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"Let us bring to daylight the impulses of midnight contemplation."

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Reflections On My Excursion To New York City

     Reflections On My Excusion to New York City

                by Jeremy Munro

 

First NH Crocuses of Spring 2011

First Crocuses of Spring 2011 in Goffstown, NH

March 27, 2011

Audio Recording of Rebellion by Jeremy Munro


10:40 minutes (14.64 MB)

Recorded at 10:49 PM on 3/22/11 with my crappy laptop microphone (which isn't half bad apparently).

From the Rebellion Chapter of The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky

I like Ivan. I don't know why. Probably due to some sort of laceration or hipsterness. I felt like I could take a lot of liberties with the presentation as Ivan is in delirium especially in the later stages of the novel. I had him shift rapidly from the dramatic, to the serious, sarcastic, witty, and delirium.

At first I just wanted to do the part about the child getting torn apart by hounds, but I started reading and didn't want to stop. I hit the end of the chapter. This was attempt four at recording. Might do another one more polished with a better microphone. Not sure.

At The Gates Of Hell

 

So yea,

I found myself standing at the gates of hell.

I guess thats what happens when you give your ticket back.

Oh well. I'll live in hell. I'd rather be in my Hell than in this good.

 

Its precisely the good I can't enjoy,

Thus, Hell is preferable to Heaven.

He stood behind me, shaking his head.

Wrapped in his hoodie like me, with a hole through his chest.

 

Napkin Writer

Justine Johnson

March 17, 2011

 

Napkin Writer

 

disillusionment

disillusionment

 it's sobering

Photos from Fine Arts New York City Trip (Complete Albums)

 Photos from Fine Arts New York City Trip (Complete Albums)

Highlights

NYC2011-Highlights

 

Complete Albums of the Individual Locations:

The Argument from Recollection

The Argument from Recollection

remembering
is
remembering
is
madness
seeing not here
not now
wild eye stares
nothing
at nothing.

cloud trails across stars
uncover absences
behind the moon
lurks
another night’s light.
empty branches sway
with leaves of another summer
under them darkness
overflows and drips
with lack of you.

people look up

turn around
peer back at me
with your face
around each corner
another place
in which you were
out of balance
tipping towards
what was
is not
is
not.

memory seeks out
empty spaces
in the real
dissolves its fabric
collapses consciousness
impaling its center
pinning it
like a specimen
with pain
to the wound
through which life is
pulled
to the eternal
through the present
what was
to what will be
by what is
not.

remembering is
is
remembering
remembering
is
and forgetting is death.

 

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