Happy Halloween

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Have You Got A Magnificent Problem?

A moment of pure contentment happened in my life a couple of years back. I was lying in our bed under green Halloween lights, listening to this song with headphones while reading, yet again, Stephen King's The Shining. With the music so close, I could hear and feel how vast, how cavernous it was - much like being inside the Overlook Hotel.

I laid there reading and hitting repeat for hours.

Photographer waxyleaves
Song by Colin Towns (click picture)

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Our Halloween Table

Every Halloween it's my job to decorate the table. It's something I always look forward to.


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If Monsters Threw A Midnight Dance Party...

Photographer unknown
Song by Amon Tobin (click picture)

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Music I Hear In My Sleep

Photographer unknown
Theme song from one of my all time favorite films - The Haunting of Julia (click picture)

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Halloween Town Hall

Photographer unknown
Song by Dead Man's Bones (click picture)

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Pumpkins

A little set of pumpkins on the Etsy shop.

Pumpkin Hollow shop

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Little Ones

Putting a few little things on the shop before Halloween.

Just put these ghost babies up.

Pumpkin Hollow shop

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Sometimes Violence Is Beautiful

From Only God Forgives
Song by Suuns (click picture)

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The Goon

 

Pumpkinrot's The Goon


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Untitled Poem

All through the day
and all through the night
the rain knocked on the windows,
pressed its puckered knuckles to the glass
again and again.

I mooned from room to room,
my swollen belly
full of woe and desire,
dragged my long train
of broken words,
poems lost -
oh how it tangled
around the furniture,
slicked the floorboards
with shimmering salt.

Mother slug.

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I wrote this within the last year.

The Beacon Of Winchester County

I love poems about motels, hotels, bars & diners.

The Beacon of Winchester County
by Jon Lavieri

As if the night has opened
its one, bleary eye, that light
goes on in the diner.
Every now and then the town black and white
coasts by, watching and yawning.
Nothing keeps time but the wax and wane 
of the stainless steel coffee urns,
bolted to the wall like models
for skyscrapers of the future.
You know the couple working
that sleepy narrow line have been there
since they were childhood sweethearts.
Now they move around each other perfectly,
as if touching broke the plates.
The two sitting next to each other.
staring at their faces in the coffee,
were married once, to other people
probably still in Winchester somewhere.
I am here for now. My back to the window,
fifteen cents for a twenty cent coffee.
Too late to be passing through
but to be among these quiet strangers
who care even less about talking to me
as I to them as we pour our faces into our cups.


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Home

Photographer lfg2000
Song by The Cinematic Orchestra (click picture)

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In One Way Or Another, We Are All In Search Of The Sublime

Photographer maefluer
Song by M83 (click picture)

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Sit With Me For Awhile

Photographer unknown
Song by Trentemoller (click picture)

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We Are All Haunted Houses

Photographer Corinne May Botz
from the book Haunted Houses
Song by Air (click picture)

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Trudging Through

Photographer bdtyre
Song by Rauelsson (click picture)

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Morning Meditations

Photographer Heidi Conahan
Song by Loscil (click picture)

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Winter Came Early

Photographer unknown.
Song by Kathleen Edwards (click picture)

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The Damage We Do To Each Other

Still Life In A Landscape

It was night, it had rained, there were pieces of cars and

half-cars strewn, it was still, and bright,

a woman was lying on the highway, on her back,

with her head curled back and tucked under her shoulders

so the back of her head touched her spine

between her shoulder-blades, her clothes

mostly accidented off, and her

leg gone, a long bone

sticking out of the stub of her thigh—

this was her her abandoned matter,

my mother grabbed my head and turned it and

clamped it into her chest, between

her breasts. My father was driving—not sober

but not in this accident, we’d approached it out of

neutral twilight, broken glass

on wet black macadam, like an underlying

midnight abristle with stars. This was

the world—maybe the only one.

The dead woman was not the person

my father had recently almost run over,

who had suddenly leapt away from our family

car, jerking back from death,

she was not I, she was not my mother,

but maybe she was a model of the mortal,

the elements ranged around her on the tar—

glass, bone, metal, flesh, and the family.

Photo by me (Polaroid Spectra)
Poem by Sharon Olds

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The Tabernacle Of 2 a.m.

Photographer candido baldaccino 
Song by Massive Attack -Gui Boratto Remix (click picture)

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Death Comes And Goes But Always Listens

When you see us swarm — rustle of 

wingbeat, collapsed air — your mind 
tries to make us one, a common

intelligence, a single spirit un- 
tethered. You imagine us merely 
searching out the next 

vessel, anything 

that could contain us, as if the hive 
were just another jar. You try 

to hold the ending, this
unspooling, make it either 

zero or many, lack 

or flurry. I was born,
you begin, & already each word 
makes you smaller. Look at this field 

— Cosmos. Lungwort. Utter each
& break 

into a thousand versions of yourself. 

You can't tell your stories fast enough. 
The answer is not one, but also

not two.




Poem by Nick Flynn
Photographer Art Siegel
Song by Burial (click picture)

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When you see us swarm — rustle of wingbeat, collapsed air — your mind tries to make us one, a common intelligence, a single spirit un- tethered. You imagine us merely searching out the next vessel, anything that could contain us, as if the hive were just another jar. You try to hold the ending, this unspooling, make it either zero or many, lack or flurry. I was born, you begin, & already each word makes you smaller. Look at this field — Cosmos. Lungwort. Utter each & break into a thousand versions of yourself. You can't tell your stories fast enough. The answer is not one, but also - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19482#sthash.wm1u8wrG.dpuf

When you see us swarm — rustle of wingbeat, collapsed air — your mind tries to make us one, a common intelligence, a single spirit un- tethered. You imagine us merely searching out the next vessel, anything that could contain us, as if the hive were just another jar. You try to hold the ending, this unspooling, make it either zero or many, lack or flurry. I was born, you begin, & already each word makes you smaller. Look at this field — Cosmos. Lungwort. Utter each & break into a thousand versions of yourself. You can't tell your stories fast enough. The answer is not one, but also - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19482#sthash.wm1u8wrG.dpuf

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Photographer unknown
Song by Tom Waits (click picture)

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It's A Long Walk Home

Photographer unknown
Song by Pye Corner Audio (click picture)

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The Failure Of The Future

"Hauntology is a radically different relationship to the past, the lost opportunities of which still haunt us today as their unrealized potential. It is this paradoxical idea of a future that never came, of other possible worlds that may still be present, or maybe yet to come, which constitutes the central feature of those artists grouped under the name Hauntology." -Nightoftheworld.com


Song by Demdike Stare (click picture)

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I Promise You, This Is Going To Hurt

Photographer Iika Hartmann
Song by David Wingo (click picture)
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Photo Phillip Klinger.
Song by Pye Corner Audio (click picture)

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In The Dimming

My muscles ache with away
in the room that is the terrible night.

The fox calling, tripping
itself into clumsy cannibalism -

tail, tooth, nail,
circle into singularity

until nothing but this speck
of heat

burning my tongue
down through tissue

to the heart.




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I wrote this poem within this last year.

Question In The Quiet

Where does time go?
Into the black mouth of night.


Photographer Unknown
Song by Glen Grey & Orchestra (click picture)
Small poem by me at 3am

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We Have Always Lived Here

Photographer unknown
Song by Clint Mansell (click picture)

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