tangled through her hair

into the woods

2011-11-06T01:03:00.000-05:00

i documented some lovely little sisters today...

family snapshots 1980

2011-10-30T20:17:00.002-05:00

Pretty Baby 1978

2010-12-11T12:56:00.005-06:00

Belle de Jour 1967

2010-11-27T22:41:00.001-06:00

Valerie and Her Week of Wonders 1970

2010-11-25T11:48:00.002-06:00

Picnic at Hanging Rock 1975

2010-11-23T19:54:00.004-06:00

2010-10-24T23:24:00.002-05:00

An insect slips her legs beneath the bedroom door,

Her head follows, quite discreetly.

Larger insects slink behind her,

Tilting heads and curling legs,

consuming one another.

2010-09-20T15:05:00.001-05:00

the night, with her moon
darkness, stars and fantasy
phase beyond the dawn

Luis Ricardo Falero 1851-1896

2010-09-20T14:51:00.004-05:00


The Departure of the Witches, 1878

Reclining Nude, 1879

Orient, ca. 1896

The Balance of the Zodiac

Moonlight Beauties, ca. 1880

Francesca Woodman

2010-09-12T18:40:00.001-05:00

denton texas

2010-08-26T12:11:00.010-05:00

photographed summer 2009 - summer 2010

John William Waterhouse 6 April 1849 — 10 February 1917

2010-08-25T23:09:00.007-05:00

John Cassavetes

2010-08-25T22:32:00.007-05:00

A Child is Waiting 1963

A Woman Under the Influence 1974

Opening Night 1977

Shadows 1959

Faces 1968

summer sweat

2010-08-24T00:36:00.004-05:00

late-summer sweat,
stuck to legs
and leftover from july

the ants,
still marching
and breathing
and burning
and dying

splinters and nails,
bitten with tender
emotion
and ravaged
denial

and heat
and waves

waves of mosquitos
and waves of wonder
and waves of thinking
too much thinking

waves of breathing,
one breath
then two
then over again

sweaty hands,
soothing sweaty hearts
and wishing of waves
waves and waves
and waves

waves of summer sweat

anna karina

2009-08-31T16:46:00.007-05:00

sky-born things

2009-08-21T22:54:00.011-05:00

and the sun settles into heavy trees
the tall dead flowers, neatly-lined,
submerge in moonlight

orange and pink petals shift
and long elegant leaves
clutch one another

gravel sinks into warm tires
while night expands
and cats begin an evil roam

glowing eyes sweep like shimmers
shot from sky-born things
through sidewalks and mirrors,
parking spaces and telephone lines
and lastly,
my window

tiny things

2009-08-07T13:26:00.006-05:00

the end of july

feels different than the start
it breathes like me
smells like me
was not me
is not me

tiny things
grew and grew
and fell
so far

days would end
and show so soon

feeling things
wanting things
being things

it's not the same
but i'll always have
august and september

this black morning

2009-08-07T13:23:00.034-05:00

this black morning

became my incision

it cut me like

your lips pressed

to the telephone

and

your

eyes

inside

my skull

this black morning

spun to rusted gold

and

hair

beneath

your grasp

it sliced

my anxious

silly ears

and will not

let me alone

stuck

2009-08-07T13:21:00.007-05:00

i am quite

aromatic today

it must be

the potpourri

in my tea

or the rose

between my toes

or,

perhaps

the ginger

stuck between

my teeth

pockets

2009-08-07T13:17:00.005-05:00

just beneath

the black corduroy lining

tightly to my breast,

late november feelings

thrust

into your mouth

and fade within

a warm nest of night

my tongue is raw,

skin cracking,

hair unwinding

and

affection placed

inside my pockets

foul broken words

fleeting,

spitting through my ears,

creeping up my throat,

disintegrate behind my eyes

with more little things

that swell and flood

turn your head

2009-08-07T13:14:00.002-05:00

spinning wheel
of death and time

i haven't spirit
for mundane things

my eyes are closed
to you i scream

endless nights
and deeper dreams

whisper quickly
in my ear

whisper gently
so they may hear

reach your hand
through my eye

spin the wheel
and turn your head

flux

2009-08-03T18:38:00.009-05:00

inside the flux
of this thing
between you and me
there is a violent bird
dangling from her wings

time bandits vintage spring 2009

2009-02-17T14:59:00.032-06:00

Photographs: Jasmyne Rose
Styling: Time Bandits
Hair: JoshaA
Makeup: Susie and JoshaA
Models: Alison, Rachel and Susie

jasmyne rose photography

JoshaA, me, Rachel, Alison, Lisa and David

open your mouth

2009-02-07T20:38:00.012-06:00

dreams are down, falling
into nearby dimensions

surrendering to phone lines,
electric cords and
open mouths.

drinks.

2009-02-01T17:12:00.010-06:00

magical beast.

2009-01-30T16:09:00.010-06:00

Creatures of the world's deepest forests and jungles,
the unicorns are among the most noble and beautiful.
They are guardians of the wood and glen,
high spirited and even aggressive in their mating battles.
Their white fur and silver hooves and horns mark unicorns
as highly spiritual beings linked to the light of the Moon.
As such, they are both Earthy and Watery in their energy.
Notoriously shy of humans and wary of predators,
it is said they can only be tamed by virgins.

splitting the sky.

2009-01-30T08:27:00.013-06:00

her body, a quilt
binding the night.

glistening,
tender cheeks,
splitting the sky.

she was
here.

until now.

treating myself.

2009-01-28T23:23:00.018-06:00

time is expired, inside
this new

progressive room.

and kneeling down,
spinning my head

biting the lip, treating
myself.

sweet and dirty.

2009-01-20T23:16:00.009-06:00

extracted from night.

2009-01-13T15:34:00.021-06:00

a pair of petals, extracted
from night

supple pink, delicate
and drooling

dreaming,
scheming.

save the tiger.

2009-01-13T09:29:00.013-06:00

intricate moods

2009-01-10T18:40:00.020-06:00

sparse, sudden

afternoon

coldly flattens

intricate moods

and

washes morning

with spit and brushes

into spats

of color

and

vibrant end.

disconnect.

2008-12-18T01:22:00.015-06:00

spread, open

sliced between

your wall

my detriment

breathless,

disconnect

ravaged, skin

face to face

tonight,

again

into this.

2008-12-16T10:43:00.008-06:00

sunken, tightly

atop a sheet

drowned, nicely

inward my exterior

base appetite,

heaving

into this.

sea sensations

2008-12-15T15:50:00.007-06:00

(Gustav Klimt)

The Mermaid
Who would be
A mermaid fair,
Singing alone,
Combing her hair
Under the sea,
In a golden curl
With a comb of pearl,
On a throne?

II.
I would be a mermaid fair;
I would sing to myself the whole of the day;
With a comb of pearl I would comb my hair;
And still as I comb’d I would sing and say,
“Who is it loves me? who loves not me?”
I would comb my hair till my ringlets would fall,
Low adown, low adown,
From under my starry sea-bud crown
Low adown and around,
And I should look like a fountain of gold
Springing alone
With a shrill inner sound,
Over the throne
In the midst of the hall;
Till that great sea-snake under the sea
From his coiled sleeps in the central deeps
Would slowly trail himself sevenfold
Round the hall where I sate, and look in at the gate
With his large calm eyes for the love of me.
And all the mermen under the sea
Would feel their immortality
Die in their hearts for the love of me.

(Edmund Dulac)

III.

But at night I would wander away, away,
I would fling on each side my low-flowing locks,
And lightly vault from the throne and play
With the mermen in and out of the rocks;
We would run to and fro, and hide and seek,
On the broad sea-wolds in the crimson shells,
Whose silvery spikes are nighest the sea.
But if any came near I would call, and shriek,
And adown the steep like a wave I would leap
From the diamond-ledges that jut from the dells;
For I would not be kiss'd by all who would list,
Of the bold merry mermen under the sea;
They would sue me, and woo me, and flatter me,
In the purple twilights under the sea;
But the king of them all would carry me,
Woo me, and win me, and marry me,
In the branching jaspers under the sea;
Then all the dry pied things that be
In the hueless mosses under the sea
Would curl round my silver feet silently,
All looking up for the love of me.
And if I should carol aloud, from aloft
All things that are forked, and horned, and soft
Would lean out from the hollow sphere of the sea,
All looking down for the love of me.

~Tennyson

roses and gushing vines, escaping

2008-12-09T15:47:00.012-06:00

the wind blew her hair
as romantically
as wind
can blow anything.

blankets
billow
below
her legs.

visciously.

tenderly.

tragically.

spouts and hoses
roses and gushing
vines, escaping
her forever,
never-ending,
eternal
dreams
of absolutely
nothing
interesting
at all.

a presentation of fascination

2008-12-01T00:35:00.010-06:00

she presents

her thoughts

to love

and independent,

haughty terms.

evening sinks

and ends.

determination.

cancellation.

fascination.

her fingers bond

to something new.

breathing steeps

inside her chest.

a scream unveils

her absent mouth.

what is the fare to wonderland?

2008-11-30T23:55:00.002-06:00

What is the way to Wonderland?
This is the way for you!
Can we get there by candle-light?
Yes!- and by daylight too!

What do you want in Wonderland?
Everything fine and fair,
Pictures to look at and rhymes to read
Children- you'll find them there.

What is the fare to Wonderland?
What shall we have to pay?
Only a smile for the happy rhymes,
A laugh for the pictures gay!

In Wonderland, in Wonderland,
Where tops grow on a tree,
Where picture-books, when anyone looks,
Say, "Please to open me!"

~Ernest Nister

russian grapefruit juice

2008-11-30T09:23:00.003-06:00

sweetly pink and round

2008-11-29T10:48:00.006-06:00

suspended from a tree

of delicious gloom

and thick spattered stench,

her eyes flutter

and lips glisten.

the earth heaves,

unraveling veins,

bursting vessels.

winter, clear

and taut.

moonlight vicious,

violent, raging.

her feet dangle,

frantic for below.

cheeks, sweetly

pink and round,

branches moving,

the sky pursuing.

a wave of eyes

2008-11-29T10:39:00.007-06:00

he knows his way to their hearts,

sketching a woman's thigh

beneath his sheet

and binding her thoughts

within his dream.

black and saturated morning,

insects rhythmic and sweet

the room is awakening,

sentiment constricting.

winter fingers locked,

lights.

unexpected legs,

lips.

curtains filter light

against her skin and through her heart,

her structured thoughts

form a wave of eyes

and a place to reach.

a golden star

2008-11-21T10:24:00.012-06:00

those chains,

pressed coldly to her neck

and

tangled through her hair,

scrape the skin

hiding her crumbling bones.

she's not involved

with glossy colors

fanciful thoughts

anymore.

her early mornings

sucked from bed,

propel desires

into

dark dark dreams

and

intimate sorrow.

perhaps a mood

or golden star

may fill her heart

and touch her hand.