Friday, November 27, 2009

Friday, November 27, 2009: Ffffound! Madame Herve: behind the curtains: Tilda's Advent


The cursor ascends the screen
without prompting from my finger.

A Ouija board indicator, it floats
up, a white pennant raised by pulleys

off screen. This is evidence of
the magic buried inside the little

that we perceive, and call life.
The cursor hits the ceiling

of the monitor, bumps its point
on the edge of the screen.

I touch it with a pointed finger,
pluck it from the monitor

and hold it between thumb
and index finger. The edges

are sharp. Still it lies on the table,
unable to breathe the undigital air,

pointing with no reason, an arrow
irretrievably jettisoned, aimless.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Wednesday, November 25, 2009: The Library of Congress on Flickr (via the Flickr blog)


Distance can be condensed,

so that it lies flat as paper
on paper.

Gaping cathedrals, their ceilings
like flipped-

over, suspended pirate ships.

hills and lonely orchards.

leading up or down,
the faint

edge of land across
the lake.

Immensities yield to the page,

hands tacking them onto

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Tuesday, November 24, 2009: Notcot #26456

The Dash

Like windows into the core of meaning,
gauges throw their needles' weight
on numbered pinpricks. To indicate
a change in speed, a car's careening

from trot to gallop, the pointer lifts
an inch or two. The engine shrieks
within the efficiency of its physique,
and still, the needle barely shifts.

Scarce as a body's slump into sleep,
change comes. To quantify
the present, we need a contraption, an eye
that registers physics. The car is a heap

of motorized gears. We were built
of miscalculation, the earth's tilt.

Monday, November 23, 2009

Monday, November 23, 2009: Ffffound! Quoted from: tumblr_kt4zhrIETb1qapnito1_500.jpg

The Drive

I drive past four car accidents
in half an hour. Blue, red, yellow
light tumbles through my car
with the trajectory of a soaring
soccer ball. I drive slowly, I do,
the car's gait laced with caution
and avoidance. At arm's length
from the disaster, this is where
I try to hold myself, upright
and singing along with voices
propelling from the spinning disc
in the dash. Onward without plan,
I assign the memory part of my brain
to get me home, to reel me in
one car length at a time.

Friday, November 20, 2009

Friday, November 19, 2009: Ffffound! Quoted from: Lovely Package


If I am here,
I am not elsewhere.

For every
one of of my actions,

there are
a staggering amount

of verbs
I have not used.

This is the
trouble with one foot

in front of
the other. If we illuminated

all the paths
I have not surveyed, surely

the map would
blind me, this cardiovascular

system begging
to carry blood, air, a body.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Thursday, November 19, 2009: Polaroid Vase by Jung Hwajin

Some Things Are Irreversible

Faces seared
onto a Polaroid,
looking out
from the white sill
always will.

The brocade
of scar on skin,
an embossing
of pain.

The crease
in the corner
of a page,
formed in
an instant:

Recall a moment
by these marks.
Return to them,
these asterisks
signifying the pretense
of permanence.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Wednesday, November 18, 2009: Notcot 26344


The mouth is a sock puppet inside the skull.
It peers out between hedges of teeth.

Your voice is the hand, the puppet's backbone.
The mouth is a channel for sound,

and sound evacuates all manner of meaning.
Throat, jaw, lips, teeth, these are

the mouth, stacked and intrinsically harmonious.
The mouth, a member of phylum

chordata, a small room out of which ideas take wing
like passenger pigeons released.

Monday, November 16, 2009

Monday, November 16, 2009: Tim O'Brien at Drawger

The Zoo

A city needs a zoo.
We need to see animals in natural,
simulated habitats.

At the zoo, they are grouped
into neighborhoods, continents.

We gawk at their eyes,
the giraffe's canopy of black lashes,
the elephant's fatigued Bakelite.

The zoo employees are dressed
for safari, in rumped khaki.

The animals feel quite
comfortable, of this we are certain.
They still roar and shriek,

trill and grunt. They eat
their favourite foods at the zoo.

When we leave, we hope
to carry in us something of
their fierceness, their unruliness,

but often, I think of how far
from home they are and will always be.

Friday, November 13, 2009

Friday, November 13, 2009: Ffffound! Quoted from: Kenichi Hoshine--BOOOOOOOM!

The ocean's surface mirrors mountains.
A still body of water is a night sky
pulled tight as a fitted sheet.

A felled tree lies end up,
a heap of thumbprinted stump
and mangled roots,
a crumpled hand.

Landscape is reiteration, duplication,
at least in the human eye.

All nature is pattern reaching for itself,
and so is this,
so is this.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Wednesday, November 11, 2009: Materialicious--Book Sconce


(Under, beneath,
in binding and on page.
In the bandage of
the binding, the glue
in the shredded canvas.
Meaning wells up
and finds hidden channels
to course through.
And all of this under,
the being of the book
when it is closed.)

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Tuesday, November 10, 2009: Ffffound! Quoted from: Tumblr

Today everything I notice is in contrast.
Orange leaves against the wet, grey street,

bright as parrot feathers.
The fog on my back windshield

dissolving into colourless stripes.
Hydrangeas blue as bruises

lingering next to brick.
The lack of people in the market

and the throngs of cars creeping
along their narrow lanes.

The muffled noises of night
inside other people's apartments--

a squawking television set,
the pulse of the washing machine

next door, an elevator's whir.
And of course, as I bring water

to my face to wash from it
the day's unseen debris,

the knowledge that tomorrow
is poised to sort shadow from glare.

Monday, November 9, 2009

Monday, November 9, 2009: Achraf Kassioui via Notcot

How to Read Instructions

Match the pieces to their images.
Count them, the fittings and the tools
with which to fit them.

Match the number of parts
to the number of parts listed on the page.

Lay out all the materials,
reserving a you-shaped spot amongst them.

These directions are in
another language. Search
for your mother tongue in the instructions.

Look for any image
to dangle from, a caption
or a warning of a product's dangers.

Assembly can be hazardous.
Take up any two metal fragments,

press them into one another.
Fasten that onto one of the rough-edged

boards. Lose the Allen wrench
in the plush of the carpet, but fear
not, there are six Allen wrenches,

seven if you count the one lolling
in the bottom of the box like a penny
in a parking meter.

When there are no more parts to join
or misplace, look at the picture
on the front of the box

and ask yourself, what in the world
have you made?

Friday, November 6, 2009

Friday, November 5, 2009: Notcot #26043


Candy-coloured building blocks drop from the sky.
I am the builder. It’s my job to pull them into
Even lines, not to stop their falling, but
To ease them into waiting spaces. There’s music, too,
To contend with. It sets a pace, or maybe I do.
The blocks flutter down like confetti, Rubik’s cube shrapnel,
So I breathe and gather myself. There’s work to be done here.

Thursday, November 5, 2009

Thursday, November 4, 2009: Ffffound! Quoted from: Studio Home Creative: Once upon a time…

Spiders make a web because they must.
They do not hang there ominously
In hopes of frightening you.

Nor do they want to socialize with you.
They pull the thread from themselves
Without unraveling, and choose

Branches or railings or wires as a frame.
Do not fear this weaving, their textile
Equal parts hole and seam.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Tuesday, November 3, 2009: Ffffound! Quoted from Flickr Photo Download: las vidas en las casas

Pull the wool
from your body,
arms up and over the head.

Tug from the shoulders,
the upper arms.
The sweater crackles like fire,

grips at your face,
your cheekbones and nose.
Strands of your hair are weightless

as the looped yarn
runs fingers along
the smooth, dark tresses.

All this friction,
All this static,
and still we put it on

and shrug it off
in fear of the chills
that can clasp our human skin.

Monday, November 2, 2009

Monday, November 2, 2009: Quoted from: Design *Sponge


Growing stealthily, evergreens
produce new needles at their tips, their edges.

They stretch and grow, by adding inches, limbs.
Or practice subtraction, dropping handfuls of needles,

like piles of pick-up sticks. Because we see
no change, no baring of arms, no traffic light's

rendition of time and movement (green, yellow,
red), we say yes, evergreen,

perpetually lush, already grown,
still growing, though not apparently.
The Storialist. All rights reserved. © Maira Gall.