Monthly Archives: August 2015
Necessary change in photographic diet
It’s time to stop talking about photography. It’s not that photography is dead as many have claimed, but it’s gone.
Just as there’s a time to stop talking about girls and boys and to talk instead about women and men so it is with photography; something has changed so radically that we need to talk about it differently, think of it differently and use it differently. Failure to recognize the huge changes underway is to risk isolating ourselves in an historical backwater of communication, using an interesting but quaint visual language removed from the cultural mainstream.
The moment of photography’s “puberty” was around the time when the technology moved from analog to digital although it wasn’t until the arrival of the Internet-enabled smartphone that we really noticed a different behavior. That’s when adolescence truly set in. It was surprising but it all seemed somewhat natural and although we experienced a…
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At last, a piece of LFMK! –thanks for this meal! –loving it already! “Afterlife of Corpses“! –never thought much about what could happen to them…. Buried like dinners that didn’t turn out right; weak recipes, or something, but this is well beyond anything I ever imagined! –bring on the entire collection please
Entire issue is wonderful, and yes; I am in it! –a prose poam, “Afterlife of Corpses” (the actual link to my prose poam: <http://one.jacarpress.com/#Thylias%20Moss> that will also appear in the entire LFMK collection (Looking for My Killer, a PSA announcement, where controversy breeds) as soon as a publisher is secured –in progress; I am very hopeful, as I would live to see the entire book!
I encourage all of you to submit to One.
I have to wait three months, and then I can submit again, but in the meantime, please join me in celebrating another odd piece of LFMK
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Wonderful! wonderful! Keep going! –one of the most delicious meals I’ve had in a long, long time! Thank you for feeding me!
Have been in a blazing fury of writing –as if my life depends on writing, and it does. Writing, and writing about everything I can, and most difficult for me is writing about my aneurysms, cranial aneurysms, one of which ruptured and nearly killed me on the night that Amy Winehouse died. The night of my death also; yes –it seems that I’ve returned, but what is here is a resurrected form –I shouldn’t even be able to talk, let alone write, but here it is; I don’t really care if it’s good or bad –so, so nice to feel this unusual motivation, the laptop doing the best it can, this silicone typing skin covering the keyboard, so that the depressing of every key seems to have an echo, as if, almost, as if, I’m doubling the words…
Tonight I completed a first draft of what might become a chapbook –an idea for writing I couldn’t stop! —I didn’t want to…
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