Somewhere Over the Eyeball

Photos of the double-rainbow taken the same day I took the photos of the (glorious) eyeball.

Eye in the Sky

"I become a transparent eyeball; I am nothing; I see all."

--Ralph Waldo Emerson

Not a perfect fit, but I've been wanting to post that quote for years. I finally broke down and did it.

All the eyeball photos in this glorious eyeball-rific series are from photos I originally took of an eyeball sculpture we saw in a sculpture park in St. Louis. [Yes, even the "Pop Goes the Eyeball" eyeball, which (obviously) I cropped and reduced in size.] We were driving from Rome to KC to visit my parents, and though the drive is nearly 800 miles, and we completed the trip in a single day, I insisted on stopping at the park specifically to visit the giant eyeball. One must pay hommage where hommage is due, no?

We spent a good hour or two there walking about and taking in the weird sculptures.

Oh, glory.

Pop Goes the Eyeball

Like a Rolling Eyeball

So beautiful. So so beautiful. So Beautiful.

Magic eyeball, thank you.

With a Little Help From My Eyeball

Dark Side of the Eyeball

Smells Like Eyeball Spirit

Welcome to the Eyeball

Self-portraits in front of the giant eyeball.

Prepare for more eyeball photos, friends. And....Happy New Year to you!!!

2010 in Review, pt. 6

I need Oswald Bates' help here. Evocationism through abstractionism?

Affirminaction!

2010 in Review, pt. 5

Positively revelling in contrast?

Yeah, you know me.

2010 in Review, pt. 4

Photo of dead butterfly hanging from a spider's web tilted to give it the look of taking flight?



This is what I do.

2010 in Review, pt. 3

Irony discovered at the cemetery? Of course.

This sign on a gravestone nearly took my breath away. I suppose I should have read it as a symbol of loving devotion, but instead it immediately read to me as a bitter jab at poor mother for having abandoned her child.

2010 in Review, pt. 2

Shadows?

Check.

Found in me creek: Manatee!!!

Arr, me hearty!

Ahoy!

When I be looking for booty in me backyard tortuous creek (me creek o' death, as it be), lo and behold, what think ye, matey, that I stumble upon with me sprogs?

Nay, not a mermaid, ye superstitious scallywag!

Arr, it be a manatee.

In me backyard.

Now it be true that I did reassemble its bones just a titch, but merely a titch.

Arrrrr!!!

2010 in review, pt. 1

Stinging creatures? Natch.





And freaky little eggs? Fo shizzle.



---
And my real goal? To post more photos from NYC and Chicago! Respeck.

Bike in the water

Just remembering the good times of 2010. Remember Nessie, Jonbon?

White moth at Ms. Wanda's place

Oh creepy Santa, I will NOT sit on your lap.

I'm back.

You miss me?

Death Battle of the Bands: Trumpet FTW

Readers--

Here's a question I posed to my good friend, Jeff, husband of Justcurious, as prompted by the very odd appearance of BOTH the UNC and V-Tech marching bands joining the football field to perform together.

Question: If you had to go to battle armed only with a musical instrument, what would it be?

Assume your opponents are also armed with instruments. You may use more than one type of instrument. You may do a MacGyver and jerry-rig instruments (and instrument parts) however you'd like. It is a battle to the death.

Discuss.

Answer: Trumpet

Cloud Gate

The sculptor of Cloud Gate is Anish Kapoor. And the ever-trenchant detector of subtle irony is Andy D.

Oh, it on!

Autumn Leaves at the cemetary

even your flow of tears

Normally I remember quite vividly one or two dreams per night. But last night the sole memory I had of any dream was this line spoken by someone else. I do not remember to whom the line was directed, but it was the very last thing I dreamt before I awoke:

"I will miss even your flow of tears when I am gone."

Its spoken cadence in the dream reminded me of the e.e. cummings poem that Michael Caine points out to Barbara Hershey in Hannah and Her Sisters--somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond, especially that wonderful closing line:

"nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands"

Taking down names

Not my area of expertise, but I've got imagine that when angels start taking down names then there's gonna be some hell to pay for someone. I doubt they're just journaling for the sake of self-discovery.

homeless man and flag

Witch at the cemetery

Sometimes one visits Myrtle Hill Cemetery by oneself to take a walk among the graves and headstones and to contemplate one's own mortality and the mortality of one's loved ones. And, if the spirit calls, to take photos. (And call it does.)

And sometimes when one visits Myrtle Hill cemetery, one has the entire cemetery to oneself with the exception of a witch, whom one sees at a distance in front a mausoleum.

I am glad that these things happen.

Cosmic Joke

Our pretensions:


Our reality: