The Man who walked backwardsFor thirty years, Praveen had only walked backwards.The Man who walked backwards by BeccaJS
Through the city, he spent every day pacing the streets making scribbles in his notepads. He didn’t pay attention to the confused expressions of passers-by anymore.
He didn’t care for the comments, the questions or even the accusations of madness. He heard all their theories to why and even their concerns to his ability to walk forwards.
He continued to walk on, backwards.
Sometimes people would join in and walk backwards alongside him. It wouldn’t take long before they’d give up, realising the art meant crossing roads and dodging lampposts. He’d glance at them pointing their smartphones at his face as they filmed him with fascination, sometimes breaking a smile to let them know he understood.
Sometimes he would answer their questions. He walked away watching their confused expressions as they tried to understand his answers.
He did explain to a journalist once. He told her he’d taken this vow thir
OverworkedWe set aside a time, one hour for a meeting;Overworked by BeccaJS
our search for a room hindered by our search
for the solution.
Can we set aside a day
for creation and have a canvas we can all paint on
at the same time in the same room
and order ice cream or chip-shop chips
whilst we make our master design?
Then do you think we can turn our idea
into a real life innovation?
Or do we continue to scavenge old buildings
for neglected conference rooms once
booked by occupants no longer present. Do
we panic about the problem and confirm
we are in shit before we've truly understood
the colour, depth, and complexity of the shit?
Do you think we could stick to our plans and
do what we say we will do when we do it? We
go home on time and drink gin-and-tonic in
a local beer garden, enjoying the warm sun instead
of an overheated, over-exhausted office.
Machine WindWind tip-tapping againstMachine Wind by BeccaJS
desperate to attract attention,
off desolate rooftops
where there's no blue skies
but the lingering pollution of
The wind infers longing, where they once worked,
sweeping each corner in search of their presence
or past existence, a distance too far
of just what happened and why now absent.
Still tipping and raising the alarm,
there must be someone there-
a twisted gust takes one more lap of hope.
no more than hope.
Walking with a ToddlerSlow he may be, plodding gentle hisWalking with a Toddler by BeccaJS
tiny legs. Each stick is a new
exploration three steps to
“come on” you shout as he trots over
gravel laughing delighted at the crunch-crunch
beneath his feet
and back again.
A dog bounds by, so much energy that
it sparks fear in the little trekker as
he clings to your leg, begging to be lifted.
Arms wrapped around his world,
he points at the sky, tells you its blue.
The Execution of Judy MonroeIn glamour, in glitter-infested HollywoodThe Execution of Judy Monroe by BeccaJS
the movie star Judy Monroe’s almond eyes; coaled melodramatic,
tilt towards the camera.
The executioner motions forward;
a tall man, no guardian angel.
She watches his movement; spiteful, hated as he proudly glides
to prep for the grand finale.
A prayer to God with no love, each lens focused on her.
Black and white replaced by orange overalls.
She was found,
She was judged,
And Judy Monroe will be judged
Until opulence is extinguished and her dimpled cheeks sallow
and her pretty head drops.
When the tall man grazes her last touch,
leather grasps her wrists tight.
the poison plunges and she falls before them all:
behold her final bow.
release and exhale.
Identity, the Internet, and YouYour existence will forever be encoded into the infinite repertoire of beautiful, byte-sized sequences, safely housed in the cyber cloud for all to observe.Identity, the Internet, and You by neurotype
- "Topiary," as quoted in 'We Are Anonymous' by Parmy Olson
So I just read this book that is written by someone who is very obviously not of the Internet generation. From having to explain that 'fag' is practically a term of endearment on 4chan (okay, the whole explanation about 4chan and /b/ and message boards is entertaining) to mentioning that NyanCat is 'one of the Internet's most popular memes,' this book is in part an attempt to help people who aren't netizens understand what it's like to be part of a culture where people do shit because it's funny.
Like, you know, bring down a government server. Or get some guy to send a picture of his dick to his mom, or whatever.
Online, things don't seem to matter so much. Bothered by what someone's said? U mad, bro? Just log off. Whatever.
Except that people
Operation WFP: StartEvery artist enjoys getting feedback and what better time of the year to give than now. It doesn't matter if it's a few simple sentences of praise or a full blown critique, we all love checking our message center and finding that we have a comment waiting. So, we've plotted a deviously simple contest. And of course, for participating, you'll be put into a drawing for some awesome prizes!Operation WFP: Start by Nichrysalis
We want you guys to setup your wishlist! If you've already done that, we want you to double check it. Then we want you to add items to it. Easy, yes? But wait! There's a twist! You can't just buy art and not leave feedback for the artist. If you think a piece is wonderful enough to buy, you should let the artist know. So, in addition to creating your wishlist, we want you to comment on a piece you've added to your list.
That can't be just any old 'This is awesome!' comment either. We want at least three meaningful sentences about why you think the piece is awesome and worth buying. To make
eclipse.my eyes well-up constellations for you,
they shine bright. though my tears aren't precious anymore,
far too common for the tormenting night.
whoever told you about those squinting stars?
they strain to see those in this world;
gifted yet challenged by the sun and the moon.
and if all of earth's paradoxes were to stand up like soldiers,
we would be out of place.
try not to cry about such trivial matters
and live life as if we will not die.
and if such aspects are set in stone,
why does our molten flow so smoothly as
we seep out venus' volcano of infidelity and trust?
and they tell us that lust leads to consequences.
our brightness attracts those moths who perish in our heat.
we give a warm welcome to everything that we
untitledThat guy thinks he's heartless;
I watch him as he buys coffee
and gives it to everybody he passes
on the street who looks sad, and
his lips curl into a smile because
he made a joke that gave someone a laugh.
He holds his mother's hand on top
of hospital sheets, pressing the button
to pump morphine into her system
before he signals a nurse. Tears cascade
down his face when he watches
his mother take her last breath.
And his lips curl into a sneer as he walks
past a cloud of lung choking smoke,
thinking of the fume filled air
his mother suffocated herself in.
He thinks he's heartless, but
his heart is bigger than anyone's.