Visual Art

The Long March by bart plantenga

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The Long March

by bart plantenga


The meditation of the trail: Walk along looking at the trail at your feet and don’t look about and just fall into a trance as the ground zips by. 

• Jack Kerouac

Don’t fall asleep on the Metro-North Train out of Grand Central late at night or you’ll end up somewhere you never in a million years thought you’d end up with the midnight hour approaching. If you’d been on that train, you could have heard me repeating the late-night mantra STAY AWAKE DON’T FALL ASLEEP … over and over and despite – or precisely BECAUSE of! – this mantra, and despite me imploring myself to stand up, go through your wallet, retie your shoe, make a list … I indeed conked out, clueless to the world and was only startled awake when a valise thudded against my seat, just as the signs flashed Ardsley-on-Hudson. I managed to gather whatever wits I had left and leapt out just as the doors began to squeeze shut in … uh… Tarrytown! Overshooting my destination, Dobbs Ferry, by about 5 or 6 miles to the south.

I’d gone to Manhattan to see the prog-grass band Girls on Grass, 2 Brooklyn women – and bassist friend Dave. Only something special can drag me out these days to the past-sell-by-date East Village to engage in that most consumerist of sidewalk dances: the shuffle-app-selfie-click-ice-cream-lick-dance. So only when: 1. my critical capacities tip below zero; or 2. when a friend is playing in a girl band at HiFi, which inhabits the ghostly space of the formerly renowned Brownie’s …

Girl on Grass in HiFi

And as I am about to tell you the rest of this tale, I again hear my partner’s voice of reason whispering sternly into my ear: Do not advertise your stupidity or drunkenness – not charming and not a career maker. Not her actual voice but the one my mind has filed on a mental mp3 under Disapproval/Admonish/Raised Eyebrows.

But I’m hardwired to tell stories like this because humility forges a crooked and poorly marked trail to nirvana, or some place like that. When I encounter an error of judgement nourished by alcohol [not too much, just the right measure I thought], it usually incites impetuous, flakey reactions on my part. Rather than wait for the next train down the track, I decided to walk home. By walking back I mean like walking 2 hours to atone. It’s like winding a tangle of yarn into a ball, a metaphor, you rightly notice, for my unraveled foibles. Yes, walk: It was 85∘with humidity at 120% – if that’s even possible. Whatever the numbers, it’s like walking the doggy paddle and the air is a swimming pool.

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Michael Alan and Michael Kronenberg present: The Living Situation

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Michael Alan

and Michael Kronenberg


The Living Situation

(living installation, draw-a-thon)

on Saturday

May 30th, 2015

Brooklyn, New York

at 6:00pm

The Living Situation
In an abandoned apartment in the middle of Clinton hill, Brooklyn (Hell’s kitchen) lives seven naked New Yorkers. Living. Eating. Sleeping. Showering. Cooking. Fucking. Destroying. Come watch, draw, listen, zone out for a 7 hour live happening like no other demented Michael Alan show. Enter into the rear window and watch as they act out the most surreal acts you have ever seen. Ticket only event. Saturday, May 30th, 2015, 6pm on. Click on to order tickets. Address will be sent to ticket holders via email. Read more

Steve Dalachinsky — in conversation with Mark McCawley

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Steve Dalachinsky

in conversation with

Mark McCawley


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Flying Home by Steve Dalachinsky & Sig Bang Schmidt — Pre-Order

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Flying Home


visual art and poetry


by Steve Dalachinsky & Sig Bang Schmidt





eleased by Paris Lit Up Press just in time for the 100th anniversary of World War I, Flying Home is an extraordinary artistic collaboration featuring 55 original works of art by Sig Bang Schmidt with verses by world-renowned poet, Steve Dalachinsky.

Digitalizing and colorizing authentic World War I archival photographs, Sig Bang Schmidt’s images present surreal vistas of warfare revived with intensely saturated colors that bring the Great War out of the grim grayscale of textbook history. Steve Dalachinsky’s unique, vibrant words, create fragmented narratives of the lives and deaths of the men lost to the dark hole of war.
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TeleText on a Cross by Andreas Maria Jacobs

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TeleText on a Cross

visual art and poetry

by Andreas Maria Jacobs


"Lady Bird", Copyright © 2014 Andreas Maria Jacobs

“Lady Bird”, Copyright © 2014 Andreas Maria Jacobs

Parking Lot Whore
like a parking lot whore
smoking crack behind the fire door
humming songs through your broken teeth
of beaten cheeks on dirty floors
among rusty bicycles without locks
dripping mouths and swollen cocks
in silent sunsets without lights
of asphalt jungles & neon nights
it was in this mental hospital we did meet
among your medicine and the drugs you need
to stop your broken heart from knocking at the door
of the hidden entrance to the second floor
in that secret city where we never were before
where golden roses were covering your sheets
~Andreas Maria Jacobs Read more