china girl

I have no idea who this girl is (she certainly isn’t the one Bowie was singing about), I just painted this to keep my hands busy during the summer.

Copyright 2005 by Andrew Price, all rights reserved.

I feel pretty, oh so pretty

In a Russian goth sort of way, but I feel pretty, oh so pretty, witty and …! (Wait, I’m not feeling like that…) However, please tell me what you think of the new banner.

It’s me in a coat

Drawn to illustrate someone else’s poem about an alcoholic chap.

Copyright 2005 by Andrew Price, all rights reserved.

The Tall One

Right now I’m here make a pitch for my music.

With Eucharisto’s help I set up a Virb music page as Vy_sok_ets, which is Russian (I think) for “The tall one.” It’s one word spliced into three different parts. Thus far it is not me wailing on my guitar, but electronic Garage Band (from Apple).

Check me out.

Poem # 29 (Did anyone read my thus-far-unfinished cycle?)

Talks outside in the winter weather
Pacing along the snow,
And stating the meaning in ellipses
Slowly he begins to speak…

He says
I met this woman in Jamaica,
She called to me
So I followed her.
I saw her standing in the sea,
She beckoned me.
With the sunshine over the sea.

Then he breaks,
His friend has left.
He lights a cigarette, and the lights
The snowman’s pipe
And heads inside.
Thinking of the sunshine over the sea.

He tries to write a letter,
He doesn’t know who it’s for.
He put the kids to sleep,
And his wife is still watching TV.
He wants to write about his vacation,
He’s thinking about the sun over the sea…

His wife has fallen asleep.
The TV is playing static.
He turns it off, and lies next to his wife.
He feels his thinning hair,
And thickening paunch.
And thinking of the sunshine over the sea.

He wonders:
Why did she beckon me?
The dream is a nightmare,
I’m a classic make, but all out of shape
The song came from her,
But I ran off.
Paradise is a fantasy he says
As he lies dreaming of the sunshine over the sea.

Onion: A nation honors Ken Griffey Jr.

Oh bad words. I wish this one were true.

Women In Art

Why do I need text?

Virginia Woolf

Product of sleepless-ness, excuse the messiness.

Copyright 2005 by Andrew Price, all rights reserved.