Sunday, April 15, 2012
Ellefolk Quarterly Newsletter v.3 has been published and available for subscription with this link
This tiny morsel of update for Under The Root includes Elf lore, ELVES, and a free shipping and handling code for purchases.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Chunky Move is an Australian based dance company which began in some of the earliest 1990's with Gideon Obarzaneks at the front of intermedia discovery. While Gideon has moved on, the company remains. I am in awe of the entire process, fundamental liberation, and whole being.. gentle, warm, tears of respect.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
I have recently returned from a hometown trip, and was gifted a poem written by AJDubbz in his childhood years. There is something in a child's mind, which ebbs and flows with imagination like nothing we can capture.. except for words in time. Thank you, dear and magnificent Adam.
and it goes a little something like this,
I call it..
Once I was me, but now, I am me.
When my mom screamed, she lied.
The secret of me is forever because purple dragons don't fly
through mine shafts in autumn.
My father says to me "Why don't you grow some balls."
Lemons in the summertime don't taste much sweeter than my toes.
Hidden fossils in the soul,
fuck me harder than the earth.
Odors of my sex will overpower your electric cords.
Playing in the sands of time,
we only step on seashells when dreaming of paradise.
Circles drip slime from eyeballs like big lollipops.
Orange flavored tuna in cans break through my skull.
Silently, lambs whisper in my closet.
May the toes feel the eyeballs.
Dreaming when I wake only complicates my perceptions.
To the grass I fly,
into oceans far, far away.
Breathing, breathlessly I tumble,
only to fall again.
Once I was me, but now,
I am me.
Platters of my affection are strewn onto your body.
Transparent seas look opaque in my light.
The generations of death only come every day for 7 years.
To steal one's inner beauty,
one needs to suffer.
When the tide breaks against my shell,
I only feel alone.
My crashing waves on.
The asphalt sounds like nothing.
Reflections of your face on the spilled milk puddle,
shine brightly in your likeness.