| It changed |
[Apr. 10th, 2008|01:34 am] |
RESOLUTION
WHEREAS, the North Carolina School of the Arts (the “School”) was established by the General Assembly of North Carolina in 1963 as the first public conservatory for the performing arts in the United States; and
WHEREAS, the School has established itself as a premier professional school specializing in the training and development of performing and visual artists; and
WHEREAS, the School became a constituent campus of the consolidated University of North Carolina System (the “UNC System”) in 1972; and
WHEREAS, the Board of Trustees of the School has determined that it is appropriate to consider modifying the School’s name to reflect the School’s longstanding and significant ties to the UNC System;
NOW, THEREFORE BE IT RESOLVED:
1) The Board of Trustees recommends to the Board of Governors of the UNC System that the name of the School be modified and shall become the University of North Carolina School of the Arts; and
2) Such action does not affect the original mission of the School or the vision of the School’s founders including the admission of students based on auditions, interviews and artistic portfolios and the appointment of faculty on the basis of their professional experience; and
3) That the addition of the term “University” is intended solely to better define the School as a constituent campus of the UNC System and shall not affect its unique educational mission or culture or in any way imply a lack of respect or support for its high school component; and
4) The Board of Trustees strongly affirms its commitment to maintain the School’s unique culture and mission within the UNC System and the School shall continue as the professional training institution for performing and visual artists in the UNC System.
This resolution is approved as of this 9th day of April, 2008 |
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| I saw Cloverfield |
[Jan. 21st, 2008|12:13 am] |
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If a giant alien was destroying Charlotte, I would try my hardest to get to Dae. |
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| For the World (Austin) |
[Sep. 30th, 2007|12:05 am] |
Of Montreal.
We were on risers in the back so we weren't in the sweaty pit but we had a good view and room to dance or sit.
As far as costuming, this was a very low key show. Kevin went back only once and came out with a Jack the Ripper (i guess) mask on.
As always the animations were very enjoyable.
This was difficult considering the complex titles and that I thought of doing it after the first three songs.
Translation:
OF MONTREAL
Gronlandic Edit
Du Og Meg (so says Sam, but I am doubt that they played it because I would have remembered)
Party's Crashing Us
Bunny Ain't No Kind of Rider
I Was Never Young
Sink the Seine
Cato As Pun
Requiem for O.M.M.2
Our Last Summer As Independents (a new song)
October Is Eternal (allowing Kevin to change)
Lysergic Bliss
Slow Jam (new)
Labrinthian Pomp
She's A Rejector
Oslo In The Summertime
Faberge Falls for Shuggie
Redundancy Is The New Creativity (new)
Skeletal Lamping? (the title of thier new album not the song)
Promethean Curse
ENCORE:
Suffer For Fashion
Rapture Rapes the Muses
a short video for the feeling.
This was an especially good concert. |
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| the past week and a half |
[Aug. 31st, 2007|01:17 am] |
The birds are panting, Lord
The rain dodges our town because it knows
It watches the stupid soak their yards in midday heat
When the water becomes air before it even reaches the hungry blades
A drive to the country reminds me
Yes, grass is green, Lord and thank you
I knit scarves and ignore the humid
Watch movies until I rot with the upholstery
I forget the end of one and the beginning of another
Far from home in my nameless car
My wipers remember their purpose
And my window glides down
So I can feel the sharp rain
And smell the wet black asphalt smell
Of summers not so dry and drought
I turn to my passenger who cannot smell
Who is like being with myself in sixty three years
But she thinks yes there is a whiff
It is gone soon except the drops that reached my leather
Half the city asks You for rain
And men leave Walmarts with arms open at the sight of clouds
Big full, fat clouds that lumber by
And collapse elsewhere on the radar
I try not to think of the exhausted earthworms
Who long to come out and cross sidewalks
I watch the sky
And hate the feeling of dead grass under my feet
I dream of the storm, Lord
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| For Louie |
[Aug. 21st, 2007|12:07 am] |
Long ago we napped
Head to head on the tweed couches
With the tumbling of clean clothes nearby
We ran the world
With two sets of blue eyes
And two heads of curls
From the exchange of names onwards
There was no separation
Miles made no difference
Talking did not cease
When the dorms were emptied
And the fun times were tallied
And we spread out like constellations
Sharing five weeks of companionship
You remain a voice to me
Loud and thrown about the air waves
A sound that splashes onto me like oil
That loosens my bones and tongue
Nothing is not done on these air waves
No politeness is considered
No etiquette is made
And so the miles dissipate
And the closeness is unbearable
Until when you laugh I see you laugh
And when there is silence
I see the expression that you are making
At my whining words and wimpish tales
We close our eyes to the highways
And someone asks “Is that Louie?”
And before I look
I know that the ringing is you
Tapping me on my shoulder
Or yelling my name across the quad |
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| for my new friend... |
[Aug. 10th, 2007|07:31 pm] |
Here there are llamas
Here there are llamas that didn’t exist the first three days
And here I am the youngest
Except for Giulio
With his backstage pass
To where the metal music blares
And the glass skulls sit on tables
Looking hollow and clear
Giulio is my longtime friend
From breakfast to one AM
In the field watching fog
Fickle fog
Elusive fog
Unfaithful fog of the llama field
The salsa is in our bones
Late at night on a dried beer floor
With the disco light rolling
Papa Emilio says give to Giulio
He knows that where there is a Brooke
There is a Giulio
Slipping sentences of Italian
Into string that they cast at each other
A net of Venice above the dining room table
And if the fog ever reaches the craft house porch
There will be us two
A pear and a kiwi
Sitting for conversation and the moths |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 17th, 2007|05:11 pm] |
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Dizzy Gillespie and I were born on the same day. |
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| EMINEM |
[Jul. 8th, 2007|09:09 pm] |
a true member of the boskoviches...
 |
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| Prince Charming and the Infestation of Seaweed |
[Jul. 6th, 2007|10:37 pm] |
Here, there are shells with little tongues that reach out and stand upright for a moment, like a little army of tight lipped clams, and then they sway their way back into the sand, turning out to be cowards anyway.
My vulture eyes downcast
Raking the grains of sand
With my retina
That is two milimeters larger
Than the avergae humans'
I am the girl who wants something special
Who believes above all else that anyones
Trash is her treasure
But trash trash, unrecycled and rejected
By cackling seagulls
Is all on this beach and tricking my eyes to hope
Excuses for shells are washed up
Cracked jagged by merciless beating
Little sac filled seaweed is piled
From a days worth of tireless
In out In out
The girl who would pick up anything
Rusty, rotten, run over or otherwise
Can find nothing on the low tide
The alien planet is revealed
Which used to offer so many finds
Is now barren except a honking party of birds
The wild hermit crab population
I still recovering from a genocide
And even the depthy edges of the canal
Who used to bear large blue-clawed crabs
Is decidedly gloomy
By the corner, by the house
After fruitless beach walking
My large retina discovers a figure
Stately fuschia pants
Sky blue shirt with gold cuffs
It is the Prince Charming of the dirt road
Standing at a grand inch and a half
He is headless and gracious
A clean cut stump leaves you wondering
About his lucious black hair
His stunning blue or brown eyes
Cinderella would remember their color
But she is no where to be found
His outstretched arms, in perfect formation
Dance with no one
His lumpy hands are empty
His identity so easily recognized in body
But lacking the defining facial features
Is, I believe, left blank for me
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| i got this today. timing is everything. |
[Jun. 25th, 2007|10:39 am] |
(The following is an e-mail from the past, composed on Monday, November
28, 2005, and sent via FutureMe.org)
Dear FutureMe,
i hope youre in love. drink more orange juice and eat more pasta. |
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| Thoughts on Music |
[Jun. 21st, 2007|08:54 pm] |
If I made a body out of music (though these could never coexist):
Sufjan Stevens
I will always return to you
You are my Bird Man
and eternal singer of my faith
Modest Mouse
you with your frustration
and raw vocal chords
would be the ID
When I hear you I can become an animal
Your heavy substance would make the body
Wilco
with your pure voice
Your many flowering guitar solos
and your crashing endings
would be the soul
because you speak to mine
Avett Brothers
with your stories and your wisdom
with your screaming and your banjo
sweat flying off every limb
you would be the heart and the life source
Instruments to be buried with me in my in my tomb:
a banjo for happiness and spunk
a violin for love waltzs and things that one cannot express
brushes and drums because it is what i sound like inside
and bagpipes for my grandmother and when other people join me
There is so much music I do not know, all the more to find. |
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| English Exam |
[May. 30th, 2007|01:33 pm] |
When I say goodbye to NCSA I want to say goodbye to the places. I would like to sit down with the lumpy green couch in the well and tell it how much I appreciated those many shy moments that built my character. I would like to wink at Hood as I walked by and almost feel the vibration in your pocket of a happy little alarm saying “it’s 9:55pm, time to go back to prison”. I would caress the last cafeteria plate I used and throw my bag a little more gently into the cubbies. I would climb to my perch on the side of Watson and pay my respects to the absorbed sunlight of the cement. Most importantly I would sit for a very, very long time in the gallery; until I could feel my hair grow and every part of my body go numb. And once it was thoroughly numb I would sneak out and crawl back into the darkness of my locker and smell the wood and feel the dusting of charcoal and graphite. These places are not just buildings, windows, concrete, and wood, they are the body of NCSA. And I will eat of the body and drink of the blood to remind me of my story.
These places are the people. We posses our surroundings and tie ourselves to these buildings. We are trapped, but we are banging around in our cage together and the togetherness is heart.
But none of us will say these goodbyes, and I won’t pace around the school and be nostalgic. We will all arrive at graduation and suddenly turn around and say “this is the end” and a ripple of awareness will run through us. The end will come before we realize it’s on its way and the fact that I only have four days left here is a fact that sits on top of my brain like oil on water. So, truly no goodbyes can be said on my part, because my goodbye will be through the back window of the van when Sanford slips behind the trees and I realize that it will never be like it was. |
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| a poem about a phrase ive heard a lot |
[May. 15th, 2007|11:46 pm] |
Keep in mind the nearest exit may be behind you
You might have to crawl backwards with great difficulty
Like a very large bug
You might have to escape back into your memories
Like pushing through invisible cobwebs in a crowd of chattering people
Keep in mind you have to look over your shoulder to find this exit
And in the process will either make akward eye contact
with the well dressed man behind you
Or face the back of some other anxious person's head
And if you are the only one who finds this exit behind you
Then in the case of a fire or mass panic
You will also be the only one pushing your way to this exit
And fighting against the herd of white eyed people
choking programs in thier sweaty palms
So please do keep in mind the nearest exit may be behind you
But also please consider whether you should use this one |
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| The Splinter |
[Apr. 19th, 2007|04:42 pm] |
I extracted a splinter
It had been an intruder for twenty four hours
Plenty of time to be saturated with my body juices
And swollen with angry narrow eyes
I watched in fascinated disgust
As the tiny blade severed the barest layer of my skin
Freeing the pallid little sliver
That had been rubbing abrasively against my epidermis
It left a cavity that breathes with the movement of my palm
Like a little gaping mouth |
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| When given the word watermelon... |
[Mar. 29th, 2007|10:38 am] |
Of July
My love for you is a watermelon
Firm and green
Until slice
The sound of little membraneous molecules pulling apart
Lucious and juicy on the inside
Juicy I can put my fingers into
Pull out the seeds
Toss them onto the grass
Where they will never grow
Because if I swallow them
The night before the first day of school
A green quivering leaf will creep out of the corner of my mouth
And my belly will swell with your love
So instead they live in peace among the ants
Of July |
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| The Earth (Worms) of New York |
[Mar. 22nd, 2007|12:10 pm] |
While I was sitting beside the Earth Room I thought a lot about the worms..
Either they are still alive and wriggling around in that sterile dirt or they have died and become just as sterile. Maybe they worked themselves to the bottom of those twenty two inches where moisture lies and worked so hard they came out through the ceiling of the person below and landed in thier house plants if they were incredibly lucky or if they weren't so lucky, in the soup cooking on the stove. Maybe some of them didn't make it through the floor and now stuck in the rafters and the people living there will hear their murmuring little movements at night when it's really quiet. Maybe a few made it out the cracks in the window, but their fate was to either slip to their death or be eaten by a very lucky bird. A couple probably made it out into the little lobby and if the desk worker was a saint they got carried on a napkin to a tiny patch of grass outside.
( five pictures ) |
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