(n)Ice Grrl

A long time ago in the forests of Russia there lived a peasant by the name of Ivan with his wife, Maria. Although they loved each other very much and had many friends, they were unhappy because they had no children.
One winter day, they watched the village children build a snowman. "Let's build a snowman, too!," said Ivan. And they proceeded to craft a pretty little maiden out of snow. Struck with their creation, Ivan said, "Little snowmaiden, speak to me." Maria exclaimed, "Yes, come to life so you can romp and play like the other children!" Before their very eyes, Snegurochka became a real girl. "I have come from the land of winter, ice and snow," said the little girl. She ran and hugged them. There was joyous singing, dancing and celebrating in the village that night. All that long Russian winter Snegurochka romped and played with the other children. Everyone loved her. She, Ivan and Maria were very happy.
Then one day, when the first signs of spring appeared, Snegurochka came to Ivan and Maria, and with tear-filled eyes told them that she must go away, up North to the land of snow. They begged her to stay. Upset, Ivan jumped up and shut the door to the hut so the Snow Maiden couldn't leave, and Maria hugged her tight. But as she held the little girl, the child melted away. Ivan and Maria wept bitterly.
All spring and summer they were lonely. Summer turned into fall and fall into winter and once again it was cold and icy outside. One night a familiar voice was heard. "Mother! Father! Open the door! The snow has brought me back once more!" Ivan threw open the door and Snegurochka ran into their arms. All that winter she lived with them and played with the other village children. But in the spring she had to go back North, whence she had come. This time Ivan and Maria did not weep, knowing she would return once more when winter appeared on the land. And so it was that the Snow Maiden brought warmth and joy to Ivan and Maria during the long, cold, Russian winter for many, many, many years.

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Hide and Seek

The Feminine Complex


* = an actual object and its properties independent of any observer.


Chet Atkins & Jerry Reed

"A good idea is never lost. Even tho its originator or possessor may die without publicizing it, it will someday be reborn in the mind of another."*

* -Thomas Edison

Fiber Optic

Bex took several steps forward and drew from his pocket an oval mirror which he held above the young Negro's lips... no mist clouded the shining surface. Then, placing his hand over the patient's heart, he made a negative sign to indicate the absence of any beat. After a few seconds passed in silence, he quietly withdrew leaving the ground clear around the cot. Immediately the lamp lit up, directing an electric beam of dazzling brilliance straight down towards the earth.
The white plant, which curved to form a canopy over the bed, received the full blast of this intense light that seemed to have been directed at it. Because of its transparency, we could see in the overhanging vegetable substance a delicate picture which was yet both clear and vigorous. The general effect was of a stained glass window, but remarkably smooth and unbroken.
The diaphanous picture represented a scene in the Orient. Under a clear sky lay a splendid garden full of exotic flowers. In the centre of a marble basin, a fountain of water spouting from a jade cylinder gracefully traced its slender curve. Beside it rose the walls of a sumptuous palace. Where, beneath a window not far from the marble basin, stood a young man with curly hair who sung an elegy of his own composition into a speaking tube of dull silvery metal.
Then a molecular alteration took place in the fibers of the luminous plant which caused the atoms to vibrate at once, as if endeavoring to rearrange themselves according to some other inevitable grouping. Presently, a second scene rose similarly embodied in the delicate and transparent vegetable structure. This time, a high dune of golden tone retained on its arid slope the marks of several footsteps. The poet of the first picture, kneeling on the crumbling soil, gently put his lips to the deep imprint of a tiny, graceful foot.
Suddenly, that scene was dramatically replaced by the portrait of a wolf with blazing eyes. The animal's body alone took up as much space as any of the preceding sketches; underneath in large capitals was this description in Latin: 'LUPUS'. Each strange phase of the plant lasted the same length of time; as one after another the series of pictures faded on the overhead screen...

- excerpt from “Impressions d’Afrique” (1910)
by Raymond Roussel

(collage: Fred Tomaselli)

A Late Walk

When I go up through the mowing field,
The headless aftermath,
Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
Half closes the garden path.

And when I come to the garden ground,
The whir of sober birds
Up from the tangle of withered weeds
Is sadder than any words

A tree beside the wall stands bare,
But a leaf that lingered brown,
Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
Comes softly rattling down.

I end not far from my going forth
By picking the faded blue
Of the last remaining aster flower
To carry again to you.

- Robert Frost

Words of Love

The Fab Four


Just say that you love me
Don't tell me the reason why
Say it like an angel
Coming from the sky.

Just say you love me
Don't promise to be true
Just say that you love me
Until I break up with you.

- anonymous (The Greyhuff Review, 1965)