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A Multi-Media Installation Event
Don’t Shy Away From Intimacies
Thursday, October 29, 2009
By Woman Around Town
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Public art project seeks involvement
Sunday, October 25, 2009
By Sara Bauknecht, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
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This Just In . . . Live blogging from Bill Hayward's Intimacy Project
The Best American Poetry
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The Intimacies Project
Sunday, October 25, 2009
By Justin Taylor, HTMLGIANT
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cloud to ground #9
Posted in Ambient Dialogue, Events, music, nasturtiums, Strays
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cloud from ground #7
Where we stand
In tandem and are joined
A shared breath, doubled
Shadows shin tied
Tried again sorted images
Rolled over and then
Posted in Etymology, Events, Move
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Paper Garden
Now we are talking about something, else we are talking, slapping
Slapping one, another slaps, another one slaps and an
Other’s leg grazes, up, ↑ towards the ceiling, a
Plaster surface upon which
Another’s leg grazes, slapping. And this athleticism, henceforth referred to as
The high top sneaker, the lower top sneaker—the shredded red
Dress pants, ripped at the seam by his hand.
And as for the new avant-garde,
And as for the new avant-gardist:
There is a garden somewhere that grows paper.
A garden, somewhere, a paper garden grows.
Posted in Events
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One Symbol of Grief
One horse holds the hand and sheds his handbook.
One horse loops and drops, kicks a cylindrical pipe.
One kicks the back calf rotation. This is the shimmy-shim out.
One kicks the other kicks dull metal music. Sounds like a cylindrical pipe.
To tell the truth, a pelvic girdle leads with all its might.
The human pelvis: an object into which the neck may be inserted.
And the pelvis spirals out. This is the absence of
Hands caused by halo effect. O, the cylindrical calf,
Its spiral effect. O, living dead life,
Quench my thirst with your contrarian muscle.
Sir, quench my abdominal ways; lift my leg overhead.
And if it becomes too much liquid, I too become the dead marionette.
I become the key grip, also hung backstage.
And if you feel the urge to slap me, slap my pelvic girdle.
The hand atop the foot atop is one symbol of grief.
at the rover – july 6, 2010
Now he is tearing up books in a wholly blind rage he is tearing out one puppet’s strings.
And now too they are dancing some coy little mamba, she with her torn dress and
Now she is gone. What is left is the ground, a ream of torn paper,
The sound of the rain on the ground and the audience, clapping?
O, cue the books and his furnace.
Posted in Events, Move, Uncategorized
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