by joshua heineman ( about cb )
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"deeply into whatever"
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J[at]CURSIVEBUILDINGS.COM
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Reclaiming the World through Photography
Ahhhhhmegazine
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[ archives ]
![We surround ourselves w/these symbols to spell out the invisible movements of the heart.
[ I’m doing some work with the Spring/Summer 2011 Collection from EDUN, a fashion company that encourages trade with & investment in Africa. The company was founded by Ali Hewson & Bono. (facebook | tumblr) ]](http://30.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lknad3AfV81qz7avgo1_500.jpg)
We surround ourselves w/these symbols to spell out the invisible movements of the heart.
[ I’m doing some work with the Spring/Summer 2011 Collection from EDUN, a fashion company that encourages trade with & investment in Africa. The company was founded by Ali Hewson & Bono. (facebook | tumblr) ]
Life is useful until you grow tired of magic, notice the weight of blood in your body.
Why To Get Out Of Bed In The Morning
Money is the root of much unhappiness. Happiness, too, unfortunately.
The masters say simplify, but:
Love is the root of much unhappiness & happiness.
Family is the root of much unhappiness & happiness.
Even the pursuit of happiness is a source of much unhappiness.
… so the elements themselves are clouded.
The masters say nothingness is truth, but:
Nothingness is not happiness, not unhappiness, not alive.
We are alive. So nothingness cannot be the whole truth.
So happiness cannot be the whole truth. So unhappiness cannot be the…
On the couch, ok, observing the sunset hour…
VIDEO STUDIES | SAN FRANCISCO
I carried my p&s camera around, thinking in video instead of snapshots… an experiment. Everything is sort of rough as I have no professional equipment. The song is an old demo of “I Don’t Know” by my pal Leo London.
Stills from Smultronstället
V.Sjöström (in his final film) agreed to star in I.Bergman’s Wild Strawberries on one strict condition… that he was home each day by his 5 o’clock whiskey. Beautiful film.
PUNS THAT ANSWER THEMSELVES
- What is a funny-looking creature you might SEA LION on the beach?
- Why is what like a writing desk? Are you stark RAVEN mad?
- Which animal cannot BEAR to stay awake through the winter?
- What sort of beast breathes fire while DRAGON a serpentine tail behind?
- Which bird still might sing all NIGHTINGALE force winds?
[ ps. let the above also serve as instructions & create your own. Share. ]
Let’s Stay Awake & Afraid Of This
Don’t underestimate how the complexities of human character become cartoonish over time. Doubt your version of your best friends. Let them impress you like strangers. Let’s live forever like we just met.
Selections from my Love Letters to Saint Francis:
The Impossible Ladder
The elegant plan, the simple inarticulate hope
the incessant dusting, the uncovering that hovers here
the unremarkable rungs of the impossible ladder
that you think of these things at all.
The cups that are clean, then filled, then cleaned
the nowhere fear, the terror of arrival
the sad spaces in front & above, the sap of happiness
the matter-of-fact alleyways
the proper thing to do or say at the wrong time & place
that you think of these things at all.
The honest beggar, the blinding white lie of language
the stubborn smokestacks & on-ramps, the dull ache of static
the bored understanding of traffic patterns
the unspent plea, the common cold openings
the nature of torn pockets, the multidimensional smile
that you think of these things at all.
Here’s To Life…
& all the happy little deaths of time.
To being clothed in a dead man’s sweater
in the dead center of summer.
Where the hills of this town touch the shimmering hand of god
& god doesn’t notice.
Where I muster up the hesitation, resolved.
& all dissolving in the shivering dream of bliss…
& the nondescript slobber of numbness.
This Part Of The Big City Is A Small Town
Love, this is your neat summer
The twinkling twilight of near unconsciousness
Open affections tucked away in the park
The women there, tending babies. You see
the large church at six, six, six on Filbert
Old men lining up at Mama’s for breakfast
All those lovers in the foreplay of morning
Ghosts in nondescript cars going crazy
The chorus of Chinese clearing their throats in the alley
Heavenly, heavily
we heave our bodies forward into sight. Then
we leave them in the night, where we found them
Cradled by our mothers, crying & laughing at once
Born as the bells ring & singing as they die away
We are among saints
We are bothered by crowds, choked w/wings & coughing
Projected on the streets like stars
Wrapped in the season & still: a secret.
Eating An Orange Incorrectly
If time reversed, sunsets would sunrise & sunrise would set,
& we’d wake up so tired, we’d fall asleep full of rest.
But still there’d be dark, there’d be light. Thunder, then lightning.
& room after room of such waiting…
In Somnie
A wall of green blooms serenely near the river. Près de la Parc du Champs de Mars
I am there, eyes wide, mouth sharp, in another year, long from now, far far from here
& old Paris seems so complete, so completely covered in concrete & meaning
I’m only bone-tired & ready to be swallowed up again by the din of Europe’s evening
Reborn as a Basque tour guide, or a pigeon on a park bench facing the seaside
… never leaving. My Mediterranean mothers & the gentle nudging of Italian weather.
Impressed by ordinary men less than humbled by the overwhelming obesity of time
Who go on, set apart from location, station to station, & fashion some sort of home
In love like long rambling walks w/no destination, safe from deadly games & favorites
Teach me the language, let us live in fantastic vacancies, explosive pleasantries
Run out my weakness on the roads of history stretched out to infinity & still arriving…
A thriving marriage of humanity & patience. I am there, Paris, unthinking.
Until the sober cathedral bells shake me & reclaim me from my dumbstruck stupor
Here are the paved sand dunes of my poor California, America’s bold boutique future
Here are four hard years of tracks, from hill to bay & back, & one dull wall of plants
These nights lit like fires in the center of stars die out entirely. Morning in ruins, running
Two tickets to Istanbul & then the Serbian countryside & then… nothing.
& finally, that life can still be like this.
Noah Kalina stopped by to help w/the housework.
Time Change
After days of feeling pathetically helpless & stupidly overwhelmed by the staggering tragedies in Japan, I tore myself away from the news (itself a sort of intangible tsunami) when I realized I’d been listening to endless, hopeless broadcasts & staring distrustingly at the bright blue bay water out the window for an unknown amount of time. The thing that shook me “awake” was a coffee mug falling from the sky, straight down as if god tripped on his way for the morning paper, & shattering in the street somewhere below.
Too strange to think about… So I left the apartment w/no real destination in mind & ended up running into Demetri Martin (<- genius). True story. What is this place?
Notes - Saturday, March 5, 2011
The atmosphere is hazy now, the bay looks like a pot of dry ice in a Halloween display, but earlier the sky was clear & I was overdressed for a Saturday morning. I stretched out on a warm bench in the park & watched the little black birds move across the grass… & I could see that they were once giant dinosaurs chasing terrified prey across the plains in another time. At the top of a small hill, the birds passed beneath a tree w/absolutely no leaves, but a full canopy of flowers. I watched the odd petal fall into white-pink piles on the hill until I was distracted by two elderly Chinese women in wheelchairs who parked themselves nearby. For the next half hour I watched them pass prescription drug bottles back & forth. When they left, one of them winked at me & I found myself nodding in mysterious agreement.
Later, in the sculpture garden atop SFMOMA, I removed my glasses, balanced an espresso on my lap & shut my eyes long enough to forget where I was. In such circumstances, you become the warmth of light on your face & the sound of wind against the city. I heard someone say “unless it’s a cooking emergency or a Spanish translation, no one ever needs me.” The cafe on the roof has a dessert shaped like a penis (serious) & covered in chocolate. Only middle-aged women buy them, according to my observations… but, to be fair, one of the women thought it was a finger. Selah. A metric ton of humanity in that little building not even counting the art.
This afternoon feels right for rearranging furniture, so…
OVERHEARD in SF. Dude on a cell outside Bob’s, smoking.
