Category: AI Art
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Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) #3
3 Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) Prologue for the Deaf Listener: This project (multi-part) is written with the deaf reader in mind. It translates orchestral movement into embodied language. These words are the sound of cold becoming a lash. Bring on the wind with teeth of glass, biting bare branches into prayers of splinter.…
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2002: Ten Things of Thankful
1) It’s still raining but I’m thankful for the occasional thin winter sunshine that encourages anemones blossoms to open. 2) I was claustrophobic, cooped-up indoors from rain rain rain, so I took a walk on a rare bright morning, and discovered a knoll of snowdrops. The wild garlic has also broken through the muddy clay…
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Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) #2
2 Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) Prologue for the Deaf Listener: This project (multi-part) is written with the deaf reader in mind. It translates orchestral movement into embodied language. These words are the sound of cold becoming a lash. Bring on the wind with teeth of glass, biting bare branches into prayers of splinter.…
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Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) #1
1 Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) Prologue for the Deaf Listener: This project (multi-part) is written with the deaf reader in mind. It translates orchestral movement into embodied language. These words are the sound of cold becoming a lash. Bring on the wind with teeth of glass, biting bare branches into prayers of splinter.…
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1702: Ash and Interleaf
Part 2: Of Ash and Interleaf — from Brigid’s Diary: Paris, 17 February 1833 The pages between here and the turn of the Seine have been removed, fed to the fire, their spines cracking like small bones. Felreil says Paris is a danger made of touchpaper and of men who read silence as a lip-wet…
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1602: The Liturgy
Liturgy for Those Who Burned Their Names to Stay Alive(for the ones who fled too late) I. The First Mistake of BelievingYou thought the river would wash you clean.You thought the new tonguewould taste sweeter in your mouth. That the accent you couldn’t shedwould be mistaken for poetry,not origin. But fear travels without papers.It crossed…
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1502: Sunday Whirl 744
Plesiosaurs At salty edgesthe beasts drank brineand bit the wind. The tides drag debris;bone, rib, vertebra,a silver scatterunder the tilt of a ruined sky. The jaw of the seacracks open. It does not sip.It slathers rock raw.It vaults the horizonlike a spine snapping. Voices?Gone. Each stitch of speechripped from the throat,salt-packed,swallowed whole. The edges remember.The…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat Watches the Sky Slopes (A Tragedy in Four Paws) The cat buries his face in the old woman’s sleeve.“Make it stop,” he whimpers,one eye peeking at the telly.“They’re falling.Tumbling.Cartwheeling through the snow. WHERE ARE THEIR CLAWS?” She strokes between his ears.“They have skis, cat.And skill.And helmets.” “Helmets?Helmets don’t protect dignity!I fall off the…
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1402: Ten Things of Thankful
We’ve had 42 days of rain, not all day (thankfully!), but the reservoirs are full again (thankful), and the water tables are nearly where they should be (thankful) — however the lawn is completely slurpy-squishy, which isn’t going to percolate deeper any time soon. But this week reminded me that gratitude is often not loud,…
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1302: MicroDosing 100 µg
The Bone Whisperer The bones had been whispering for centuries. Not words …just a low, subterranean hum that vibrated through the soles of anyone who lingered too long in the ossuary chapel. The priest blessed. The villagers fled. The crows remained. The bishop declared it miracle or curse, depending on the collection plate. Then the…
It's Still Life 