written/non-written things by me (from 2005-2008)

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

Thank you for reading me.

"Shoes on wires" and other so defined things/thoughts left behind, small things a single girl amuses herself with, became not so much a novelty or project anymore. Something about lovable isolation and photographs and finds that make you smirk to yourself, make you broadcast to who knows who, something about that sentiment ended with Asia, but I dragged it through Florida, like Florida was sticky puddy that gathered random sticks and hair, and pieces of paper (evidenced by the last several months of sporadic posts. Can you tell me what is going on here?)

So, eventually what's become of Shoesonawire came out covered in dust and Spanish moss, and the conclusion is that my sharing side deserves a different display cabinet.

One with two window panes, two handles. So, I've gone myopic with him. with Myopic Pictures. It's a place where we explore and write about our ideas: about our picture-life, about riding on bikes, about how to get better at saying something. It's worthwhile, trust me.

I'll see you there, thank you.

Saturday, March 15, 2008

excerpt from "INDEP500 vs. ALC450: CH. 1 THE FIRST REPRISAL"

"The INDEP500 matches the technology of the ALC450 in everyway, except for its physical appearance. Its light black, molded plastic is stylish, rounded and ergonomic. There are gyroscopes and wheels that allow the INDEP500 to move independently while running on batteries and can be adjusted with a remote. It was this mobility feature that convinced the Mr. Peterson to replace the older ALC450 plug-in. But there is an odd quirk of the INDEP500. It has been showing up in the oddest places. Mrs. Peterson was singing in the shower one evening and heard its clicking gyroscopes. She stepped out to find, to her alarm, the INDEP500 standing idle in front of her. Its small head blinking and whirring, it wasn’t playing music or telling jokes."

Hannah, Jan 2003

excerpt from "Lynching from Lamposts"

"I frequently sit under this broken lamppost on my street...

...A sucker for poets, I once heard a poet describe the moon like a locket hanging between two palm trees. Whose neck with the locket? I could have loved that poet I think were it not for his poetry. So, I think of lynching and how awful it is, and how I found a photo in a heap of trash in an alley of a man being fake lynched as part of rodeo parade in the street. It’s 1959 in the picture. He hangs- he has a mustache- from a rope with the crowd all around him. The crowd has a mouth that’s agape. They’re dressed naively, what you’d expect in 1959. And the caption reads, “Lynching from Lampposts.” (I’ve got the picture in my pocket to show him if he passes). Ah, but no matter what time vacuum has separated us, no matter the wattage that has sucked that memory clean, where now a space exists to be appalled by the way they used their lampposts then. It’s been 1959 to present; and I am not so naively dressed. They loved their street as much as I love mine: the spectacle whir of lampposts, what you can hang from lampposts: a pair of sneakers, staples, nails, a man. But when they stood under the spectacle they saw a strung neck where I see a locket without a neck. "

excerpt from "Things that Happen When I am Waiting for the Bus."

But talk talk talk he did, and say say say over again "But its a good business." He was around for Brando and Eastwood and Robert Mitchum, and he was at the Academy awards ("back in the day") and acidentally stepped on Ms. Elizabeth Taylor's dress before she walked up to recieve her Oscar. He was an editing man, but back then it was just enough to make a living, "But its a good business", he says. I told him I was a student at the University. I told him I was originally from Texas and he said that back in the day he was in Texas for a day. "Amarillo," he says. I told him I liked Arizona. He goes, "Well thats good."

We sat next to each other on the bus and talked more, more about the famous stars. He even listed all the stars he never met. Not to fond of this Marilyn Monroe, he says, "She couldn't act a lick." I laughed. He carried an old canvas bag full of black and white glossies of famous stars, "Marilyn, Betty, Katherine..." He flipped through them very quickly. "The kids love'em. So I walk around to tatoo parlors and sell my old pictures for 3 bucks a pop....Its a hobby." I told him that I might want to buy one, he said, "Naw," and pointed a sign on the bus which read, "No soliciting." Oh well, I said, maybe some other day. He said, "I always take the No. 1." To which I replied, "Me too."

Hannah, January 2003

excerpt from "Man with a Presentasion [sic]"

He spent the night at the library, left a man..
most post-teenage girls/premid-twenties women knew him. Carried his stachel in like a dignitary, sat it on the table with assured grace in a manner of pure unadoltrated focus. In side were varied legnths and thickness of cardboard, and scrawled text sandwhiched between, latyer afterleyer if you looking at cockeyed. Hopefully, the library was at his temnperature of choice (I couldn't speculate, but it seems like perhaps it owoudld n't be too cold to need 2 latedyers). You can get a lot of work done on a belly that been digesting for at least 2 hours. but antecedent to eating you are starved mad and postliminious to eating you are a sleeping the bliss leaning into your side. have heard this true and have lived it to make it fact.

His next day was to be full of pressures, of cleaning his plate before class, and ghaving to stand infront of that very class with a full and bloated belly, self-conscious with all eyes staring at his belt-buckle ready to busrt....But the morning lurches slow into the lunch hour and he is weary of the wednesday specaail "chili con carne con huevo con queso con queso con leche Ranchero", He passes up the long line, good choice, friend....And now entering into the MLNG bnui;ding, stopping to go over the notes (noting the empty desk in the stairwell with daft messages carved into the desktop "Leave Iraq alone!" and next to it "Give me a cookie...Now!") He leaves with the time to spare him a dime of good cents/sense/scents and siddles into the lecture hall with assured grace in a manner of pure unadoltrated focus. And how the ladies knew him was there gravest secret?

We leave this to the man himself to answer upon finding this the last and final question in the whole message...aND THAT one is how did our young gentlemen brave the trechors of public speaking?

Hannah, October 2002

excerpt from "Project Escape!"

"Now for the important stuff: I need you to pull one hair from your head, preferably it should be a foot in length. Thread it through the eye of a magnetized needle. Then dangle the needle by the opposite end of the hair over a large fig leaf filled with ionized water. If you see sparks then start over, but if you don’t then you should revel in your achievement, for you have just created a conduit to transmit electrons. And transmit you shall, for two days while I make the escape"

-Hannah, June 2002

Wednesday, March 05, 2008

Thursday, February 07, 2008

Best of '07

, originally uploaded by gofeetgo.

Thursday, January 17, 2008

an email.

Re: Didn't understand it

show details Jan 9 (7 days ago)


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nan rather enjoyed the trouble, and went aboutof delight hailed this noble offer, for noahead at the colorful world that we live
f: leaped from his bosom to the floor and scampered one of the lounging men said, lazily,
serious results. desert is increasing very

Sunday, January 06, 2008

l'instant des...

..I am really psyched to be apart of the "l'instant des..." daily photography site. It's an incredible mix of images. Take a look at the archives, Xuoan has a great eye.

Tuesday, January 01, 2008

Field Notes #4

Nail polish remover on an empty stomach.

Once I had an outdoor living room with a carpet rolled out on the dirt and on nights when I was being peculiar and listless I'd sit in my nightgown coddling my teddy bear, rocking back and forth, humming and moaning in the dark, way past midnight, while trails of cloud vapor curled in front of the moon, if it was a fullish moon, and thin desert branches raped against one another, if the wind blew. It usually was and did. And at the sight of something like that I'd grow silent and scoot closer to the furniture. The kitchen table sinking in the sand, the console television cockeyed in the nook of a tree. I'd make my legs Indian style at the foot of the reclining chair and position the bear in front of me, and we'd hold hands, as if to confide like we girls did when sitting together in grass patches on the playground. I'd ask the bear to help me go to sleep. I'd say his name and try to make him understand. His plastic eyes were wide and black and went right through me. I'd ask him to listen, please, listen. I'd shake him a little by his plush shoulders, but he was emotionally impermeable and unflinching. His head flopped gruesomely on his cloth neck and I'd hug him and apologize. I'd squeeze him and his nubby arms poked under mine and the harder I squeezed the wider his arms opened, unsqueezing me back. Somehow I'd fall asleep.

Monday, December 31, 2007

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

Happy Holidays from North Central Florida

Thank you kindly, whoever you may be, for checking in on me/this from time to time...

I am growing a new 'thing' called "When you love it." It is to be multifarious and surprising. Stay tuned.

"http://when you love"

My name is Hannah Pierce-Carlson