by joshua heineman                        ( about cb )

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"deeply into whatever"


email joshua:
J[at]CURSIVEBUILDINGS.COM

PROJECTS

Reaching for the Out of Reach

Blog Art (looks)

Blog Words (reads)

Reclaiming the World through Photography

Fever Math

Ahhhhhmegazine
no. 5, no. 4, no. 3,
no. 2, no. 1 (art mags)

Overheard in SF

You Do Not Need to be Emperor

Polaroids/Photos

The Last Works
of Egon Schiele


    SONGS ( more )
 

 
- summertime
- so don't you worry
- chance is our machine
- out tonite
- icstaww
- sun's not rising yet


c u r s i v e
b u i l d i n g s
f o r e v e r


miracles


portraits in red


flickr as a game you cannot win


angelic melancholic


reclaiming


ta beauté
me secoue


context is
excess


camera death


[ archives ]


MAGIC
a glass of framboise lambic (aka unicorn tears!) at savoy on portland’s east side. the food was absolutely wonderful. thank you amaya & casey. later i had my favorite seasonal beer, pyramid’s snow cap, on tap at the horse brass. i think maybe the last time i had drinks in that particular bar was 2004. i was hanging out w/my editor at willamette week & a touring band from minneapolis… we all got blind drunk & stumbled back to a nearby house, where we gathered around a fire w/electric instruments plugged into amps powered by long extension cords. then i led everyone in a loud, sloppy rendition of g.harrison’s “here comes the sun” at 2 in the morning. not an unusual night in stumptown during my twenty-third year. no matter. nobody calls the cops for such things during summer in that part of portland.

MAGIC
a glass of framboise lambic (aka unicorn tears!) at savoy on portland’s east side. the food was absolutely wonderful. thank you amaya & casey. later i had my favorite seasonal beer, pyramid’s snow cap, on tap at the horse brass. i think maybe the last time i had drinks in that particular bar was 2004. i was hanging out w/my editor at willamette week & a touring band from minneapolis… we all got blind drunk & stumbled back to a nearby house, where we gathered around a fire w/electric instruments plugged into amps powered by long extension cords. then i led everyone in a loud, sloppy rendition of g.harrison’s “here comes the sun” at 2 in the morning. not an unusual night in stumptown during my twenty-third year. no matter. nobody calls the cops for such things during summer in that part of portland.