Nina Kulagina

Another old collage, this time featuring Nina Kulagina (b. 1927), soviet psychic. Back during the Cold War, Nina caused quite a stir, internationally. Photos and films circulated showing her moving objects with her mind. (Supposedly, she even stopped a human heart once!) She claimed that whenever she used her gift, she experienced a sharp, agonizing pain in her spine. This collage sez: Is the world on its side? Has it always been? What use are psychic abilities in the End Times? How does one best channel one's power? Honestly, the world is on fire with suffering. What's a gal to do?

"He Gave Us This Wine To Drink, Not Criticize"

(1)"The especial genius of women I believe to be electrical in movement, intuitive in function, spiritual in tendency." - Margaret Fuller

(2)"A nation or civilization that continues to produce soft-minded men purchases its own spiritual death on an installment plan." - M.L.K., Jr.

(3)"Wine is the most civilized thing in the world." -Hemingway

(5)"Coffee is the wine of Islam." - Traditional

(6)Ergo, this morning I shall remain intoxicated on the wine of Islam so as to achieve maximum civility, syzygy, and to better divine the Unseen via the feminine. (In other words, I'm drinking coffee and grokking Betty Page. You?)

Inner Woodstock

Betty Page. What fed her soul? What inspired her? What gave her the golden glow of fulfillment? Once, many years ago, I made a collage that asked this question. Sometimes, rarely, my eyes leak during such acts of contemplation. More commonly, I stare at my hands, a waterfall, or pinup girl and sense that, on an atomic level, there is a Trickster at work. It is helpful for me to ask about people's motivations, including my own. It is helpful to send beneficent cops, anthropologists, and trip sitters to one's inner-Woodstock. Yes, indeed.

A Common Bed Spread

I just got back from the eye clinic (third time in two months). My wait-in-the-waiting-room-in-an-uncomfortable-ass-chair time was three hours. But I had Matt Taibbi's The Great Derangement riding shottie, so the wait was actually a nice reprieve from how I've lately been spending a Monday morning slash afternoon: conferencing with my students (who are now sweating bullets because their final portfolios - constituting 50% of their grade for my class - are due in 2 1/2 weeks) about how to write. I'm actually impressed with where most of my students are, skill-wise. They've, surprisingly, become better writers over the course of the semester (I'm not that great of a teacher). On more than one occasion, they've even made me say "Yeah! Word! Wish I'd written that!" As for my stye - well, predictably, they lanced and drained it (again, third time in two months). Know what's weird? It doesn't even hurt when they do it now. I just automatically man up (i.e. dissociate and die on the inside a little).

"Sir, this will probably sting a-"
"I know. Go ahead. I'm fine."

Double Meh.

Last night, we rented the latest X-men movie, which - meh. In other news, as of this morning, my stye, which had been slowly healing over the past 4 weeks, is now back in full, flaming, frothing effect. (Which - also - meh.)

Basement IV

Once you go recursive it's hard to stop. Must...stop...recursiveness.

Basement Study III: The Recursive Basement

Photo of me in front of a photo of me in front of a photo of me in front of a photo of me in front of a photo of our basement.