Wednesday, December 31, 2014

Sunday, December 28, 2014

Saturday, December 27, 2014



My skin
a palimpsest
of every word
you've ever uttered.


Painting detail from 2002
Poem written 12/2014

Wednesday, December 24, 2014

Merry Merry

Wish you a Merry Christmas from the Rot Family.


Monday, December 22, 2014

Friday, December 19, 2014

Ghost Writing

“I am engulfed, I succumb … s’abĂ®mer / to be engulfed ...outburst of annihilation which affects the amorous subject in despair or fulfillment.” — Roland Barthes, A Lover’s Discourse

Photographer Amanda Jas
Song by Tim Hecker (click picture)


Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Orange Lights

Song by Loscil (click picture)

Tuesday, December 16, 2014

Night Drive

Image source
Song by Dance with the Dead (click picture)

I'm obsessed with this song.


Sunday, December 14, 2014

Atomos IX

Photographer Nicholas Hughes
Song by A Winged Victory For The Sullen (click picture)




This is not where you expected.

You landed here in a fit of rage-
driving while the moon ticked across the sky,
while the dew collected on the blades in the field.
Whatever he'd said, you cut it at the throat,
then cut apart 
what was left of your heart.
A house can only hold so much blood.

Now morning has burned away and revealed
a deserted landscape.
Those that once lived here,
gone in some unseen event.
Only a few graves
and the occasional lost dog remain.

Your hollowed chest should feel hurt for it.
Only a dead woman would feel nothing.
But all day long the dead go about their way.

Photographer Feeling The Green
Poem written 2014

Wednesday, December 10, 2014

The Pumpkin Tide

"I saw thousands of pumpkins last night
come floating in on the tide,
bumping up against the rocks and
rolling up on the beaches;
it must be Halloween in the sea." 

Richard Brautigan, The Pumpkin Tide


Tuesday, December 9, 2014

Sunday, December 7, 2014


This was the first and last scarecrow I ever built. 2005.

Taken with a Holga with a Polaroid back.


Saturday, December 6, 2014

Friday, December 5, 2014

Ambient Christmas

Song by Ksine (click picture)

Too Little, Too Late

I make up horror movies in my head.

Now playing: revenge film.

Photographer Patrick Joust
Song by Max Richter (click picture)

Thursday, December 4, 2014

3 a.m.

Song by Tom Odell (click picture)
Image source


Monday, December 1, 2014

Little Poem


He broke me 
the way some men 
break horses - 
with pain 
and persistence.

Photographer unknown
Poem written 2014

Sunday, November 30, 2014

Southern Gothic

I miss the South. Such a bone-deep ache.

Photographer unknown
Song by Jason Isbell

Thursday, November 27, 2014

Poem in the Early Morning

The Sudden Light and the Trees

My neighbor was a biker, a pusher, a dog
and wife beater.

In bad dreams I killed him

and once, in the consequential light of day,
I called the Humane Society
about Blue, his dog.
They took her away

and I readied myself, a baseball bat
inside my door.

That night I hear his wife scream

and I couldn't help it, that pathetic
relief; her again, not me.

It would be years before I'd understand

why victims cling and forgive.
I plugged in
the Sleep-Sound and it crashed
like the ocean all the way to sleep.

One afternoon I found him
on the stoop,
a pistol in his hand, waiting,

he said, for me.
A sparrow had gotten in
to our common basement.

Could he have permission

to shoot it? The bullets, he explained,
might go through the floor.

I said I'd catch it, wait, give me

a few minutes and, clear-eyed, brilliantly
afraid, I trapped it
with a pillow.
I remember how it felt

when I got my hand, and how it burst
that hand open
when I took it outside, a strength

that must have come out of hopelessness
and the sudden light
and the trees.
And I remember

the way he slapped the gun against
his open palm,
kept slapping it, and wouldn't speak. 

Poem by Stephen Dunn
Photographer Pero Crepulja

Horror Notes

Click the picture for a beautiful ambient / horror-esque soundscape. Lots of hints of old school horror film notes combined with drone / dark ambient. Might serve well as a backdrop to a haunt. I recommend listening to it with headphones to hear its cavernous quality and subtle goings-ons.

Photographer unknown.


Wednesday, November 26, 2014

Come Lay Your Weary Head, Love

Photographer Unknown
Song by Neel (click picture)


Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Lynchian Knowledge

Photographer Unknown
Remix by Jon Hopkins (click picture)


Saturday, November 22, 2014

I Believe It's Magic

I saw Ghostbusters in the theater three times when it came out. And, of course, I had the cassette of the soundtrack. Mick Smiley's I Believe It's Magic was my favorite song. This subtle remix and video are so much fun.


Wednesday, November 19, 2014



I've sought out corner bars, lived in corner houses;
like everyone else I've reserved
corner tables, thinking they'd be sufficient.
I've met at corners
perceived as crossroads, loved to find love
leaning against a lamp post
but have known the abruptness of corners too,
the pivot, the silence.
I've sat in corners at parties hoping for someone
who knew the virtue
of both distance and close quarters, someone with a
corner person's taste
for intimacy, hard won, rising out of shyness 
and desire.
I've turned corners there was no going back to,
in the middle of a room that lead
to Spain or solitude.
And always the thin line between corner
and cornered,
the good corners of bodies and those severe bodies
that permit no repose,
the places we retreat to, the places we can't bear
to be found.

Photographer unknown
Poem by Stephen Dunn

Monday, November 17, 2014

Skull and Flowers


We Should Stay Home

Two hour mix of ambient music. Perfect for this rainy, chilly morning. (Click picture)


Sunday, November 16, 2014


Photo taken 10/31/14



Wherever this is, I need to be there.


Autumn Waning

Photos taken 11/15


Saturday, November 15, 2014

Friday, November 14, 2014

Latest Poem


For the last year
I've eaten nothing
but cinders for breakfast.
Burnt words piled on plates,
not a lick of rain
to sooth my cracked tongue.

creatures go on bleating 
and bleating
while the sun above
never ceases its staring.
It can't stop seeing
what it's seen.

My hands, a tattoo of ash,
fold and rise
as if to beg,
but my brittle heart 
has hardened
and I cut
the nearest throat,
for the quenching,
not caring 
that it's blood,
not caring
whose it is.


Poem written 11/2014
Photographer unknown

October Kitty

He helped us get ready for Halloween. I also have photos of him helping Rot carve jack o'lanterns.

But I won't be posting them here. ;)