New full length poetry book “Lost Year” by Adam Nichols Russell. Coming soon: February 2013.

(via manaracleopatra)

by Frank O’Hara


White the October air, no snow, easy to breathe
beneath the sky, lies, lies everywhere writhing and

clutching and tangling, it is not easy to breathe
lies building their tendrils into dim figures
who disappear down corridors in west-side apartments
into childhood’s proof of being wanted, not

betrayal staving off loneliness, I see the fog lunge in
and hide it

under the moonlike lamplight thinking how

so unique and greenly crushable if you can find it
on the north side of the tree where the fog binds you
and then, tearing apart into soft white lies,

through the primal night of an everlasting winter
which nevertheless has heat in tubes, west-side and

and its intricate individual pathways of white

by the ringing of telephone bells beside which

silence denying their own number, never given out!

like the sound of troika bells rushing past suffering
in the first storm, it is snowing now,

the snow will go away, but nobody will be there

police cordons for lying political dignitaries ringing too
the world becomes a jangle

to the vast empty houses filled with people,

of lies and the tendrils of fog trailing softly around

now the phone can be answered, nobody calling,

all can confess to be home and waiting, all is the same
and we drift into the clear sky enthralled

sailing through space: didn’t I have you once for my
self?
West Side?
for a couple of hours, but I am not that person



[copyright Frank O’Hara, 1960]

In the dream, I knew that he was going on ahead. 
He was fixin’ to make a fire somewhere out there, in all that dark, and all that cold. 
And I knew that whenever I got there, he’d be there. 
Then I woke up.

theonlymagicleftisart:

(Hengki Koentjoro)

nevver:

Andy Warhol’s MoMA Rejection Letter

We must persist.

(via theonlymagicleftisart)

In a dream remembered:

As I recall I was old; clearly towards the end of my days. My perspective was alternating from out of body to first person. There I was, seated in easy chair, stoically gazing out a vast stretch of bedroom window panes — the vistas reflected in my glossy eyes. It was an oceanfront view encompassed by steep, jagged, bluffs. This home, or surreal retirement complex, was indeed positioned at the very edge of the shoreline.

From the back of the room looking on it was as if my elder self sat at the edge of an infinity pool, yet this was no chlorinated lagoon, this was indeed an expansive ocean not bound by a horizon. Shifting back into my first person view, I stared forward unflinching at the majesty of this body of water. Within each reflection of the suns rays, a bird flying overhead, the swaying of the overhanging trees nearby, the entire spectrum of motion we encounter each passing day, I witnessed blurred memories — pictures from years past, the faces of those lives that graced me with their presence.

The waves gently washed over the images. The sun, seemingly at high noon, was its brightest. Shadows vanished leaving things in stark clarity. The ocean seemed to draw closer, not rising tide nor tsunami-like swell, but in fact I was being drawn outward; the sensation of leaving that solitary room. I was becoming one with that ocean, melding with past and all those who came before me. So I continued on, vaulting towards the fast-approaching mercurial world feeling weightless rejoice…

and then I woke up.

- A Dream Remembered, by Adam Nichols Russell 1/21/13

Sandy Hook Benefit Concert

POSTPONED date TBA

JOIN the event on Facebook for all information and updates:

http://www.facebook.com/events/399864993430379/

PRESS ARTICLE:

http://themercurial.com/musicians-sought-for-sandy-hook-benefit-at-heirloom/

PRESS/PR Materials:

IN MEMORY OF… Sandy Hook Benefit Show

One Sheet for : Press, Inquiries, Publicity Circulation, Individual Release CONFIRMED DATE TBA SOON (Possibly Feb 2. or 16th - STANDBY)

On my windowsill

on this night

there are birds

they are my ancestors.

They deny the unseasonable cold, 

envious of the warmth

this side of the glass boasts.

There are cardinals,

these are my great grandparents.

Doves, the ones whom I’ve never met.

Two old crows: my rugged grandfathers,

look on from nearby birch,

they are perched as sentinels watch.

When I fade

to sleep’s door

They scatter

wings flutter - unending,

off

into the star-falls, into the nightscape of tomorrow.

And on my windowsill

In morning’s awakening light

Someone else’s ancestors will greet

and I will know this

by their unfamiliar song

arpeggia:

Desiree Dolron - Xteriors