I want to wander through the night as a figure in the distance even to my own eyes

PHOTO BY INGE MORATH



Today you get some fun, though eerie, photos that I took at Natural Bridge, VA--and one excellent photo by Inge Morath. I've had thoughts about the kitschy tourist stuff around Natural Bridge before, but my thoughts don't tend to stay put for long and right now they aren't making an appearance. The thoughts had something to do with french critic Baudrillard's idea of simulacra, a copy that replaces the original, and the very unnatural world created to draw tourist into "natural" bridge. I haven't actually seen the Natural Bridge that was supposedly a sacred site to the Monacan Indians and that young George Washington felt compelled to mark with his initials, so I like to imagine the little rainbow bridge in the 5th shot is the Natural Bridge. I need to get around to seeing the other one, but i'm not sure I would find it awe inspiring because i've seen it so many times in tourist brochures.

In any case, moving on, I took the first five photos at the "Enchanted Forest," which looks like it used to be something like a haunted house but now is a fake dinosaur and bug repair shop. If you go there, take a walk over the rainbow bridge and through the door and you'll find yourself in a graveyard of broken dinosaurs. The bug, and the man struggling to break free of its shell, make me think of Kafka's "The Metamorphasis," which is fitting because I've been feeling kind of bug like today, estranged from myself and everyone else.

I anticipated this post going nowhere, which is why I included the photo by Morath (to give you some worthwhile viewing). She took the photo while travelling across the country with Henry Cartier Bresson (a big name in photography) in 1960 to take photos on the set of the Misfits, a John Huston film based on a story by Aurthur Miller. At the time, Miller was married to Marilyn Monroe, but that marriage soon collapsed and Miller married Morath, who he met on the Misfits set. The photo was took in 1960, and the shape of the cars really add to the appeal of the photo for me. Cars aren't as photogenic now.

My last photo, the futon with the orange cover and the playpen balls, was a happy accident. I hit the shutter button on the camera one night while my kids were at my dad's house, and that photo was the result. It was low light and I was moving the camera, so it's blurry. It has an interesting glow, though; to borrow Karen's word, it's "snazztastic."

The song line that titles the post is from "How to Rent a Room," a song on The Silver Jews album The Natural Bridge . The quality of my writing has steadily deteriorated since I started this blog, so I occasionally include someone else's writing to make up for it. This one should make up for a week or two of bad writing--it's a great song!

No I don't really want to die
I only want to die in your eyes
I'm still here below the chandelier
where they always used to read us our rights

I want to wander through the night
as a figure in the distance even to my own eyes
Have you ever rented a room
have you ever even rented a room?

An anchor lets you see the river move
but now that your evil dreams came true
there on your face
a row of teeth will come to replace

I know you laughed when I left
but you really only hurt yourself
When you see your curtains move in the wind
you can bet I'm betting against you again

Cause I'm a man who has a wife who has a mother
who married one but she loved another
You're a tower without the bells
you're a negative wishing well

I should have checked the stable door
for the name of the sire and dam
you were always at the dogtrack
with your brother and all his friends

Chalk lines around my body
like the shoreline of a lake
Your laughter made me nervous
it made your body shake too hard

Now there's a lot of things that I'm gonna miss
like thunder down country and the way water drips
when you're running for the door in the rain
read the metro section...read the metro section
see my name

No I didn't really want to die
I only wanted to die in your eyes
Grant me one last wish
Life should mean a lot less than this

Oh yeah, if you've made it this far, keep scrolling down; i added some stuff to Friday's post.

it shined so bright that i couldn't help believin' it would save me

I was lazy and running short of time the other day when i originally made this post, so I didn't include any text/explanation. There's really not much to say. The jesus clock is hanging above the bathroom in the house I'm now living in. There's a color wheel behind jesus's cross, so when you turn it on it lights up like an Alabama juke joint. The waterfall at the bottom is just a bonus. I like to sit on my commode late at night and let the light spin my troubles away.

As I write this, I'm thinking of the Tom Waits song "Chocolate Jesus," which makes me think of the recent controversy over Cosimo Cavallaro's 200 pound, anatomically correct Jesus sculpture entitled "My Sweet Lord" that was going to be displayed at Manhattan's Lab gallery until religious organizations complained and had the show cancelled. I'm not sure where I'm going with this; I don't really have strong feelings about it one way or the other. I do like the Waits song, though--here are the lyrics.

Don't go to church on Sunday
Don't get on my knees to pray
Don't memorize the books of the Bible
I got my own special way
But I know Jesus loves me
Maybe just a little bit more

I fall on my knees every Sunday
At Zerelda Lee's candy store

Well it's got to be a chocolate jesus
Make me feel good inside
Got to be a chocolate jesus
Keep me satisfied

Well I don't want no abba zabba
Dont want no almond joy
There aint nothing better
Suitable for this green eyed boy
Well its the only thing
That can pick me up
Better than a cup of gold
See only a chocolate jesus
Can satisfy my soul

(solo)
When the weather gets rough
And its (?) in the shade
Its best to wrap your savior
Up in cellophane
He flows like the big muddy
But thats ok
Pour him over ice cream
For a nice parfait

Well its got to be a chocolate jesus
Good enough for me
Got to be a chocolate jesus
Good enough for me

Well its got to be a chocolate jesus
Make me feel good inside
Got to be a chocolate jesus
Keep me satisfied

Look in here...here comes the poetry! "I'm a cave with the wind inside" "I'm a shell with the sound of the surf inside"

I don't have much to say about today's photos. They are a wierd mix. I can't remember where they were taken, except for the last one--the little homage to Christenberry--taken outside Marion, VA. I kind of like the OPTICA sign for the same reason I like the Pure sign--they both bring up a lot of associations; Pure with the South and essentialism of various forms, OPTICA with seeing/photography/constructing meaning. I like it against the blank sky. The flowers kind of go along with the OPTICA sign. They both strike me as detached/floating signifiers, very "postmodern." I think other stuff was floating through my head when I took the photos, mainly that it was very hot and I was sweating a lot.

They say we're lazy men, drinking our white wine, we could go right insane, 'cause we can buy the time

While we were in Memphis, my friend David and I walked out to Sun Studios. It was kind of anti-climactic, but somewhat cool to think of all the music that came out of Sun that's not only important to me personally but also exerted a huge cultural influence. Elvis is still the king in Memphis, but my favorite Sun musician is probably The Silver Fox, Charlie Rich. Behind Closed Doors is a great album. The two buildings following the Sun photo are from West, TX. The car was in a neighborhood in Austin, the six was just down the road from Sun Studios in Memphis, and the last photo is from Gadsden, AL. Once again I didn't have any program to correct the contrast in the photos, so they're all slightly overexposed, I think--mainly the sky in the second/third shots.

...when god was young, he made the wind and the sun, and since then it's been a slow education

I just got back from my trip down to Austin, and I don't have a computer at the place I'm staying over the summer so I haven't had a chance to post. Right now, I'm using my aunt's computer. It's dial up, so it's kind of slow and it has no photo viewing programs at all so what you see is straight from the camera. I also didn't take as many photos as I had imagined I would on my trip, but I'll post what I took over the next few days. The first photo for today is from Forrest City, Arkansas, the second, third and fifth are from West, TX and the fourth is from Gadsden, AL. I've been listening to Palace Music's Viva Last Blues recently, so here are the lyrics to "New Partner" for you to consider.

There's a black tinted sunset with the prettiest of skies
lay back, lay back, rest your head on my thighs
There is some awful action that just breathes from my hand
just breaths from a deed so exquisetly grand

And you are always on my mind x4

Well, I would not have moved if I knew you were here
It's some special action with motives unclear
now you'll haunt me, you'll haunt me
till I've paid for what I've done
it's a payment which precludes the having of fun

And you are always on mind x4
but I've got a new partner riding with me
I'v got a new partner now

Now the sun's fading faster, we're ready to go
there's a skirt in the bedroom that's pleasantly low
And the loon's on the moor, the fish in the flow
And my friends, my friends they still whisper hello
We all know what we know, it's a hard swath to mow
when you think like a hermit you forget what you know

And you are always on my mind x4
I've got a new partner, riding with me x3
I've got a new partner now

...for now we are young let us lay in the sun and count every beautiful thing we can see

I've been too busy grading papers and painting the house I moved into to get around to writing the landscape essay I promised, so I'm just going to post some shots I took while walking around West Radford last week. I've been neglecting the blog a bit lately, so I'm posting twice today--the first shots continue my ongoing laundromat series and the second shots are from the same section of West Radford. At some point, I plan on pulling together my best laundromat shots and making a book, so let me know which of these you like/dislike.

I made light of my own poem in the previous post, but Hughes' Birthday Letters is a moving meditation on his relationship with Plath, as the following poem testifies:

from "The Rag Rug"

Somebody had made one. You admired it.
So you began to make your rag rug.
You needed to do it. Played on by lightnings
You needed an earth. Maybe. Or needed
To pull something out of yourself-
Some tapeworm of the psyche. I was simply
Happy to watch your scissors being fearless
...
Whenever you worked at your carpet I felt happy.
Then I could read Conrad's novels to you.
I could cradle your freed mind in my voice,
Chapter by chapter, sentence by sentence,
Word by word: "Heart of Darkness,"
...
I dreamed of our house
Before we ever found it. A great snake
Lifted its head from a well in the middle of the house
Exactly where the well is, beneath its slab,
In the middle of the house.
A golden serpent, thick as a child's body,
Eased from the opened well. And poured out
Through the back door, a length that seemed unending

half hours on earth, what are they worth? i don't know

I took these shots during the same walk as the laundromat shots. I was fascinated by the Impala (especially the peeling paint), but I had a hard time framing it in a way I was happy with. Still, I enjoyed walking around the car and thinking about the possibilities--what to leave in and what to leave out, what angles to take, and so on.

I'm going to include a poem I wrote a while back in this post--not because I think it's particularly good, just to add some quantity to make up for lack of quality. Also, I had a conversation with some friends last night about Dark Heart boy in Care Bears transforming into a glowing red monkey, and the "dark heart" line in this poem reminded me of that--now I'm imagining Ted Hughes as a glowing red monkey.

Upon Reading Ted Hughes’ Birthday Letters

“A book should be an ice axe to break the frozen sea
inside each of us...”—Kafka

Reading your words,
I felt something dislodge,
a berg breaking free
from the distant shores
of Antartica.
With your honed axe,
you slowly split the sea
frozen inside of yourself,
breaking it into shards
of images and words.
Words that in a dark heart
you forged into jewels,
like the tears Sylvia
sometimes spilled over
an unwritten poem.

There are moments
when Sylvia comes alive,
resurrecting her father over
a table you shaped from elm,
or praying over an empty page,
a poem that refuses to be written.
It is then that I slip
into your dance of ice
with Sylvia’s shadow,
glide beneath piercing words,

and drop off into the rift
where my sea touches yours.