Saturday, April 9, 2016
Saturday, November 16, 2013
there are times of mine, that i think of, when set off by a certain quality of light, or some smell and aroma, or movement..being in a vehicle, on a highway in and around nyc, especially if i am not the one driving, and having the streetlight in their shroud of yellow light, deepening its own shadows, outlining the garbage. pavement, guardrails, the way to go..and if the window is open or slightly open, the exhaust from diesel trucks, the cars, the water, old concrete, decay..rats..
Thursday, November 14, 2013
hehehehe.. so turns out my blood type is AB negative. which, when i looked it up:
¨ Extra vertebra.
¨ Higher than average IQ
¨ More sensitive vision and other senses.
¨ Lower body temperature
¨ Higher blood pressure
¨ Increased occurrence of psychic/intuitive abilities
¨ Predominantly blue, green, or Hazel eyes
¨ Red or reddish hair
¨ Has increased sensitivity to heat and sunlight
¨ Cannot be cloned
¨ Alien Abduction and other unexplained phenomenon
also
Being Rh negative is pretty special within itself, but do you have these magick powers too?
1, Empathy - You walk into a room and you instantly pick up on the vibes. You will know when someone has been laughing, crying, arguing, or is sad. It doesn't matter if someone denies they are sad or upset about something, you will know the truth. You can tune into their feelings so well that if you are not careful you take on the other persons emotions too. We need to learn to hold back a little, otherwise we are no use to those who need us most.
2, Psychic - Yes, you did know that was going to happen didn't you? How often to find yourself 'just knowing' something is going to happen before it does? Probably often right? It can get a little irritating can't it? Always knowing what is going to happen next. No one can hold a surprise party for you, or buy you a surprise gift can they? You already knew all about it before they have even decided to plan it.
3, Mysterious - How often do you get told that someone just can't figure you out? If you are Rh negative probably pretty often. This can often make others distrust you, or sometimes they might even think you are 'too nice' and therefore you must be hiding something. However, you attract lovers, unwanted attention and stalkers like no one else you have ever known! There is just something about you.. you are mysterious and your peers either love it or hate it.
4, Dreams - You have the most amazing pre-cognitive dreams, or just dreams that you can learn so much from. Your inner world teaches you so many lessons and you love to dream. Entering the dream realms is fascinating to you and you allow your dreams to teach you things, that others just don't seem to notice. Actually you are the one others will come to and ask what their dreams mean, you can usually figure things out pretty well.
5, Deep Thinker - You know how frustrating it is to sit thinking about the universe, the planets, the stars, insects, atoms, or anything really, but in a very deep contemplative way. And when you try to discuss these thoughts with your peers, they look at you like you are crazy? Yes, they are not a deep thinker like you and it can feel lonely at times when you are surrounded purely by others who aren't like you.
6, Fountain of Youth - OK not exactly forever young, but as you pass your 20s you will notice that a lot of people think you are younger than your years. Rh negatives seem to radiate youth no matter how old they get.
7, Creativity - Us negs are a creative lot, and it doesn't mean just art. Writing, poetry, crafts, baking, making things, designing stuff, building a business, performing, making music, rituals, no matter what it is you will have plenty of creative ideas and concepts just ready to express out on to the world. Why don't others get it? You might think to yourself, as they continue on with their mundane life without ever seeming to have the need to create or be creative in any way. Freedom to express this creativity is very important to negs.
¨ Extra vertebra.
¨ Higher than average IQ
¨ More sensitive vision and other senses.
¨ Lower body temperature
¨ Higher blood pressure
¨ Increased occurrence of psychic/intuitive abilities
¨ Predominantly blue, green, or Hazel eyes
¨ Red or reddish hair
¨ Has increased sensitivity to heat and sunlight
¨ Cannot be cloned
¨ Alien Abduction and other unexplained phenomenon
also
Being Rh negative is pretty special within itself, but do you have these magick powers too?
1, Empathy - You walk into a room and you instantly pick up on the vibes. You will know when someone has been laughing, crying, arguing, or is sad. It doesn't matter if someone denies they are sad or upset about something, you will know the truth. You can tune into their feelings so well that if you are not careful you take on the other persons emotions too. We need to learn to hold back a little, otherwise we are no use to those who need us most.
2, Psychic - Yes, you did know that was going to happen didn't you? How often to find yourself 'just knowing' something is going to happen before it does? Probably often right? It can get a little irritating can't it? Always knowing what is going to happen next. No one can hold a surprise party for you, or buy you a surprise gift can they? You already knew all about it before they have even decided to plan it.
3, Mysterious - How often do you get told that someone just can't figure you out? If you are Rh negative probably pretty often. This can often make others distrust you, or sometimes they might even think you are 'too nice' and therefore you must be hiding something. However, you attract lovers, unwanted attention and stalkers like no one else you have ever known! There is just something about you.. you are mysterious and your peers either love it or hate it.
4, Dreams - You have the most amazing pre-cognitive dreams, or just dreams that you can learn so much from. Your inner world teaches you so many lessons and you love to dream. Entering the dream realms is fascinating to you and you allow your dreams to teach you things, that others just don't seem to notice. Actually you are the one others will come to and ask what their dreams mean, you can usually figure things out pretty well.
5, Deep Thinker - You know how frustrating it is to sit thinking about the universe, the planets, the stars, insects, atoms, or anything really, but in a very deep contemplative way. And when you try to discuss these thoughts with your peers, they look at you like you are crazy? Yes, they are not a deep thinker like you and it can feel lonely at times when you are surrounded purely by others who aren't like you.
6, Fountain of Youth - OK not exactly forever young, but as you pass your 20s you will notice that a lot of people think you are younger than your years. Rh negatives seem to radiate youth no matter how old they get.
7, Creativity - Us negs are a creative lot, and it doesn't mean just art. Writing, poetry, crafts, baking, making things, designing stuff, building a business, performing, making music, rituals, no matter what it is you will have plenty of creative ideas and concepts just ready to express out on to the world. Why don't others get it? You might think to yourself, as they continue on with their mundane life without ever seeming to have the need to create or be creative in any way. Freedom to express this creativity is very important to negs.
Do your eyes change colour depending on your mood?
If they do
you probably have Rh negative blood.
Our eyes can change colour
depending on how we feel.
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
in this cholera study.. an avid jigsaw puzzle man named patrick, who actually knows friends of mine, and rents from a friend of mine, was discussing with me, somehow, the human race. and its faults.. i believe the conversation started off with dumpstering food and all the waste that humans produce... and then it turned to alchoholism and drug addiction and what this society accepts in its tender blatency of harm..
'people feel its absense but don't know what they are missing'..said patrick..
its absence. the warm cozy in your gut, the grounded foundation, the solidity of being.. and there are generations of people, families that go through the discource and the never ending search for that feeling. to fill that hole. and they don't know what it is.. the chemicals that are synonumus with that hole .. the ones that fill it, the ones you are lacking when you turn to drugs like heroin, or seeven.... is dopamine..
and people become addicted to things, its searchh, the pain that goes along with it
in the same way that people become addicted to emotions. and ways of thinking, as well as the chemicals produced in anger or sadness... or are they addicted to the feeling, the mending, however slight that comes along after the hurt,...the endorfins.. the bandaid?
and it seems like this modern human world is always tring to bandaid things.. they are comfortable with this process, they mask the real reason for the open wound, physical or mental.. pharmaceutical companies and alot of modern doctors make this the rules and standards of their trade.
there is no questioning of the source.. exploring of the constitutes.. it is easier to treat the symptoms of a cold than the actual cold itself and why it is there.. or is it?
is it easier too treat depression with drugs of any sort. than the source of depression itself, and the reason on why it is there.... whet˙er hereditary- genes, or environmental.
i have been mulling for quite som time now, the wsources of the discource of modern society and its needs, addiciton.. how human nature got so out of whack, to produce such excasperated reactions to basic survival traits.
and i have been looking at what modern day people in first world countries, as in America, are looking for.. critiquing what is wrong here.. and what would make sense, as a change.
'people feel its absense but don't know what they are missing'..said patrick..
its absence. the warm cozy in your gut, the grounded foundation, the solidity of being.. and there are generations of people, families that go through the discource and the never ending search for that feeling. to fill that hole. and they don't know what it is.. the chemicals that are synonumus with that hole .. the ones that fill it, the ones you are lacking when you turn to drugs like heroin, or seeven.... is dopamine..
and people become addicted to things, its searchh, the pain that goes along with it
in the same way that people become addicted to emotions. and ways of thinking, as well as the chemicals produced in anger or sadness... or are they addicted to the feeling, the mending, however slight that comes along after the hurt,...the endorfins.. the bandaid?
and it seems like this modern human world is always tring to bandaid things.. they are comfortable with this process, they mask the real reason for the open wound, physical or mental.. pharmaceutical companies and alot of modern doctors make this the rules and standards of their trade.
there is no questioning of the source.. exploring of the constitutes.. it is easier to treat the symptoms of a cold than the actual cold itself and why it is there.. or is it?
is it easier too treat depression with drugs of any sort. than the source of depression itself, and the reason on why it is there.... whet˙er hereditary- genes, or environmental.
i have been mulling for quite som time now, the wsources of the discource of modern society and its needs, addiciton.. how human nature got so out of whack, to produce such excasperated reactions to basic survival traits.
and i have been looking at what modern day people in first world countries, as in America, are looking for.. critiquing what is wrong here.. and what would make sense, as a change.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Its interesting that people that have done this med study before, kinda wish they could do it again.. to quote Dave'--it was great- i had all the food i could eat, i had time to myself, i hung out with people..'...hmmm
what in this world are we lacking as a whole, in humanity--- a huge question, loaded with all sorts of subgenres, i know..
but i think there needs to be, in peoples lives, a focused community space... a place where people can congregate, do things, get information, share ideas..
and that's what the general store with the wood stove and yarns told were.. that is what needle exchanges, and can return places are...soup kitchens..
that is what cafe's are for.. and pedestrian streets.. where you will see flyers, and regualrs, and exciting newness and comforting oldness..
but alot of times, people don't PRIORITIZE this.. or it gets blown up by jerks, ruined.. or there have to be a gazzillion rules set apon by those in charge-- cause someone always needs to be in charge- to fund it, or to get the grants to make it happen, or lock it up, or to clean up..b e personnel..
and it brings me back to the dirth of humanity, and questions simply like' why the fuck cant people clean up, moniter themselves?'
really, it is human nature, and learning, and the fact that most peoples parent suck, and they havent been taught morals, and whatnot, ..like how not to fuck something up, how to put effort into something and take pride into it, and have its back..
what in this world are we lacking as a whole, in humanity--- a huge question, loaded with all sorts of subgenres, i know..
but i think there needs to be, in peoples lives, a focused community space... a place where people can congregate, do things, get information, share ideas..
and that's what the general store with the wood stove and yarns told were.. that is what needle exchanges, and can return places are...soup kitchens..
that is what cafe's are for.. and pedestrian streets.. where you will see flyers, and regualrs, and exciting newness and comforting oldness..
but alot of times, people don't PRIORITIZE this.. or it gets blown up by jerks, ruined.. or there have to be a gazzillion rules set apon by those in charge-- cause someone always needs to be in charge- to fund it, or to get the grants to make it happen, or lock it up, or to clean up..b e personnel..
and it brings me back to the dirth of humanity, and questions simply like' why the fuck cant people clean up, moniter themselves?'
really, it is human nature, and learning, and the fact that most peoples parent suck, and they havent been taught morals, and whatnot, ..like how not to fuck something up, how to put effort into something and take pride into it, and have its back..
Monday, November 11, 2013
i forgot to say: i have a comic tumbler:
http://in-this-life-comics.tumblr.com
and there you will find all the retarded things i think about, and have done.. and more.. i just completed a 3 page comic in here so far.. yay! and also been on facebook too much..
yesterday was AWESOME, in this cholera med study cause all the Roseanne Halloween specials were on and i felt cozy, and oddly, missed New Jersey. Truth.
http://in-this-life-comics.tumblr.com
and there you will find all the retarded things i think about, and have done.. and more.. i just completed a 3 page comic in here so far.. yay! and also been on facebook too much..
yesterday was AWESOME, in this cholera med study cause all the Roseanne Halloween specials were on and i felt cozy, and oddly, missed New Jersey. Truth.
my own personal cholera epidemic-day 2..
so we downed the cholera as a group like we were insurgents doing a mass suicide, or kool aid something or other.. i immediately texted my daughter--'took the cholera- save me from myself''.
i feel a little headachy with swells of emotion. but maybe that is how i normally feel. i can't tell.
it is odd being in a new environment where i don't have dog distraction, people hanging over my back when i use the computer, and where i have alot of free time.
i need to get stuff done.
make lists, check off lists, funnel creativity--in a cholera study. ha. but when life gives you lemons for three thousand dollars and makes you stay in the hospital for 11 days, well...lemonade. and comix. and research. and articles. and blog. hell, even one of those.
.. and how do i keep up this after hospital times? my mind is always a whirlwind..
after cholera i will be:
taking badass russian aikido
finding a job or another med study or a temp gig...
during cholera i will:
comix--draw, promote
articles--start with this blog..write for thebuskersproject...give myself assignments
make a list- a concise one of magazines, zines and blogs i want to contribute to..
find out how to get the house i want- or the like
and a buisiness- self employment- farm gigs- like mushrooms or geese. as a business..
get to it!!
love, me.
so we downed the cholera as a group like we were insurgents doing a mass suicide, or kool aid something or other.. i immediately texted my daughter--'took the cholera- save me from myself''.
i feel a little headachy with swells of emotion. but maybe that is how i normally feel. i can't tell.
it is odd being in a new environment where i don't have dog distraction, people hanging over my back when i use the computer, and where i have alot of free time.
i need to get stuff done.
make lists, check off lists, funnel creativity--in a cholera study. ha. but when life gives you lemons for three thousand dollars and makes you stay in the hospital for 11 days, well...lemonade. and comix. and research. and articles. and blog. hell, even one of those.
.. and how do i keep up this after hospital times? my mind is always a whirlwind..
after cholera i will be:
taking badass russian aikido
finding a job or another med study or a temp gig...
during cholera i will:
comix--draw, promote
articles--start with this blog..write for thebuskersproject...give myself assignments
make a list- a concise one of magazines, zines and blogs i want to contribute to..
find out how to get the house i want- or the like
and a buisiness- self employment- farm gigs- like mushrooms or geese. as a business..
get to it!!
love, me.
Sunday, November 10, 2013
Well, well well.. So officially I am here doing a medical study- for Cholera- where I get Vaccinated, and Innoculated with cholera--therefore pooping. Alot.
But we will see- mainly because I am queen of not only Kombucha and Yogurt, but Lacto fermented stuff that I made and consumed, to be healthy. More on this later.
So I am stuck in here for 11 days, and I have my computer...which means that I will want to work on shit. And be productive. And focus. And write. And draw my comix.
More to come later as well.
But we will see- mainly because I am queen of not only Kombucha and Yogurt, but Lacto fermented stuff that I made and consumed, to be healthy. More on this later.
So I am stuck in here for 11 days, and I have my computer...which means that I will want to work on shit. And be productive. And focus. And write. And draw my comix.
More to come later as well.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
today, i lamented on my previous productive spaces, and have been going thru and organizing my stuff, wishing i had a productive space...hphhmm..yeah first world problems.. on that note, the gov't shutdown has caused me to put into high gear, research... as well as preparedness.. think: lactofermentation. my new favorite method of preserving...
also, today, i have this wonderul habit of working alot, strenuously, then feeling real guilty about my dogs not being in the sun.. cause they run off, or get in the way.. then i play 'apples' with them.. like 'ball' except apples.. and they wind up eating alot of them, as well as grass and dandelions..
so there i was under the apple tree, stretching my psoas... and looking up at a bird, whose mere repetroit reminded me of this wonderful carolina wren, who was my friend in this encampment in south carolina. the bird, not at all afrais, skittered around my sleeping bag every morning, looking for little bugs to eat.. i just layed there waiting for the sun to warm me.. caus
e the winter was cold, and we were living outside like homebums and even though it was a dirty camp, there was an amazing amount of wildlife..
see, in Columbia, sc.. there are places to fly a sign and make money. We found an abandoned lot between a restraunt and a Pep Boys.. there were owls chasing each other, there was a fox skeleton which i kept, there were tons of starlings(jerk birds).. and the remnants of an old homebum camp hidden in the bamboo forest.. we checked for activity, and when we saw none, we checked for bodies.. nearer to the road was what looked like an old shed, or garage, but more like a shed where someone in the 50's may have fixed cars.. there was no plastic parts. only trash and bottles from homebums.. anyways.. i barricaded, and created a barrier so noone could see our fire, and we had ourselves a camp. it was cold. i heated bricks and put them in my sleeping bag.. they were so hot they burned through the tarp. but my sleeping bag was old too.. 1944.. so cotton and goose down.. heavier but real stuff.. it didn't burn...
also, today, i have this wonderul habit of working alot, strenuously, then feeling real guilty about my dogs not being in the sun.. cause they run off, or get in the way.. then i play 'apples' with them.. like 'ball' except apples.. and they wind up eating alot of them, as well as grass and dandelions..
so there i was under the apple tree, stretching my psoas... and looking up at a bird, whose mere repetroit reminded me of this wonderful carolina wren, who was my friend in this encampment in south carolina. the bird, not at all afrais, skittered around my sleeping bag every morning, looking for little bugs to eat.. i just layed there waiting for the sun to warm me.. caus
see, in Columbia, sc.. there are places to fly a sign and make money. We found an abandoned lot between a restraunt and a Pep Boys.. there were owls chasing each other, there was a fox skeleton which i kept, there were tons of starlings(jerk birds).. and the remnants of an old homebum camp hidden in the bamboo forest.. we checked for activity, and when we saw none, we checked for bodies.. nearer to the road was what looked like an old shed, or garage, but more like a shed where someone in the 50's may have fixed cars.. there was no plastic parts. only trash and bottles from homebums.. anyways.. i barricaded, and created a barrier so noone could see our fire, and we had ourselves a camp. it was cold. i heated bricks and put them in my sleeping bag.. they were so hot they burned through the tarp. but my sleeping bag was old too.. 1944.. so cotton and goose down.. heavier but real stuff.. it didn't burn...
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
September 18th, 2013
it has been a long while since i did this blog, and i realized thatit may tie in many things in my life.. keep things strong and focused. essentially it is creating eyes, a parent, a community to ewatch over me, someone to legitimize my life thoughts and actions, it will fill in for all that i lack, and audience, for all that i seek in a community and a poartner.. well, surely not ALL.. but what i am lacking now..
and a blog can do all that? huh..
the psychology of a blog andf why we read blogs is an interwoven conectivity.. weaving words thoughts stories..it is the reason why i am connected to cowbird, a story hosting and sharing website: http://cowbird.com/
and so many more.. i will turn you on to good links and things i find. pass it along.. really i realize the format of this blog is my expansive brain.. so expect that..
it has been a long while since i did this blog, and i realized thatit may tie in many things in my life.. keep things strong and focused. essentially it is creating eyes, a parent, a community to ewatch over me, someone to legitimize my life thoughts and actions, it will fill in for all that i lack, and audience, for all that i seek in a community and a poartner.. well, surely not ALL.. but what i am lacking now..
and a blog can do all that? huh..
the psychology of a blog andf why we read blogs is an interwoven conectivity.. weaving words thoughts stories..it is the reason why i am connected to cowbird, a story hosting and sharing website: http://cowbird.com/
and so many more.. i will turn you on to good links and things i find. pass it along.. really i realize the format of this blog is my expansive brain.. so expect that..
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Day 3 Fasting
Thank you, people that support my efforts in fasting..
It is day 3, and I feel as though it went by real fast.. There was some disappointing, and perplexing news which made me feel week, like i needed a cigarette or coffee.
But, all in all, aside from a hike gone awry, and minor flip outs of my daughter, who hasn't eaten much out of sympathy. And then low blood sugar happened, for her.
I realized that I have one fasting story..
I was on a 6 day fast in Maine, when my daughter and I decided to borrow a dory..a kind of rowboat with 2 pointed ends, used for fishing and travel, for the day. Our land was near the ocean, and so messing around in the sea, finding nasty whale carcasess, old dumps from yesteryear, and wild harvesting greens, and mussels and clams, were activities that were awesome.
So we decided to go in the boat, with Hektor the old lab as mascot, and I wanted to remain close to the shore, for a number of reasons. We didn't have water, I was weaker, esp by that time, and there was a fierce current going to the large ocean from the inlet where Lubec was..which was the town we were at..
But my daughter decided to take the oars, and paddle out toward an island that was epic. Which would have been wonderful any other time. But you can't drink seawater, and we were ill prepared.
So we found ourselves floating around. My daughter was 10 at the time, too little against the current, and me, fasting.. we were skrewed. I tried to head toward the weirs, places that they raised fish in large circular cages in the water, but no go.. So I flagged down a lobster boat, and was towed.
til tomorrow..
It is day 3, and I feel as though it went by real fast.. There was some disappointing, and perplexing news which made me feel week, like i needed a cigarette or coffee.
But, all in all, aside from a hike gone awry, and minor flip outs of my daughter, who hasn't eaten much out of sympathy. And then low blood sugar happened, for her.
I realized that I have one fasting story..
I was on a 6 day fast in Maine, when my daughter and I decided to borrow a dory..a kind of rowboat with 2 pointed ends, used for fishing and travel, for the day. Our land was near the ocean, and so messing around in the sea, finding nasty whale carcasess, old dumps from yesteryear, and wild harvesting greens, and mussels and clams, were activities that were awesome.
So we decided to go in the boat, with Hektor the old lab as mascot, and I wanted to remain close to the shore, for a number of reasons. We didn't have water, I was weaker, esp by that time, and there was a fierce current going to the large ocean from the inlet where Lubec was..which was the town we were at..
But my daughter decided to take the oars, and paddle out toward an island that was epic. Which would have been wonderful any other time. But you can't drink seawater, and we were ill prepared.
So we found ourselves floating around. My daughter was 10 at the time, too little against the current, and me, fasting.. we were skrewed. I tried to head toward the weirs, places that they raised fish in large circular cages in the water, but no go.. So I flagged down a lobster boat, and was towed.
til tomorrow..
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
10 day fast results
10 day fast results..
1. Improved and greatly strengthened digestion.
2. Enhanced clarity of mind and increased focus.
3. Greater contentment in the present moment.
4. Intensified taste sensations (simple food tastes super!)
5. Relief from intestinal pain.
6. More appreciation for nature and simplicity.
7. Reduced fear and anxiety about life in general.
8. Decreased attachment to material possessions.
9. More patience with the normal pace of life.
10. More awareness and engagement in activities.
1. Improved and greatly strengthened digestion.
2. Enhanced clarity of mind and increased focus.
3. Greater contentment in the present moment.
4. Intensified taste sensations (simple food tastes super!)
5. Relief from intestinal pain.
6. More appreciation for nature and simplicity.
7. Reduced fear and anxiety about life in general.
8. Decreased attachment to material possessions.
9. More patience with the normal pace of life.
10. More awareness and engagement in activities.
Day 2 fast
I just got back from a long and beautiful hike with the husky, who loves cold air, snow, and swimmy drinks.. which happens when you satisfyingly combine wading, swimming and lapping water from a stream or lake.
I was looking for a short cut to my daughter's work so she could snowshoe in rather than take the road, where it will be icy, and there are stoopid cars. Found a lot of paths, got sweaty. Thought about wild harvesting, wreaths, and the apocolypse.
For what its worth, the newer clarity in vision and sound and smell are great.. esp since i quit even smoking a little. I want to be sick in bed sweating out toxins, feverish from that..cozy direction and self quilting.
my stomach is hungry. But, I formulated a vision to utilize each time i may want to stray. The vision involves strength..physical strength that I am after..the challenge of mind over matter, and the idea that the fast will get me a real big alien high.. where you feel as though you can survive off of air, and never need food gain. you feel almost holy.
I was looking for a short cut to my daughter's work so she could snowshoe in rather than take the road, where it will be icy, and there are stoopid cars. Found a lot of paths, got sweaty. Thought about wild harvesting, wreaths, and the apocolypse.
For what its worth, the newer clarity in vision and sound and smell are great.. esp since i quit even smoking a little. I want to be sick in bed sweating out toxins, feverish from that..cozy direction and self quilting.
my stomach is hungry. But, I formulated a vision to utilize each time i may want to stray. The vision involves strength..physical strength that I am after..the challenge of mind over matter, and the idea that the fast will get me a real big alien high.. where you feel as though you can survive off of air, and never need food gain. you feel almost holy.
Fasting day one, and why..
I realized that I was going nuts. not making any progress sorting my life out. experiencing one stroke of bad luck after another, and trying to stay positive, count my blessings, figure it out.. i am great in a pinch, even better being the platoon leader, if you will, but this time i had more than a year of strikes, and 2 paths were before me.. figure it out sanely, or go down the dark road of running away, scary vices, and bad bad skin tone.
and because i firmly believe in our future, my daughter and mine, and because i had such a large large precedent of figuring out my life in the face of danger, catastrophe, bad people, AND I needed a good example to show my daughter.. fasting seemed the way to go.
okay. fasting. the cleansing hippie guru of those that are parasite paranoid...fasting.. no, i didnt have the robes either..
But, I did have a firm belief and had tested myself years before, not just with abject survival training fasting for 2 or 3 days at a time but with an important 10 day fast before my 30th birthday. the big 3-0. and that was good.
Day 1
I woke up, earlier than usual, because I had a chiropracters appointment...another thing i had no choice but to do, to be able to move, hike, even do yoga properly.. and reach a ripe old age. I figured, that if i didnt do it now, i never would..
Went there, got a bunch of winter food- the challenge being that I was real hungry at that point, and the touch, and sight of food was a challenge, for a sec. Then off to a second doctor, for an appointment meet and greet.. And she turned out to be GREAT! knock on wood. I had been used to being treated like crap within the medical establishment, there had always been a huge mistrust on both sides. I had even 'broke up' with many doctors, in order to find better ones. ones that respected that I am smart, and I know what is good for me, i know my body, and they were there to work with me, and answer my questions, and help.
But this one recomended herbal treatment, and looked me in the eye, spelled out process, and was very respectful. So relieving. Needless to say, I was nervous about the meeting. But that worked well. I even told her that I was fasting for 10 days, which alot of times, doesn't sit well with the normal drs.
My daughter and I walked around Burlington, first Church st, where we looked at the occupation, which was being closed because of a suicide, and what not.. I asked the people that were there what they planned on doing next, and they said that they werent allowed to camp in the park. I made a comment saying how the word 'allowed' was the problem. They said they'd regroup. I left.
Realistically I expected someone to at least tell me that I had no right making judgment on what they happened to be doing cause I wasn't there, making comments on them. But they didn't. They seemed sheepish and passive. Maybe this is the big problem.
We then walked on the Intervale road, down where they keep all the community gardens, although as beautiful and cozy as it was, there were signs all over saying not to eat the veggies, because they were contaminated with flood waters from the hurricane. The city gave the gardens and farmers fallow land, floodplain where the sewage plant is. Look in your town and note where you have community gardens, if any. Almost always, they are near land with a rife aroma in the summertime, and floods can happen too easily. Everything destroyed and not usable. But it was cozy, and it reminded me of upstate NY, where I desperately want a farm, myself. We heard alot of starlings, and they flew off in their dancing way, into the sunset. Although some strayed from the group going somewhere else, as though they had some business to take care of.. why is that..?
and because i firmly believe in our future, my daughter and mine, and because i had such a large large precedent of figuring out my life in the face of danger, catastrophe, bad people, AND I needed a good example to show my daughter.. fasting seemed the way to go.
okay. fasting. the cleansing hippie guru of those that are parasite paranoid...fasting.. no, i didnt have the robes either..
But, I did have a firm belief and had tested myself years before, not just with abject survival training fasting for 2 or 3 days at a time but with an important 10 day fast before my 30th birthday. the big 3-0. and that was good.
Day 1
I woke up, earlier than usual, because I had a chiropracters appointment...another thing i had no choice but to do, to be able to move, hike, even do yoga properly.. and reach a ripe old age. I figured, that if i didnt do it now, i never would..
Went there, got a bunch of winter food- the challenge being that I was real hungry at that point, and the touch, and sight of food was a challenge, for a sec. Then off to a second doctor, for an appointment meet and greet.. And she turned out to be GREAT! knock on wood. I had been used to being treated like crap within the medical establishment, there had always been a huge mistrust on both sides. I had even 'broke up' with many doctors, in order to find better ones. ones that respected that I am smart, and I know what is good for me, i know my body, and they were there to work with me, and answer my questions, and help.
But this one recomended herbal treatment, and looked me in the eye, spelled out process, and was very respectful. So relieving. Needless to say, I was nervous about the meeting. But that worked well. I even told her that I was fasting for 10 days, which alot of times, doesn't sit well with the normal drs.
My daughter and I walked around Burlington, first Church st, where we looked at the occupation, which was being closed because of a suicide, and what not.. I asked the people that were there what they planned on doing next, and they said that they werent allowed to camp in the park. I made a comment saying how the word 'allowed' was the problem. They said they'd regroup. I left.
Realistically I expected someone to at least tell me that I had no right making judgment on what they happened to be doing cause I wasn't there, making comments on them. But they didn't. They seemed sheepish and passive. Maybe this is the big problem.
We then walked on the Intervale road, down where they keep all the community gardens, although as beautiful and cozy as it was, there were signs all over saying not to eat the veggies, because they were contaminated with flood waters from the hurricane. The city gave the gardens and farmers fallow land, floodplain where the sewage plant is. Look in your town and note where you have community gardens, if any. Almost always, they are near land with a rife aroma in the summertime, and floods can happen too easily. Everything destroyed and not usable. But it was cozy, and it reminded me of upstate NY, where I desperately want a farm, myself. We heard alot of starlings, and they flew off in their dancing way, into the sunset. Although some strayed from the group going somewhere else, as though they had some business to take care of.. why is that..?
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Wild Solutions Farm exsists again
a collective endeavor- a farm that encompasses everything from creativity to venture- and a space on the map, that is on your team.
-what is important is not what you do-but how you do it, how you approach it, what you come to value.
-what is important is not what you do-but how you do it, how you approach it, what you come to value.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
micheal shenker,
East Village Squatters Lose a Leader
By COLIN MOYNIHAN
DESCRIPTIONPhotograph by Fly Michael Shenker in 1995, taking a break from doing some work in his squat on East Seventh Street.
Throughout much of the 1980s and ’90s, a certain segment of the East Village appeared to be in nearly perpetual rebellion. There were the squatters who took over abandoned city-owned buildings. There were the gardeners who reclaimed trash-strewn lots. And there were the anarchists and artists who declared rhetorical war on developers while holding roving protests and sometimes skirmishing with the police.
One of the people who seemed always to be at the center of such events was a wiry, bespectacled man named Michael Shenker, who arrived in the neighborhood as a teenager in the early 1970s and died on Saturday of liver failure at the age of 54. As word spread through the neighborhood that Mr. Shenker did not have long to live, a parade of visitors went to his apartment in a former squat on East Seventh Street. After he died, dozens of his comrades gathered there to fondly remember his many roles.
“Michael was like the hub of a lot of different circles,” Eric Rossi, a longtime friend said on Sunday night. “He was part of many groups and tied them all together.”
Mr. Shenker was an electrician, plumber and opera aficionado whom some described as the godfather of the East Village squatting movement. He was a regular at “soap box speakouts,” during which participants stood atop a milk crate on Avenue A and, in an East Village version of Speaker’s Corner in Hyde Park in London, declaimed in loud voices on a variety of topics. He was querulous and opinionated and good-natured. Many police commanders and city officials considered him to be a disruptive rabble-rouser — he was arrested several times, at least — and his appetite for argument could try the patience of even his closest friends.
John R. Penley Mr. Shenker holding a sign at a protest against the Local Initiatives Support Corporation.
Mr. Shenker was perhaps best known in the neighborhood as a tactician who thought up ways to protect appropriated buildings and community gardens that were subject to eviction or bulldozing. Some of the projects he started ended up with narratives as dramatic any of the operas he loved.
He was one of the main organizers, for instance, of the occupation of a dilapidated former schoolhouse on East Fourth Street that a group of people decided to take over in the late 1980s and convert into housing for the homeless of Tompkins Square Park. The occupiers were eventually forced from the building, but they barricaded themselves inside for several weeks, helped by allies who crossed police lines at night and placed food and water in buckets surreptitiously lowered from windows.
He was also involved in buildings that the squatters hung onto, including one called Umbrella House on Avenue C, and 209 East Seventh Street, which was opened in 1985 and which Mr. Shenker moved into two years later. Soon afterward, he helped repair the building after a fire reduced nearly half of the structure to a framework of charred joists.
“For so many years, he single-mindedly pursued the goal of preserving those buildings,” said Seth Tobocman, an artist who described many of the battles surrounding the squats in a graphic novel titled “War in the Neighborhood” and included a character modeled after Mr. Shenker called the Maestro. “That was his focus.”
That persistence paid off in 2002, when the city agreed to legalize 11 surviving squatter buildings in the East Village, among them Mr. Shenker’s.
“We have weathered and survived the onslaught of gentrification,” he said then in an interview with The New York Times, “and due to our tenacity and adaptability, we’re still here.”
A few years earlier, Mr. Shenker had helped plan the defense of the Esperanza community garden on East Seventh Street, where more than 100 people locked themselves inside in an attempt to stop the Giuliani administration from destroying the garden and selling the lot to a developer.
Mr. Shenker, who had chained himself to a block of cement buried in the ground, promised to haunt the mayor “like the Furies from Greek mythology.”
Although that garden was not spared, the controversy over its razing helped lead to a settlement that removed hundreds of others from the auction block.
For years, Mr. Shenker limited his advocacy to neighborhood issues, but after the squats were preserved he widened his scope. In 2003 he organized demonstrations outside the United Nations against the impending war in Iraq. The following year, just before the Republican National Convention, the ABC news program “Nightline” broadcast Mr. Shenker’s photograph while reporting a story about people described as potentially dangerous. Friends said that he was angered by what he called an irresponsible assertion.
Eric Laursen, a writer and activist who worked with him during that time, said he was struck by the degree to which Mr. Shenker’s views were shaped by deeply felt sentiments.
“It wasn’t just about being right or doing the right thing — it was about throwing yourself into it and letting your emotions being part of what pushed you,” Mr. Laursen said. “He wanted to be one of the people who was infusing his passion into everyone else, chanting and waving his arm and being infectious.”
By COLIN MOYNIHAN
DESCRIPTIONPhotograph by Fly Michael Shenker in 1995, taking a break from doing some work in his squat on East Seventh Street.
Throughout much of the 1980s and ’90s, a certain segment of the East Village appeared to be in nearly perpetual rebellion. There were the squatters who took over abandoned city-owned buildings. There were the gardeners who reclaimed trash-strewn lots. And there were the anarchists and artists who declared rhetorical war on developers while holding roving protests and sometimes skirmishing with the police.
One of the people who seemed always to be at the center of such events was a wiry, bespectacled man named Michael Shenker, who arrived in the neighborhood as a teenager in the early 1970s and died on Saturday of liver failure at the age of 54. As word spread through the neighborhood that Mr. Shenker did not have long to live, a parade of visitors went to his apartment in a former squat on East Seventh Street. After he died, dozens of his comrades gathered there to fondly remember his many roles.
“Michael was like the hub of a lot of different circles,” Eric Rossi, a longtime friend said on Sunday night. “He was part of many groups and tied them all together.”
Mr. Shenker was an electrician, plumber and opera aficionado whom some described as the godfather of the East Village squatting movement. He was a regular at “soap box speakouts,” during which participants stood atop a milk crate on Avenue A and, in an East Village version of Speaker’s Corner in Hyde Park in London, declaimed in loud voices on a variety of topics. He was querulous and opinionated and good-natured. Many police commanders and city officials considered him to be a disruptive rabble-rouser — he was arrested several times, at least — and his appetite for argument could try the patience of even his closest friends.
John R. Penley Mr. Shenker holding a sign at a protest against the Local Initiatives Support Corporation.
Mr. Shenker was perhaps best known in the neighborhood as a tactician who thought up ways to protect appropriated buildings and community gardens that were subject to eviction or bulldozing. Some of the projects he started ended up with narratives as dramatic any of the operas he loved.
He was one of the main organizers, for instance, of the occupation of a dilapidated former schoolhouse on East Fourth Street that a group of people decided to take over in the late 1980s and convert into housing for the homeless of Tompkins Square Park. The occupiers were eventually forced from the building, but they barricaded themselves inside for several weeks, helped by allies who crossed police lines at night and placed food and water in buckets surreptitiously lowered from windows.
He was also involved in buildings that the squatters hung onto, including one called Umbrella House on Avenue C, and 209 East Seventh Street, which was opened in 1985 and which Mr. Shenker moved into two years later. Soon afterward, he helped repair the building after a fire reduced nearly half of the structure to a framework of charred joists.
“For so many years, he single-mindedly pursued the goal of preserving those buildings,” said Seth Tobocman, an artist who described many of the battles surrounding the squats in a graphic novel titled “War in the Neighborhood” and included a character modeled after Mr. Shenker called the Maestro. “That was his focus.”
That persistence paid off in 2002, when the city agreed to legalize 11 surviving squatter buildings in the East Village, among them Mr. Shenker’s.
“We have weathered and survived the onslaught of gentrification,” he said then in an interview with The New York Times, “and due to our tenacity and adaptability, we’re still here.”
A few years earlier, Mr. Shenker had helped plan the defense of the Esperanza community garden on East Seventh Street, where more than 100 people locked themselves inside in an attempt to stop the Giuliani administration from destroying the garden and selling the lot to a developer.
Mr. Shenker, who had chained himself to a block of cement buried in the ground, promised to haunt the mayor “like the Furies from Greek mythology.”
Although that garden was not spared, the controversy over its razing helped lead to a settlement that removed hundreds of others from the auction block.
For years, Mr. Shenker limited his advocacy to neighborhood issues, but after the squats were preserved he widened his scope. In 2003 he organized demonstrations outside the United Nations against the impending war in Iraq. The following year, just before the Republican National Convention, the ABC news program “Nightline” broadcast Mr. Shenker’s photograph while reporting a story about people described as potentially dangerous. Friends said that he was angered by what he called an irresponsible assertion.
Eric Laursen, a writer and activist who worked with him during that time, said he was struck by the degree to which Mr. Shenker’s views were shaped by deeply felt sentiments.
“It wasn’t just about being right or doing the right thing — it was about throwing yourself into it and letting your emotions being part of what pushed you,” Mr. Laursen said. “He wanted to be one of the people who was infusing his passion into everyone else, chanting and waving his arm and being infectious.”
Thursday, September 16, 2010
My Photographer, Margaret Morton
photos, and critical critique
selected from the books by Margaret Morton:
from left:
the tunnel 1995
transitory gardens 1993
fragile dwellings 2000
My critique goes something like this:
Margaret Morton's photographs are beyond art. They are documentation. Therefore the critique presented is taken with a grain of salt, because of the underlying subject matter.
for these photos-
The photo from Fragile dwellings, I liked the angle, and the backround feel of the city at large, as well knowing where the space lies in proximity to the bridge. The black and white photo style, again lends itself to shadow and rawness in all three photos.
For The Tunnels, I admire the light effects. All this photo is missing is the stench of the tunnels. That sweet-sour smell of decay and garbage, with metallic and wet mixed in for good measure.
Transitory Gardens, is great portraiture. Margaret Morton studies her subject in his own standing, which is important, and captures the pride.
Posted by natania nunubiznez at 12:43 PM 0 comments
week 3 assignment
3 photos, and critical critique
selected from the books by Margaret Morton:
from left:
transitory gardens 1993
the tunnel 1995
fragile dwellings 2000
Posted by natania nunubiznez at 12:15 PM 0 comments
Fragile Dwelling
Photographs and text
by Margaret Morton
Introduction by Alan Trachtenberg
[Aperture, fall 2000]
128 pages, 90 photographs
A portion of the proceeds from the book, Fragile Dwelling, will benefit Coalition for the Homeless, New York.
You may drive by here and see that they are shabby, but I think that if you look again you see this person took the time to build a place that could be comfortable for himself. If you saw it up close, you could see that we’d turned it into a home. . . . The person who will take the time to build for himself is the person who still has an interest in himself.
— Douglas, resident of the East River encampment
Over a ten-year period, Margaret Morton documented the inventive ways in which homeless people in New York City have created not only places to live but communities offering a sense of pride, place, and individuality. Fragile Dwelling depicts a world immediately recognizable to anyone who has lived in, or even visited, a major American city. Yet these photographs tell a story far more profound than most of us, streaming past on our way from home to office, would ever imagine. Together with compelling oral histories recorded by the photographer, they demand that we confront not only the bleak consequences of economic inequality in America, but also the diverse and wonderful humanity of those who, in the midst of a booming housing market for developers, strive to create shelters for themselves from the most meager resources.
To Morton, these assemblages of crates, scrap wood, broken furniture, and other debris of the modern city are not an eyesore to be quickly glimpsed and then forgotten. They are in fact, as she shows us, homes—laboriously and ingeniously built, little by little, piece by piece. Most of these structures exist no longer—whether vacated as a result of changing economic conditions, destroyed by arson, or razed by police bulldozers.
In these photographs we visit Mr. Lee, a Chinese immigrant whose house,
a perpetual work-in-progress, was constructed without the aid of boards or nails, instead held together by an elaborate system of knots. We meet the residents of Bushville in lower Manhattan, whose improvised casitas, with their porches and flags and decorations, recall the Puerto Rican villages where many of them were born. We meet a community perched along the seawall between the Manhattan and Brooklyn bridges, where residents look out over a peaceful, luminous East River.
The river offered me the first stability I’ve had since 1988. From here you can see the mistakes you made, you can see the things that led you to be here.
— Mizan, resident of the East River encampment
Within these miraculous constructions we find people sustained in exceedingly difficult times by an abiding faith: faith in their ability to make something of value from their lives and their surroundings; faith in the power of community; religious faith sometimes.
When you want something, no matter if it weighs two hundred pounds or three hundred, you can carry, because God helps you. With God you can carry everything.
— Hector, resident of Bushville
Alan Trachtenberg, Neil Grey Professor of English and American Studies at Yale University, is the author of numerous books on photography including Reading American Photographs: Image as History, From Mathew Brady to Walker Evans (Hill &Wang). He writes and lectures often on American literature, photography, and cultural history.
Reviews for exhibitions of Fragile Dwelling
Other books: The Tunnel, Transitory Gardens
Fragile Dwelling has been partially supported by The Buhl Foundation, Coalition for the Homeless, and The Cooper Union for the Advancement of Science and Art. Margaret Morton's ongoing project has been partially supported by grants from the Graham Foundation, the National Endowment for the Arts, and the New York State Council on the Arts.
Posted by natania nunubiznez at 12:11 PM 0 comments
The Tunnel
Margaret Morton
[Yale University Press, fall 1995]
160 pages, 60 photographs
One of the oldest surviving homeless communities in New York City stretches for two and a half miles underground on the Upper West Side. Hidden from public view in an abandoned freight tunnel, this habitation existed for sixteen years before it was discovered by Amtrak crews renewing track for passenger service between Pennsylvania Station and Albany. Most of the residents of the fifty-block-long community refused to leave, and the population has continued to increase as the more visible homeless encampments are demolished by the city.
The earliest tunnel residents live alongside the tracks in cinderblock structures originally built as storage facilities. More recent tunnel dwellers have built plywood shanties or perched themselves on narrow ledges. Shafts of light angle through air vents. Dwellings are clustered around these points of entry and on the light-washed walls are images and writing left by graffiti artists.
An underground water source was shut off in the early 1980's. Tunnel residents are now forced to walk miles below and above ground to obtain water and food. Meals are cooked over fires that also serve to combat the damp chill. Residents recycle the discarded furniture and cookware of nearby apartment dwellers to create their own homes.
Among the tunnel residents was John, who wandered in, searching for a safe place to sleep after being attacked on a park bench.
So I kept walking to the back and found this house and started to clean it and fix it up. They were there for the workers.... I had to walk around the street at night to look for things that I wanted to put into it. And sometimes I had to carry it ten to fifteen blocks just to get it down.
John stayed for over twenty years, taking into his care fifteen abandoned cats and three stray dogs.
Bernard entered the tunnel in 1985. He supports himself by collecting cans in the early morning hours for redemption at a recycling center. Known as "The Lord of the Tunnel," Bernard became the spokesperson for the tunnel residents when they were threatened with eviction in 1991.
I have no regrets.... This existence has done so much for me. It's taken me from the vanity.... People think it's about laying back and being shiftless out here and it's not. A day-to-day existence can be most intense.
— Bernard
Cathy came to the tunnel in 1986 to join Joe, a Vietnam veteran she had met in Riverside Park. Disabled with asthma and epilepsy, Cathy had left her job in a law firm after her husband had died and her child had been killed. Although Joe had moved into one of the concrete rooms of the tunnel in 1973, it was not until Cathy arrived that he painted, added a door, and salvaged furniture. Cathy found pillows and blankets along the streets.
All the people "upstairs" have to do is get up out of their warm bed and walk into the kitchen and make what they need. We got to get up and go in front of a fire; make sure you have your paper and your this and your that or you don't eat. There's no delivery trucks coming down here with wood and supplies. The garbage cans is where we find our stuff.
— Cathy
Cathy adopted eighteen stray cats and a dog named "Buddy."
I'm not going to bring a child into this. It's hard for me and Joe to manage now. We're gonna take care of a baby? What if I have a baby? They're gonna put me in a shelter. I'm not going to live in one of those places. That's why we're down here. I got my little family, and that's enough. If you're feeling bad, they make you feel better. They're not like people, they're not two-faced. So that why I love my animals.
— Cathy
Reviews for The Tunnel
Other books: Fragile Dwelling, Transitory Gardens
Publication of The Tunnel was partially supported by the New York Foundation on the Arts. Margaret Morton's ongoing project has been partially supported by grants from the Graham Foundation, the National Endowment for the Arts, and the New York State Council on the Arts.
Posted by natania nunubiznez at 12:08 PM 0 comments
selected from the books by Margaret Morton:
from left:
the tunnel 1995
transitory gardens 1993
fragile dwellings 2000
My critique goes something like this:
Margaret Morton's photographs are beyond art. They are documentation. Therefore the critique presented is taken with a grain of salt, because of the underlying subject matter.
for these photos-
The photo from Fragile dwellings, I liked the angle, and the backround feel of the city at large, as well knowing where the space lies in proximity to the bridge. The black and white photo style, again lends itself to shadow and rawness in all three photos.
For The Tunnels, I admire the light effects. All this photo is missing is the stench of the tunnels. That sweet-sour smell of decay and garbage, with metallic and wet mixed in for good measure.
Transitory Gardens, is great portraiture. Margaret Morton studies her subject in his own standing, which is important, and captures the pride.
Posted by natania nunubiznez at 12:43 PM 0 comments
week 3 assignment
3 photos, and critical critique
selected from the books by Margaret Morton:
from left:
transitory gardens 1993
the tunnel 1995
fragile dwellings 2000
Posted by natania nunubiznez at 12:15 PM 0 comments
Fragile Dwelling
Photographs and text
by Margaret Morton
Introduction by Alan Trachtenberg
[Aperture, fall 2000]
128 pages, 90 photographs
A portion of the proceeds from the book, Fragile Dwelling, will benefit Coalition for the Homeless, New York.
You may drive by here and see that they are shabby, but I think that if you look again you see this person took the time to build a place that could be comfortable for himself. If you saw it up close, you could see that we’d turned it into a home. . . . The person who will take the time to build for himself is the person who still has an interest in himself.
— Douglas, resident of the East River encampment
Over a ten-year period, Margaret Morton documented the inventive ways in which homeless people in New York City have created not only places to live but communities offering a sense of pride, place, and individuality. Fragile Dwelling depicts a world immediately recognizable to anyone who has lived in, or even visited, a major American city. Yet these photographs tell a story far more profound than most of us, streaming past on our way from home to office, would ever imagine. Together with compelling oral histories recorded by the photographer, they demand that we confront not only the bleak consequences of economic inequality in America, but also the diverse and wonderful humanity of those who, in the midst of a booming housing market for developers, strive to create shelters for themselves from the most meager resources.
To Morton, these assemblages of crates, scrap wood, broken furniture, and other debris of the modern city are not an eyesore to be quickly glimpsed and then forgotten. They are in fact, as she shows us, homes—laboriously and ingeniously built, little by little, piece by piece. Most of these structures exist no longer—whether vacated as a result of changing economic conditions, destroyed by arson, or razed by police bulldozers.
In these photographs we visit Mr. Lee, a Chinese immigrant whose house,
a perpetual work-in-progress, was constructed without the aid of boards or nails, instead held together by an elaborate system of knots. We meet the residents of Bushville in lower Manhattan, whose improvised casitas, with their porches and flags and decorations, recall the Puerto Rican villages where many of them were born. We meet a community perched along the seawall between the Manhattan and Brooklyn bridges, where residents look out over a peaceful, luminous East River.
The river offered me the first stability I’ve had since 1988. From here you can see the mistakes you made, you can see the things that led you to be here.
— Mizan, resident of the East River encampment
Within these miraculous constructions we find people sustained in exceedingly difficult times by an abiding faith: faith in their ability to make something of value from their lives and their surroundings; faith in the power of community; religious faith sometimes.
When you want something, no matter if it weighs two hundred pounds or three hundred, you can carry, because God helps you. With God you can carry everything.
— Hector, resident of Bushville
Alan Trachtenberg, Neil Grey Professor of English and American Studies at Yale University, is the author of numerous books on photography including Reading American Photographs: Image as History, From Mathew Brady to Walker Evans (Hill &Wang). He writes and lectures often on American literature, photography, and cultural history.
Reviews for exhibitions of Fragile Dwelling
Other books: The Tunnel, Transitory Gardens
Fragile Dwelling has been partially supported by The Buhl Foundation, Coalition for the Homeless, and The Cooper Union for the Advancement of Science and Art. Margaret Morton's ongoing project has been partially supported by grants from the Graham Foundation, the National Endowment for the Arts, and the New York State Council on the Arts.
Posted by natania nunubiznez at 12:11 PM 0 comments
The Tunnel
Margaret Morton
[Yale University Press, fall 1995]
160 pages, 60 photographs
One of the oldest surviving homeless communities in New York City stretches for two and a half miles underground on the Upper West Side. Hidden from public view in an abandoned freight tunnel, this habitation existed for sixteen years before it was discovered by Amtrak crews renewing track for passenger service between Pennsylvania Station and Albany. Most of the residents of the fifty-block-long community refused to leave, and the population has continued to increase as the more visible homeless encampments are demolished by the city.
The earliest tunnel residents live alongside the tracks in cinderblock structures originally built as storage facilities. More recent tunnel dwellers have built plywood shanties or perched themselves on narrow ledges. Shafts of light angle through air vents. Dwellings are clustered around these points of entry and on the light-washed walls are images and writing left by graffiti artists.
An underground water source was shut off in the early 1980's. Tunnel residents are now forced to walk miles below and above ground to obtain water and food. Meals are cooked over fires that also serve to combat the damp chill. Residents recycle the discarded furniture and cookware of nearby apartment dwellers to create their own homes.
Among the tunnel residents was John, who wandered in, searching for a safe place to sleep after being attacked on a park bench.
So I kept walking to the back and found this house and started to clean it and fix it up. They were there for the workers.... I had to walk around the street at night to look for things that I wanted to put into it. And sometimes I had to carry it ten to fifteen blocks just to get it down.
John stayed for over twenty years, taking into his care fifteen abandoned cats and three stray dogs.
Bernard entered the tunnel in 1985. He supports himself by collecting cans in the early morning hours for redemption at a recycling center. Known as "The Lord of the Tunnel," Bernard became the spokesperson for the tunnel residents when they were threatened with eviction in 1991.
I have no regrets.... This existence has done so much for me. It's taken me from the vanity.... People think it's about laying back and being shiftless out here and it's not. A day-to-day existence can be most intense.
— Bernard
Cathy came to the tunnel in 1986 to join Joe, a Vietnam veteran she had met in Riverside Park. Disabled with asthma and epilepsy, Cathy had left her job in a law firm after her husband had died and her child had been killed. Although Joe had moved into one of the concrete rooms of the tunnel in 1973, it was not until Cathy arrived that he painted, added a door, and salvaged furniture. Cathy found pillows and blankets along the streets.
All the people "upstairs" have to do is get up out of their warm bed and walk into the kitchen and make what they need. We got to get up and go in front of a fire; make sure you have your paper and your this and your that or you don't eat. There's no delivery trucks coming down here with wood and supplies. The garbage cans is where we find our stuff.
— Cathy
Cathy adopted eighteen stray cats and a dog named "Buddy."
I'm not going to bring a child into this. It's hard for me and Joe to manage now. We're gonna take care of a baby? What if I have a baby? They're gonna put me in a shelter. I'm not going to live in one of those places. That's why we're down here. I got my little family, and that's enough. If you're feeling bad, they make you feel better. They're not like people, they're not two-faced. So that why I love my animals.
— Cathy
Reviews for The Tunnel
Other books: Fragile Dwelling, Transitory Gardens
Publication of The Tunnel was partially supported by the New York Foundation on the Arts. Margaret Morton's ongoing project has been partially supported by grants from the Graham Foundation, the National Endowment for the Arts, and the New York State Council on the Arts.
Posted by natania nunubiznez at 12:08 PM 0 comments
My Photographer, Margaret Morton
photos, and critical critique
selected from the books by Margaret Morton:
from left:
the tunnel 1995
transitory gardens 1993
fragile dwellings 2000
My critique goes something like this:
Margaret Morton's photographs are beyond art. They are documentation. Therefore the critique presented is taken with a grain of salt, because of the underlying subject matter.
for these photos-
The photo from Fragile dwellings, I liked the angle, and the backround feel of the city at large, as well knowing where the space lies in proximity to the bridge. The black and white photo style, again lends itself to shadow and rawness in all three photos.
For The Tunnels, I admire the light effects. All this photo is missing is the stench of the tunnels. That sweet-sour smell of decay and garbage, with metallic and wet mixed in for good measure.
Transitory Gardens, is great portraiture. Margaret Morton studies her subject in his own standing, which is important, and captures the pride.
Posted by natania nunubiznez at 12:43 PM 0 comments
week 3 assignment
3 photos, and critical critique
selected from the books by Margaret Morton:
from left:
transitory gardens 1993
the tunnel 1995
fragile dwellings 2000
Posted by natania nunubiznez at 12:15 PM 0 comments
Fragile Dwelling
Photographs and text
by Margaret Morton
Introduction by Alan Trachtenberg
[Aperture, fall 2000]
128 pages, 90 photographs
A portion of the proceeds from the book, Fragile Dwelling, will benefit Coalition for the Homeless, New York.
You may drive by here and see that they are shabby, but I think that if you look again you see this person took the time to build a place that could be comfortable for himself. If you saw it up close, you could see that we’d turned it into a home. . . . The person who will take the time to build for himself is the person who still has an interest in himself.
— Douglas, resident of the East River encampment
Over a ten-year period, Margaret Morton documented the inventive ways in which homeless people in New York City have created not only places to live but communities offering a sense of pride, place, and individuality. Fragile Dwelling depicts a world immediately recognizable to anyone who has lived in, or even visited, a major American city. Yet these photographs tell a story far more profound than most of us, streaming past on our way from home to office, would ever imagine. Together with compelling oral histories recorded by the photographer, they demand that we confront not only the bleak consequences of economic inequality in America, but also the diverse and wonderful humanity of those who, in the midst of a booming housing market for developers, strive to create shelters for themselves from the most meager resources.
To Morton, these assemblages of crates, scrap wood, broken furniture, and other debris of the modern city are not an eyesore to be quickly glimpsed and then forgotten. They are in fact, as she shows us, homes—laboriously and ingeniously built, little by little, piece by piece. Most of these structures exist no longer—whether vacated as a result of changing economic conditions, destroyed by arson, or razed by police bulldozers.
In these photographs we visit Mr. Lee, a Chinese immigrant whose house,
a perpetual work-in-progress, was constructed without the aid of boards or nails, instead held together by an elaborate system of knots. We meet the residents of Bushville in lower Manhattan, whose improvised casitas, with their porches and flags and decorations, recall the Puerto Rican villages where many of them were born. We meet a community perched along the seawall between the Manhattan and Brooklyn bridges, where residents look out over a peaceful, luminous East River.
The river offered me the first stability I’ve had since 1988. From here you can see the mistakes you made, you can see the things that led you to be here.
— Mizan, resident of the East River encampment
Within these miraculous constructions we find people sustained in exceedingly difficult times by an abiding faith: faith in their ability to make something of value from their lives and their surroundings; faith in the power of community; religious faith sometimes.
When you want something, no matter if it weighs two hundred pounds or three hundred, you can carry, because God helps you. With God you can carry everything.
— Hector, resident of Bushville
Alan Trachtenberg, Neil Grey Professor of English and American Studies at Yale University, is the author of numerous books on photography including Reading American Photographs: Image as History, From Mathew Brady to Walker Evans (Hill &Wang). He writes and lectures often on American literature, photography, and cultural history.
Reviews for exhibitions of Fragile Dwelling
Other books: The Tunnel, Transitory Gardens
Fragile Dwelling has been partially supported by The Buhl Foundation, Coalition for the Homeless, and The Cooper Union for the Advancement of Science and Art. Margaret Morton's ongoing project has been partially supported by grants from the Graham Foundation, the National Endowment for the Arts, and the New York State Council on the Arts.
Posted by natania nunubiznez at 12:11 PM 0 comments
The Tunnel
Margaret Morton
[Yale University Press, fall 1995]
160 pages, 60 photographs
One of the oldest surviving homeless communities in New York City stretches for two and a half miles underground on the Upper West Side. Hidden from public view in an abandoned freight tunnel, this habitation existed for sixteen years before it was discovered by Amtrak crews renewing track for passenger service between Pennsylvania Station and Albany. Most of the residents of the fifty-block-long community refused to leave, and the population has continued to increase as the more visible homeless encampments are demolished by the city.
The earliest tunnel residents live alongside the tracks in cinderblock structures originally built as storage facilities. More recent tunnel dwellers have built plywood shanties or perched themselves on narrow ledges. Shafts of light angle through air vents. Dwellings are clustered around these points of entry and on the light-washed walls are images and writing left by graffiti artists.
An underground water source was shut off in the early 1980's. Tunnel residents are now forced to walk miles below and above ground to obtain water and food. Meals are cooked over fires that also serve to combat the damp chill. Residents recycle the discarded furniture and cookware of nearby apartment dwellers to create their own homes.
Among the tunnel residents was John, who wandered in, searching for a safe place to sleep after being attacked on a park bench.
So I kept walking to the back and found this house and started to clean it and fix it up. They were there for the workers.... I had to walk around the street at night to look for things that I wanted to put into it. And sometimes I had to carry it ten to fifteen blocks just to get it down.
John stayed for over twenty years, taking into his care fifteen abandoned cats and three stray dogs.
Bernard entered the tunnel in 1985. He supports himself by collecting cans in the early morning hours for redemption at a recycling center. Known as "The Lord of the Tunnel," Bernard became the spokesperson for the tunnel residents when they were threatened with eviction in 1991.
I have no regrets.... This existence has done so much for me. It's taken me from the vanity.... People think it's about laying back and being shiftless out here and it's not. A day-to-day existence can be most intense.
— Bernard
Cathy came to the tunnel in 1986 to join Joe, a Vietnam veteran she had met in Riverside Park. Disabled with asthma and epilepsy, Cathy had left her job in a law firm after her husband had died and her child had been killed. Although Joe had moved into one of the concrete rooms of the tunnel in 1973, it was not until Cathy arrived that he painted, added a door, and salvaged furniture. Cathy found pillows and blankets along the streets.
All the people "upstairs" have to do is get up out of their warm bed and walk into the kitchen and make what they need. We got to get up and go in front of a fire; make sure you have your paper and your this and your that or you don't eat. There's no delivery trucks coming down here with wood and supplies. The garbage cans is where we find our stuff.
— Cathy
Cathy adopted eighteen stray cats and a dog named "Buddy."
I'm not going to bring a child into this. It's hard for me and Joe to manage now. We're gonna take care of a baby? What if I have a baby? They're gonna put me in a shelter. I'm not going to live in one of those places. That's why we're down here. I got my little family, and that's enough. If you're feeling bad, they make you feel better. They're not like people, they're not two-faced. So that why I love my animals.
— Cathy
Reviews for The Tunnel
Other books: Fragile Dwelling, Transitory Gardens
Publication of The Tunnel was partially supported by the New York Foundation on the Arts. Margaret Morton's ongoing project has been partially supported by grants from the Graham Foundation, the National Endowment for the Arts, and the New York State Council on the Arts.
Posted by natania nunubiznez at 12:08 PM 0 comments
selected from the books by Margaret Morton:
from left:
the tunnel 1995
transitory gardens 1993
fragile dwellings 2000
My critique goes something like this:
Margaret Morton's photographs are beyond art. They are documentation. Therefore the critique presented is taken with a grain of salt, because of the underlying subject matter.
for these photos-
The photo from Fragile dwellings, I liked the angle, and the backround feel of the city at large, as well knowing where the space lies in proximity to the bridge. The black and white photo style, again lends itself to shadow and rawness in all three photos.
For The Tunnels, I admire the light effects. All this photo is missing is the stench of the tunnels. That sweet-sour smell of decay and garbage, with metallic and wet mixed in for good measure.
Transitory Gardens, is great portraiture. Margaret Morton studies her subject in his own standing, which is important, and captures the pride.
Posted by natania nunubiznez at 12:43 PM 0 comments
week 3 assignment
3 photos, and critical critique
selected from the books by Margaret Morton:
from left:
transitory gardens 1993
the tunnel 1995
fragile dwellings 2000
Posted by natania nunubiznez at 12:15 PM 0 comments
Fragile Dwelling
Photographs and text
by Margaret Morton
Introduction by Alan Trachtenberg
[Aperture, fall 2000]
128 pages, 90 photographs
A portion of the proceeds from the book, Fragile Dwelling, will benefit Coalition for the Homeless, New York.
You may drive by here and see that they are shabby, but I think that if you look again you see this person took the time to build a place that could be comfortable for himself. If you saw it up close, you could see that we’d turned it into a home. . . . The person who will take the time to build for himself is the person who still has an interest in himself.
— Douglas, resident of the East River encampment
Over a ten-year period, Margaret Morton documented the inventive ways in which homeless people in New York City have created not only places to live but communities offering a sense of pride, place, and individuality. Fragile Dwelling depicts a world immediately recognizable to anyone who has lived in, or even visited, a major American city. Yet these photographs tell a story far more profound than most of us, streaming past on our way from home to office, would ever imagine. Together with compelling oral histories recorded by the photographer, they demand that we confront not only the bleak consequences of economic inequality in America, but also the diverse and wonderful humanity of those who, in the midst of a booming housing market for developers, strive to create shelters for themselves from the most meager resources.
To Morton, these assemblages of crates, scrap wood, broken furniture, and other debris of the modern city are not an eyesore to be quickly glimpsed and then forgotten. They are in fact, as she shows us, homes—laboriously and ingeniously built, little by little, piece by piece. Most of these structures exist no longer—whether vacated as a result of changing economic conditions, destroyed by arson, or razed by police bulldozers.
In these photographs we visit Mr. Lee, a Chinese immigrant whose house,
a perpetual work-in-progress, was constructed without the aid of boards or nails, instead held together by an elaborate system of knots. We meet the residents of Bushville in lower Manhattan, whose improvised casitas, with their porches and flags and decorations, recall the Puerto Rican villages where many of them were born. We meet a community perched along the seawall between the Manhattan and Brooklyn bridges, where residents look out over a peaceful, luminous East River.
The river offered me the first stability I’ve had since 1988. From here you can see the mistakes you made, you can see the things that led you to be here.
— Mizan, resident of the East River encampment
Within these miraculous constructions we find people sustained in exceedingly difficult times by an abiding faith: faith in their ability to make something of value from their lives and their surroundings; faith in the power of community; religious faith sometimes.
When you want something, no matter if it weighs two hundred pounds or three hundred, you can carry, because God helps you. With God you can carry everything.
— Hector, resident of Bushville
Alan Trachtenberg, Neil Grey Professor of English and American Studies at Yale University, is the author of numerous books on photography including Reading American Photographs: Image as History, From Mathew Brady to Walker Evans (Hill &Wang). He writes and lectures often on American literature, photography, and cultural history.
Reviews for exhibitions of Fragile Dwelling
Other books: The Tunnel, Transitory Gardens
Fragile Dwelling has been partially supported by The Buhl Foundation, Coalition for the Homeless, and The Cooper Union for the Advancement of Science and Art. Margaret Morton's ongoing project has been partially supported by grants from the Graham Foundation, the National Endowment for the Arts, and the New York State Council on the Arts.
Posted by natania nunubiznez at 12:11 PM 0 comments
The Tunnel
Margaret Morton
[Yale University Press, fall 1995]
160 pages, 60 photographs
One of the oldest surviving homeless communities in New York City stretches for two and a half miles underground on the Upper West Side. Hidden from public view in an abandoned freight tunnel, this habitation existed for sixteen years before it was discovered by Amtrak crews renewing track for passenger service between Pennsylvania Station and Albany. Most of the residents of the fifty-block-long community refused to leave, and the population has continued to increase as the more visible homeless encampments are demolished by the city.
The earliest tunnel residents live alongside the tracks in cinderblock structures originally built as storage facilities. More recent tunnel dwellers have built plywood shanties or perched themselves on narrow ledges. Shafts of light angle through air vents. Dwellings are clustered around these points of entry and on the light-washed walls are images and writing left by graffiti artists.
An underground water source was shut off in the early 1980's. Tunnel residents are now forced to walk miles below and above ground to obtain water and food. Meals are cooked over fires that also serve to combat the damp chill. Residents recycle the discarded furniture and cookware of nearby apartment dwellers to create their own homes.
Among the tunnel residents was John, who wandered in, searching for a safe place to sleep after being attacked on a park bench.
So I kept walking to the back and found this house and started to clean it and fix it up. They were there for the workers.... I had to walk around the street at night to look for things that I wanted to put into it. And sometimes I had to carry it ten to fifteen blocks just to get it down.
John stayed for over twenty years, taking into his care fifteen abandoned cats and three stray dogs.
Bernard entered the tunnel in 1985. He supports himself by collecting cans in the early morning hours for redemption at a recycling center. Known as "The Lord of the Tunnel," Bernard became the spokesperson for the tunnel residents when they were threatened with eviction in 1991.
I have no regrets.... This existence has done so much for me. It's taken me from the vanity.... People think it's about laying back and being shiftless out here and it's not. A day-to-day existence can be most intense.
— Bernard
Cathy came to the tunnel in 1986 to join Joe, a Vietnam veteran she had met in Riverside Park. Disabled with asthma and epilepsy, Cathy had left her job in a law firm after her husband had died and her child had been killed. Although Joe had moved into one of the concrete rooms of the tunnel in 1973, it was not until Cathy arrived that he painted, added a door, and salvaged furniture. Cathy found pillows and blankets along the streets.
All the people "upstairs" have to do is get up out of their warm bed and walk into the kitchen and make what they need. We got to get up and go in front of a fire; make sure you have your paper and your this and your that or you don't eat. There's no delivery trucks coming down here with wood and supplies. The garbage cans is where we find our stuff.
— Cathy
Cathy adopted eighteen stray cats and a dog named "Buddy."
I'm not going to bring a child into this. It's hard for me and Joe to manage now. We're gonna take care of a baby? What if I have a baby? They're gonna put me in a shelter. I'm not going to live in one of those places. That's why we're down here. I got my little family, and that's enough. If you're feeling bad, they make you feel better. They're not like people, they're not two-faced. So that why I love my animals.
— Cathy
Reviews for The Tunnel
Other books: Fragile Dwelling, Transitory Gardens
Publication of The Tunnel was partially supported by the New York Foundation on the Arts. Margaret Morton's ongoing project has been partially supported by grants from the Graham Foundation, the National Endowment for the Arts, and the New York State Council on the Arts.
Posted by natania nunubiznez at 12:08 PM 0 comments
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