Daily Archives: October 22, 2008

No surprises here…

Your result for What Your Taste in Art Says About You Test…

Extroverted, Progressive, and Intelligent

Cubism was a 20th century avant-garde movement, pioneered by Pablo Picasso and Georges Braque. It revolutionized European art and inspired changes in music and literature. The first branch of cubism, known as Analytic Cubism. It was both radical and influential as a short but highly significant art movement between 1908 and 1911 mainly in France. In its second phase, Synthetic Cubism, (using synthetic materials in the art) the movement spread and remained vital until around 1919.

People that chose Cubist paintings as their favorite art form tend to be very individualized people. They are more extroverted and less afraid of speaking their opinions then other people. They tend to be progressive and are very forward thinking. As the cubist painting is like looking into a shattered mirror where you can see different angles of the images, the people that prefer these paintings like looking at all angles of a problem. These people are intelligent and they are the transformers of our generation. They look beyond what is seen into what things could become. They are ready to leave the ideas of the past behind and look at what the future has to offer.

Take What Your Taste in Art Says About You Test at HelloQuizzy

Although I don’t think of myself as extroverted. No comment on the rest, but I knew I’d end up with a skew toward Cubism and Abstract work.


We’re in business.

theryk got an email and the owners like us…

From his LJ:

I just got the noticification that Blue State Coffee wants us to continue our poetry series. Good crowds, good words and a growing community. Thank you Adam Stone and Stephen Dobyns (as well as all the open mic readers) for showing the venue what we had in mind.

They like us and they want us to stay!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And thank you to everyone who’s been coming out over the last two weeks — you made it work.  We’re back in business.


“inappropriate behavior…”

Bear cub shot dead, covered with Obama signs.

"Inappropriate." 

Personally, I reserve that word for things like farting in church, but I suppose it means different things to different people.  Killing an animal and then draping it in the campaign signs of a Presidential candidate could be considered inappropriate in some quarters, I guess.  But  since John McCain has reprimanded John Lewis for his inappropriate suggestion that the current atmosphere is reminiscent of the days of lynchings and such, I may be out of line, as well, in suggesting that the wanton killing of an animal and using its carcass as a threat to his opponent might be anything more than inappropriate behavior.

I sure hope we don’t get to see anything stronger than such inappropriate behavior before the election, don’t you?


Rene Descartes Earring

At a flea market. a a table
where a fat man was selling
bootleg tapes of the Hot 100
of the moment,
I purchased the malleus,
one of the bones of the inner ear,
that had once belonged to
Rene Descartes.

I took it home, varnished it,
drilled a hole in it,
hung it on a gold wire,
then stuck it in my own left ear,
where it shone
like a profane ruby
in the sun.

Whenever I’m driving,
it knocks against my head
in time with the radio:
"Lolli, Lolli, pop that body,"
and the like.

Sometimes it drowns out
my own ear’s efforts
to translate the world around me,
claiming that the music
doesn’t match the message
it’s always preached, and that
I’m missing the point:

"I think, therefore I am," it bangs
again and again, a prisoner hoping
to make contact with a fellow inmate.
"This isn’t thinking.  All this body stuff.
All this noise about what doesn’t think at all.

Sacre bleu, and zut alors!"  I just nod my head
and smile, bob along to the tunes.
Not everything needs forethought.  Not everything
bothers to carry meaning with it.  "Low Low Low Low
Low Low Low."  Yeah, that’s the ticket.

I think, most of the time, and so I am,
most of the time.  Sometimes, though,
I haven’t got a thoughtful bone in my body
and I want to turn it off, that knocking
at my ear that tells me that four hundred years
of the demands of rational thought ought to be enough
for me.  Sometimes, body and beat matter more,
and I refuse to believe that because I’m not thinking,
I’ve ceased to exist.