Nahui Ollin - Wikipedia

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maybe call NMSU Archives for info about your location— Basement Films here in Abq has quite a collection: www.basementfilms.org

grateful for notion of holding ideas with the hands; no need to possess or grasp or close, and yet together

Experiments in Cinema is an annual international festival celebrating current trends and history of international cinematic experimentation. Tickets and festival passes can be purchased at the Guild Cinema box office starting April 16th.
buff.ly/8ya7tav

Book recommendation: The Light At The End Of History by Abbey Hepner — https://abbey-hepner.com/#/info/

Louise surveyed the upper floors for a buzzard, and Id followed.

A hundred meters in the past, waiting to strike, a drone trapped inside a brick by a hellfire stuck underneath.

Id noted four-fourteen block, a crowd-popular building for this time of the dark.

Wedged intersections ending in welded, sealed coffin box housings, distant repossessions on a single copper sun charge.

Banked sounds, or banking sound, I dunno.

In escape from the glass, sirens groaned out of the screens.

Walking Avenue darkness, we coded forward into the gateway.

"A death nearby," she said. "A buzzard marked to Harold sent to a coffin on Northern Avenue."

Leaning into asleep, Louise banged shut the radio case, so I woke up.

❤️ this! ...in Untitled Century, human notions of immortality face temporary struggles of getting a bite to eat or maybe even housing better than an animal shelter—besides living perspectives humans ignore in animals maybe who lives and who dies falsely depends on time & money...too much

Storied narcs picked off would be enemies and stalked mountain house, haggling mineral grift, Id guessed, all winners posing as owners of an endless supply: Salesman sold half-water and calcium salt.

Who to dispose of, and whose blood survives?

Some Albuquerque #photography

A living reinterpretation, foregone rules coined by Felon Claw, cuttings and sayings to beware reading.

How everyone died in the past?

Eighteen hundred million, or just eighteen hundred bloodeds living; I dunno—strewn on the roads, connected by fragile gratings, ghost page claims lost, forgotten, erased?

All the Avenue fleecings Id encountered took place nearby to my coffin box door.

Probably a gnat.

Thanks, Shannon. besides adoration for this work on paper, finally my artist's statement has a concrete purpose ;o)

Received the night before, upset, Id been reading hate letters; how Id tried concealing messages from Louise who, regardless, learned my business no matter whose report arrived to resource.

So far out in the road, jumbled by train carts, how she had read me I couldnt say.

Signing Louise through a sun cuffed fabric, "Marshall taught not to send addresses," Id said. "Especially ones deprived of names marked for mountain house."

Bunched into the curbside, her invisible shelter exposed, I was unable to read from middle of the road.

staying Standard like AZ &tc