Monthly Archives: June 2013

Okay, so Just lie there. yeah. sprawl out like that.

But I’m hungry.

Uh, here. Have these grapes, and just tilt your head back and slowly dip them into your mouth.

Why can’t I eat them normally?

Because this is art. We have to capture the essence of what it means to eat grapes.

Can’t you just hang some grapes up and then paint me in later. My arm’s getting tired and I’m going to have a sore neck in the morning.

It is essential that you hold them… for the uniformity of the piece.

I still don’t get why I have to be naked. I’m getting cold.

You’re not naked, you’re expressing the vulnerability of mankind.

Then why can’t you just get a naked man?

No! I mean–it wouldn’t be the same. For this particular work of art I need a young female in full bloom; otherwise it won’t work.

You haven’t even set up the canvass yet.

I’m getting there! I told you, I need to visualize. You know… art. Just, just eat the grapes and let me work — slowly.

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Too Ease

It’s awfully hard to portray anything in English without using any “E’s.” I was trying to do it for a bit, but it didn’t tay clong until I startid chi-ting. Although, I do hav a gnu apprishiashun for how malia bowl thuh inglish laingwidj iz.

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Life’s a Birch

I was sitting in an office waiting. There was a painting of a forest of birch trees on the wall.

I noticed that birch trees always have so many knots on their trunk, like they’re falling apart and losing branches right and left. Either it’s bad construction, or they’re the laziest trees ever and simply get tired of holding their branches up. If I was a bird I would only build a nest in a birch tree if I was pinched for cash and needed a place to stay. Even the bark has given up and started turning itself into paper. It’s like birch trees don’t really know what they want to do with themselves. What’s the point of being a tree anyways? Yeah, I get it, you’re supposed to grow and get tall… but why? Is there an optimal height that all trees are trying to reach? Because the taller you get, the easier it seems to snap in half in the middle of a storm, or lose your roots in a flood. Why not reach a modest, respectable height, and stop? Are you really going to benefit from being taller if you just keep dropping branches along the way? They are what built you up in the first place, so how do you think that makes them feel? You sacrifice what you consider to be dead weight just so you can sprout a few more leaves closer to the sun.

What I liked about this painting is that it didn’t show the tops of the trees. It only showed the trunks and the forest floor. All the branches were gone, but everyone could see the knots, the scars left on the trees.

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Butterfly

When night falls dark and shrouds all hope
of mending what has gone awry,
Remember it takes time and faith
to know just when the moment’s right.

Cocoons unfurl new dreams of love.
Above, they dance and light the sky.
You are who I’ve been dreaming of.
You are my butterfly.

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Caterpillar

Hollow and vacant he froze there at last
—alone, abandoned— a shell of his past.
The living cage, the bane of this man,
releases his soul in new form cast.

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Not Working Title

Why do people create a title to something and then say “it’s a working title,” when later they just end up changing it to something else? By definition, doesn’t that mean their title wasn’t working?

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Lonely Pencil Sharpener

Pencil sharpeners are whores. And you’re the pimp. We all know this. Even since a young age we would have dozens of pencils and only one pencil sharpener. You stick in pencil after pencil, red, blue, orange, pink, number 2, hard lead, soft lead — some don’t quite fit, but you cram them in anyways — it doesn’t matter to you. All that matters is the pencils keep getting sharpened until they go out into the rough world of paper, get dull again, and need to come back. Pencils come and go, but you use that same poor sharpener until it too, dulls and can no longer function, and you get a new one. It has seen so many pencils, but can’t seem to remember any of them. It’s all such a blur. This lonely pencil just wants one connection that will last, that’s all it asks. It just wants to feel special. In a perfect world you would have one pencil sharpener for every pencil you use, but this isn’t a perfect world. You line up the next pencil sharpener and make sure it is tight and firmly mounted on the wall. You add a drop of oil to prevent squeaking, turn a blind eye, and start lining up pencils again.

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“If this was my job, I’d be doing a good job.”

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illegible

How are you supposed to read a picture? I know with words you go left to right and the spaces tell you where the words are, but with pictures, where do you start? Is there a way to tell if you have picture literacy? Sometimes words are illegible, but is there such thing as an illegible picture? Or do you just call it “art?”

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