards to itself through the referents of hope and fear; and, by the use of metaphor which is at the origin of language, it is continually comparing like with unlike, what is small with what is large, what is near with what is distant. And so the act of approaching a given moment of experience involves both scrutiny (closeness) and the capacity to connect (distance). The movement of writing resembles that of a shuttlecock: repeatedly it approaches and withdraws, closes in and takes its distance. Unlike a shuttlecock, however, it is not fixed to a static frame. As the movement of writing repeats itself, its nearness to, its intimacy with the experience increases. Finally, if one is fortunate, meaning is the fruit of this intimacy.

John Berger, from “The Storyteller,” Landscapes: John Berger on Art (Verso, 2016)

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Roses are red, that much is true, but violets are purple, not fucking blue.

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Music Terminology

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Flight At First Light

There’s a dream which I’ll get to in a minute.

In the meantime listen to this song. It’s audible if you quiet your mind. Your breathing. Your heart. Unwind what can be unwound. Rewind. It’s a red, satin ribbon fluttering in the wind. A curtain is drawn. An audience is seated. There’s nervous tension in the pit– musicians are brought to attention. I’ll be speaking of the dream

momentarily. Close you eyes. Pay attention. Focus on something, like the birth of a storm. It’s been gathering potency after it spawned, like the rumble of a bank of twenty timpanis. Tonight, you are the conductor of your dream. Unsheathe your baton. Let everyone admire at it. This is your song. This is your chance to unfurl your wings. Take a breath. Run into the oncoming wind. Go on

& soar.

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summer on the breeze for one last dance, a tickling warmth receding

as though she travels back and forth until it’s finally time;

autumn begins to play — a rallentando,

to fermata, falling leaves, poco a poco with the rain,

piano like the clouds, with rubato, waves of the sea to the shore.

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Zevengebergte   -  Jeroen Henneman, 1991

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Textile Wall Art // Pan Cukierek

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My latest @guardian books cartoon.

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Food scarcity is a construct we need to destroy.

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“Scare the world: Be exactly who you say you are and tell the truth.”

— The Shock of Honesty

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Yeah quiet quitting is great and all but have you tried chaotic working?

Like. I remember back in my grocery store cashier days I did so much crazy shit.

When WIC (Women, infants, and children voucher program to help low income mothers/families with children) people were in my line I would pretty much know who they were. Before the cards they had to tell us upfront they were WIC and show us their vouchers for what they were allowed to get (it was awful some times. Like. 2 gallons of milk. $4 worth of vegetables etc etc). They’d always have items hanging back, waiting to see what the total was and if they would have to take it off the belt.

I began to place the fruits/vegetables a certain way on the register scale so that like 1/2lbs of grapes read as like .28lbs or something. Then act shocked when I said that they still had X amount of lbs left. They got all their fruit and vegetables.

I think it started to kinda? Catch on to the women? Because I would have the same moms in my line month after month. And even after they switched to the cards (they worked like food stamp cards?) I’d still do the same thing. They were able to get more produce for whatever shitty max amount Indiana gave them.

Anyways. Be chaotic. It’s more fun that way.