Hand drawing the hand drawing the hand: You know the allusion/the artsty fartsy reference. I loves it. Clearly. What's not to like? A sly reinterpretation? Graffiti? Spraypaint? Stellar Execution? Yeah. Go head Zach Johnson.
Well, as you all know, there’s a lot of Barack Obama-related art out and about. I might send links back and forth with my good friend Julia comparing the quality of the pieces and wishing that we had major $$$ to drop on our favorite prints and pieces. The following is one of my favorite pieces of Obama-related art. It's by David Choe.
Submit! Submit! This contest is now in its 5th year and is one of the few writing competitions that focuses solely on undergraduate work.
RULES: Must be a current undergraduate student at a university or college in the United States. You may submit up to one (1) short story or three (3) poems. There is a $10 entry fee -- make checks payable to Cargoes. Entries submitted without an entry fee will not be considered. Please mail submissions along with a SASE envelope, and entry fee to:
Cargoes C/O K. Transue Hollins University P.O. Box #10209 Roanoke, VA 24020
Deadline is December 20th, 2008
Winners are Published in the 2009 edition of Cargoes and receive $200.
You can submit to both fiction and poetry, but you need to provide an entry fee for each genre.
Poetry: Claudia Emerson – Pulitzer Prize Winner Fiction: Tony D’Souza – Sue Kaufman Prize Winner
This is better than the inspirational prints and quotation books given during the holidays to people you don't really know. Come on: it's sweet. Maybe it's too sweet if you've had your sugar for the day. Nah. Come on folks: street art and poetry and some "love the world" shit. Srsly.
My roommate V. and I love ice skating. She used to compete and twirl around in spandex and sequins, and I used to be a middle schooler obsessed with the costumes and leaps and Tanya-Oksana hot messes of the world.
Singin' in the Rain is a favorite film of mine because of nostalgia: my father and I used to watch it together.
Anyway, if you can handle Kurt Browning's hair and if you like the film or ice skating (or both!), you should then view this video. It's sweet and creative. Beware: Kurt's sporting one serious mullet.
Who doesn’t love a good Mick Jagger poem? Who doesn’t love a good poem? Come on now: the details and last line should be enough to make you self-described non-poets take notice of the piece. Me? I’m swooning about the form and the lines and that last line.
Mick Jagger (World Tour, 2008) He stands on stage after spot-lit stage, yowling with his rubber mouth. If you turn off the sound he’s a ruminating bovine, a baby’s face tasting his first sour orange or spitting spooned oatmeal out. Rugose cheeks and beef jerky jowls, shrubby hair waxed, roughed up, arms slung dome-ward, twisted branches of a tough tree, knees stomped high as his sunken chest. Oddities aside, he’s a hybrid of stamina and slouch, tummy pooch, pouches under his famous invasive rolling eyes. He flutters like the pages of a dirty book, doing the sombrero dance, rocking around the microphone’s round black foot , one hand gripping the skinny metal rod, the other pumping its victory fist like he’s flushing a chain toilet. Old as the moon and sleek as a puma circling the herd, a slim redwood on one shaggy leg, head in the clouds, arms full of skinks, tree rats, black-capped birds. The vein on his forehead pops. His hands drop into fists. He bows like a beggar then rises like a monarch. Sir Mick, our bony ruler. Jagger, slumping off stage shining with sweat. Oh please don’t die, not now, not ever, not yet.