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  • Trump XXI

    Drawings of the Devil's Cat Queen

    Drawings are not articulations of thought. They emerge ex nihilo, from the Nothing that is the abyss in which all that is actual existed first as potential. Everything is possible.

    There are 29 images in this gallery

    Last updated: Thu, 06/12/2008 - 06:23

  • Fire Face

    Fire and rhyme

    rite (rīt): a ceremonial act or series of acts: fertility rites.

    There are 61 images in this gallery

    Last updated: Fri, 06/13/2008 - 05:50

  • Many, Many Mushrooms

    Food

    Food is sexy to the mouth, which is sexy to the eyes; so food is sexy to the eyes.

    There are 26 images in this gallery

    Last updated: Fri, 06/20/2008 - 23:22

  • TV WMDs

    Graphics

    Doctored designs

    There is 1 image in this gallery

    Last updated: Sat, 03/22/2008 - 19:53

  • IMG_7833

    Graves

    We know it's serious, and we are, too.

    There are 83 images in this gallery

    Last updated: Fri, 06/05/2009 - 13:53

  • The Shining

    Light from the Dark Star

    Freaky?

    There is 1 image in this gallery

    Last updated: Mon, 04/06/2009 - 01:27

  • Starry Eyed Mermaid Parade

    Mistresspieces by Blythe

    There are 5 images in this gallery

    Last updated: Sat, 09/20/2008 - 20:58

  • Help me. I'm in a shame spiral.

    Profiles in Black

    Profiles of some PBBPs ...

    There are 22 images in this gallery

    Last updated: Wed, 10/22/2008 - 15:54

  • IMG_6685

    Stream of photography consciousness

    These emerge when we're snap-happy.

    There are 104 images in this gallery

    Last updated: Wed, 03/18/2009 - 12:12

Let Them Hear Albums

Recent & Random

Pauline M. RoyceIMG_7833
IMG_3713IMG_3419

Recent comments

The Real Hearth

Let's heat up the night to a boil. Let's cook every drop of liquid out of our flesh till we sizzle, not a drop of come left. We are pots on too high a flame. Our insides char and flake dark like sinister snow idling down. We breathe out smoke. We die out and sleep covers us in ashes. We lie without dreaming, empty as clean grates. Yet we wake rebuilt, clattering and hungry as waterfalls leaping off, rushing into the day, roaring our bright intentions. It is the old riddle in the Yiddish song, what can burn and not burn up, a passion that gives birth to itself every day.

— Marge Piercy

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