ANTIQUE ROADKILL

First Person 911

In honor of the 5th Anniversary of 9/11/01 I've uploaded a 4 part series about that day. Thanks to Ray Mendez and Anthony Paris for shooting and booting.

Check it out at Youtube: First Person 911 Films

Antique Roadkill Episode 4

Last episode of what people are calling a "long, drawn out, unresearched film badly in need of a total editing overhaul". Check it out!

http://www.ourmedia.org/node/252797

has Anyone Checked Out Indigo's Chelsea?!!!

Check out Indy's film! Sophomore film project about Chelsea Hotel Residents! It's Awesome! So Cute!! ElleGIRL!

http://ia301225.us.archive.org/2/items/IndigoToledoIndigosChelsea_0/Indigos_Chelsea_FFFF2.m4v

Let me know if this dont work!!!!!!!!! Comment!!!!!!!!

Indigo's Chelsea

Check out this Junior HS Project work by Chelsea Hotel resident Indigo Toledo, 17 yrs. Interviews with residents about living in the hotel. Produced while he was in The Dwight School in NYC.

http://www.ourmedia.org/node/247636

DONT WALK AWAY RENE'!

THE 2ND INSTALLMENT OF RENE' RICARD'S VISIT.

http://www.ourmedia.org/node/175215

Poem Reaching For Something

By Rene' Ricard

we walk through a calligraphy of hats slicing off foreheads
ace-deuce cocked, they slant, razor sharp, clean through imagination, our
spirits knee-deep in what we have forgotten entrancing our bodies now to
dance, like enraptured water lilies
the rhythm in liquid strides of certain looks
eyeballs rippling through breezes
riffing choirs of trees, where a trillion slivers of sunlight prance across
filigreeing leaves, a zillion voices of bamboo reeds, green with summer
saxophone bursts, wrap themselves, like transparent prisms of dew drops
around images, laced with pearls & rhinestones, dreams
& perhaps it is through this decoding of syllables that we learn speech
that sonorous river of broken mirrors carrying our dreams
assaulted by pellets of raindrops, prisons of words entrapping us
between parentheses — two bat wings curving cynical smiles

still, there is something here, that, perhaps, needs explaining
beyond the hopelessness of miles, the light at the end of a midnight tunnel —
where some say a speeding train is bulleting right at us ——
so where do the tumbling words spend themselves after they have spent
all meaning residing in the warehouse of language, after they have slipped
from our lips, like skiers on ice slopes, strung together words linking
themselves through smoke, where do the symbols they carry
stop everything, put down roots, cleanse themselves of everything
but clarity —— though here eye might be asking a little too much of any
poet's head, full as it were with double-entendres