Book Things

Twiggy Boyer and I have been working non-stop on a book of collages. It's a lot of fun. Plus it gives me a little more freedom than Alain Corbel's class does. We share equal efforts in every collage. Here goes:

Collage

Here are some things from my Collage class with Alain Corbel. He's an awesome guy but he doesn't seem to enjoy my work haha. Then I told him I was a photo major and then he understood. Anyways, here is a tiger, a kid chasing a huge balloon, a man with a tie, a ship and a tidal wave, a kid stealing a hot pie, and an old man with a bad back.

I'm in this show and you should see it

"Wait...Don't Stop"

Collage
5x8

Packing 2009 in a Box

Eminem, Braces and a dark film

Final Page of the Brown Book (No Title Yet)

I watched as she eventually exhausted herself, her pace slowed to sunken stroll, relentless weave down dank, dirty streets

We're going to stay here for now she told me, grasping my waist with the tightest clench

We'll be safe amongst the vermin, trash and phantoms of homeless men past

That's all a dream now

Yes, if the last grasps for the cold air held any significance-they had to-she was returning to the crag where she began, most would call full circle

It is impossible to be anything but which you were born and bred

Everything thought about me was all wrong
And I can no longer control my instinct to see-saw in the farthest corners of your head

Drawing Game cont.,

Did it make your heart race faster still?

And is it all so undemanding

now that it unravels at your feet, down the long expanse of time yet to come?

Well, no, I suppose not

I suppose it meant little to you

as these things go

I suppose it was just an inaudible pass

of fluids between beings
She admits it now

I was charmed by your advances

And isn't it just wild how the burden of supposition in a crowded room holds no weight?

How it thrives in the unsettled gusts that surround you

passing through the clamoring mouths while you fall, again, silent and still

Two Seed

I've been missing

And I suppose you can call it living
Who's to say?
Shit, you could say things are just fine, and I'm just fine and when I'm gone, my bones and skin will turn, again, to dirt and the earth will continue to spin on its axis

Everything is so simple. See?

I remember the manner in which she clenched her teeth

My lip lodged somewhere in between
And I pressed her spine parallel to the wall

and went after her, I was a lion

She would taste my lust

the way I regurgitated it outside two houses prior

"Call me"

She'd say and I wouldn't
Even though I would want to
I went there because I could, because I wanted to be lost
but in a physical sense, not the way I'd always known myself to feel, inside me

And the following moment?
how to condense it?

I was discovered
The headlights blinding my animal eyes
What was I to say?

My synapses never connected
and in an instant, in a moment I would not remember, all that I had worked to protect was away from me

Oh, no

Oh well

There is a story here that has yet to spawn

and I suppose when it does, it'll be as insufficient and fleeting

I guess loneliness is too far gone, repentance too insufficient

There is something to be said about trauma or the lack thereof
Sometimes it is a thing to laugh about, with solace, in the security of aftermath
Comfort in stability