Art News & Events

____________________________________________________________________









October 15-18 is the Massachusetts Poetry Festival.

Boston's Launch is on Thursday at the Copley Library.

There will be events throughout the state, but the main attraction is in Lowell.

Support the community!


____________________________________________________________________

Sleep No More!

An abandoned school. Shakespeare’s fallen hero. Hitchcock’s shadow of suspense.

Award-winning British theater company Punchdrunk makes its U.S. debut with Sleep No More, an immersive production inspired by Shakespeare’s Macbeth, told through the lens of a Hitchcock thriller.

The Old Lincoln School in Brookline, Massachusetts, will be exquisitely transformed into an installation of cinematic scenes that evoke the world of Macbeth. You, the audience, have the freedom to roam the environment and experience a sensory journey as you choose what to watch and where to go. Rediscover the childlike excitement of exploring the unknown in this unique theatrical adventure.

Wow Radiohead's Tom Yorke and Chili Peppers' Flea form Supergroup

Check it here folks...


On a side note:

Urban Outfitters is on the same level as Wal-Mart.

Lionheart

I

I watched Ted Kennedy's funeral today, I watched it on my computer.
It's strange to see so many powerful and influential people packed into the Mission Church.
It's strange because just a few months ago I walked and then stopped by that same vaulting church - from a community center in Roxbury Crossing - up through Mission Hill and down through Harvard Medical School on my way to Longwood. The stretch of Tremont from Malcom X Blvd. to Huntington is the clearest glimpse into Boston's soul. Although I don't share the tales of Ted Kennedy and his mythical quest that has woefully come to an end, I do have something just as valuable. I can't specifically say what it is. As Ted knew, it's a complex system that cannot contain one succinct answer. It's Beckett's unnameable.

It's Edwin A. Sheward and what he meant
It's living according to a certain narrative
It's why Kerouac could not completely leave Catholicism
It's having made mistakes bound for all men and trying to right them
It's being born into a level of privilege and living to serve the other
It's accomplishing things the official way and the unofficial way
It's tapping into the American consciousness
It's building a foundation for the future
It's you!

A man's measure is made by his decisions.
temptation, conflict, anxiety, expectation, and desire continually pound on the door.
How do you answer? That is your measure.

II

60's degree steady rain
packing it all up to move
comforting to discover the ease
of not possessing too many things
feeling like a nomad to an extent

what of the choices not made
those made

how to ramble
how to build the foundation
a friend's conflict presented by nature and society
solidifies my resolve

the skyway above
the golden valley below
it was not made just for you and me
out with the old and in with the new
how can we direct our furniture towards the sun
when we live underground?

As all things must pass, we say fare thee well

III

we rejoice in our aprons
and pants ripped sliding down rocks
mighty rivers cannot keep us
walls of concrete and theory
too cannot keep us

While loved ones are far away
our memories serve us well

We dive into water that's just too cold
to remind us

it must be good for somebody

The Sterile Sands of New England...

I'm happy to finally have the time to take a long weekend backpacking trip. This summer has been filled with rain, heat, and a busy schedule. So as a cure-all (and in celebration of my 24th birthday) I'm taking off to Sandy Neck for an 11mi. loop through a salt marsh boasting 100' sand dunes, a pine barren campsite, and the Cape Cod Bay. I'll have a trip report complete with journal entries when I return. I'm just hoping Hurricane Bill doesn't cause too many problems.

What I'll contemplate as I walk the trail:

OUT of the cradle endlessly rocking,

Out of the mocking-bird’s throat, the musical shuttle,

Out of the Ninth-month midnight,

Over the sterile sands, and the fields beyond, where the child, leaving his bed, wander’d alone, bare-headed, barefoot,

Down from the shower’d halo,

Up from the mystic play of shadows, twining and twisting as if they were alive,

Out from the patches of briers and blackberries,

From the memories of the bird that chanted to me,

From your memories, sad brother—from the fitful risings and fallings I heard,

From under that yellow half-moon, late-risen, and swollen as if with tears,

From those beginning notes of sickness and love, there in the transparent mist,

From the thousand responses of my heart, never to cease,

From the myriad thence-arous’d words,

From the word stronger and more delicious than any,

From such, as now they start, the scene revisiting,

As a flock, twittering, rising, or overhead passing,

Borne hither—ere all eludes me, hurriedly,

A man—yet by these tears a little boy again,

Throwing myself on the sand, confronting the waves,

I, chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter,

Taking all hints to use them—but swiftly leaping beyond them,

A reminiscence sing.

Shakespeare Meets Gates Scandal! YES!

Pretty Awesome...



A tale told by an idiot - The Boston Globe

Posted using ShareThis

The Hipster Wasteland V2.0

An insightful cultural critique on the notion of "Hipster" can be found here.

"Anyway I wrote the book because we're all gonna die..."

A cool blend of kerouac and Woody...