Artist working in Los Angeles who creates images from photos, oil paint and gunpowder.
He is writing a novel about the suicide of his brother.
THE ROAD by Cormac McCarthy
The Man wakes in the dark in the post-apocalyptic landscape, his son known only as the Boy, sleeps beside him, the father’s hand on his little chest feeling it rise and fall “with each precious breath.” We do not know what befell the earth and we never will. All we know is that the“Barren, silent, godless” world is dying and they need to move south or they will not survive the coming winter.
Atop a snow covered hill a group of six figures hold colorful ribbons dancing about a May pole with train tracks in the distance. In Andrew Wyeth’s culminating masterwork they dance in anticipation of his impending death for the hell he put them through. Notice there are seven ribbons however.
Atoms and Adversaries - the Power of OPPENHEIMER
J. Robert Oppenheimer lies in bed, his lover Jean hovering intently over him holding the Bhagavad Gita, the sacred Hindu text written in Sanskrit. She demands his translation of an obscure line. Oppenheimer struggles with the dead language and hesitantly speaks the now infamous quote.
- Top Story - August 2023
The Sound of Freedom and the Maligning of TruthTop Story - August 2023
So much stink has surrounded this film that I went to see it to see if any of the media criticism leveled at it had any merit. Is it a conspiracy laden melodrama exploiting child trafficking for a buck? Is it a call to awareness about this dark hidden world that we all know exists but don’t hear about much? Is it good? Is it bad? So many questions... So let’s pull the trigger on this and get to bottom of it.
On acid everything is very very important I had been on acid since breakfast and guarding the merry-go-round in my uncle’s Vietnam helmet was my only responsible choice. It was 2007 and my friend Ellen’s bachelorette party was raging sloppy and I knew everyone were incredibly vulnerable. Donned only in bridesmaids dresses, my friends cavorted in the dangerous wilds of San Francisco slurping mimosas out of baby bottles and occasionally exposing themselves as the ride careened at a seemingly impossible speed as legs and arms flailed in a tangle of chaos and light trails. Ellen was coming round on some chipped white beast of a horse and as she swung round she crossed her eyes, her tongue sticking preternaturally to the side and screaming, “BLAAAAAH!” and vanished from sight.
Indiana Jones and the Dial of Disappointment
So...Indiana Jones and the Dial of Disappointment. The film no one asked for. Let me preface this. My brother and I grew up on Raiders of the Lost Ark. We had never seen anything like it before and it captivated us in a way that few films other than Star Wars had. I still consider it a perfect movie. It transformed cinema and gave us a new hero who we all wanted to be. He was a hero without super powers, just a guy, a professor with immense skill, knowledge and fearlessness to achieve something rare and precious. Something magic had entered into the world and we were different people after that movie. I wore a fedora in high school and my brother became a stunt actor and master of the whip because of this film, so I take this seriously.
This One Thing
It was September now and Kirk was out of time. After the diagnosis there were few options left. There was little of him left except this one desire. His wife took everything while he was in the hospital and found a new man, one not dying at least. His money helped. But Kirk only wanted one thing. The thing beyond measure.
- Runner-Up in Micro Heist Challenge
The riven dogs returned from the shattered fields, their coats crusted with the epithets of war...mud, blood and memory. They drooled in long ropes which dragged wet to the earth and curled together for a common warmth shivering with a thief greater than cold. Time past and a singular howl rose, pure and baleful. A keening of utter loss as if to extinguish himself entirely by sound.
Dark glass fell down like rain shattering against the stained bricks and then went silent. Shards glinting in the alley light that no one would see. Screams rang out from above, furtive and distraught like the last cries of the world. The sound of something ending.
They spread themselves in a circle, everyone silent. The field was cast in the last beryl light of the day and they all held the forms in their trembling hands. The final contracts signed and agreed upon. Tonight it would happen. It had taken years of planning. They cast the papers into the fire which burnt into orange curlings which whispered away in dying sparks into the cold night.
She held her son in her lap like the day he was born. Golden haired and blue eyed. The child of promise who heralded the new beginning for her, for her husband. So many years lost to sadness until he arrived in trilling sunrise joy. Today was Mother’s Day.