
August 11, 2009
May 5, 2009
March 20, 2009
February 27, 2009
October 22, 2008
September 24, 2008
An excerpt from Arthur Machen's story, "The White People"
"...What would your feelings be, seriously, if your cat or your dog began to talk to you, and to dispute with you in human accents? You would be overwhelmed with horror, I am sure of it. And if the roses in your garden sang a weird song, you would go mad. And suppose the stones in the road began to swell and grow before your eyes, and if the pebble that you had noticed at night had shot out stony blossoms in the morning?"
September 19, 2008
Chair on the shore of Lake Michigan, Chicago
September 4, 2008
August 15, 2008
December 11, 2007
November 9, 2007
August 31, 2007
Quadrapod, 2007
This image is a hybrid, a ribus, a mutation, a transfiguration, of a previous image. The original photograph was made using film in a camera which had its lens removed and in its place a bodycap with a drilled pinhole. The pinhole body cap was purchased from Pinhole Resource Center, the world's leading archive of pinhole imagery and supplier of pinhole materials.
August 6, 2007
July 31, 2007
Excerpts from the short story Rappaccini's Daughter by Nathaniel Hawthorne:"Soon there emerged from under a sculptured portal the figure of a young girl, arrayed with as much richness of taste as the most splendid of flowers, beautiful as the day, and with a bloom so deep and vivid that one shade more would have been too much. She looked redundant with life, health, and energy; all of which attributes were bound down and compressed, as it were, and girdled tensely in their luxuriance, by her virgin zone. Yet Giovanni's fancy must have grown morbid while he looked down into the garden; for the impression which the fair stranger made upon him was as if here were another flower, the human sister of the vegetable ones, as beautiful as they, more beautiful than the richest of them, but still to be touched only with a glove, nor to be approached without a mask..."
"...That this lovely woman", continued Baglione, with emphasis, "had been nourished with poisons from her birth upward, until her whole nature was imbued with them that she herself had become the deadliest poison in existence. Poison was her element of life. With that rich perfume of her breath she blasted the very air. Her love would have been poison - her embrace death. Is this not a marvelous tale?"
July 16, 2007
July 15, 2007
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