NoraSawyer.com

We still haven’t been paid. Let me repeat that: No one at the school where I work has been paid for over a week (unless there’s a secret cadre of elites I’m not aware of, rolling around in secret rooms full of money as I type). There’s even some indication that there might not be [...]

Something smells funny in here.
Well, have you run the…. sinky… thing lately?
Sinky thing?
The… the trash…. exploder.
Trash exploder?
Yeah. Rararararararar. Exploder!
What?
Rararararararar. Trash.
What??
Rarrararararararar.

Lately I’ve been having trouble making it in to work on time. Even though it’s just a thirty minute walk, even though I don’t have to be there until ten. Lately I keep hitting the snooze button til 9:15, and then I lie in bed for another ten or fifteen minutes, stretching my fingers and [...]

I realize that, in spite of the whole post-every-day kick I’ve been on, I been kinda light, content-wise, of late. But am I about to remedy that? Nooooooooo. Instead, here’s a bunch of better stuff for you to read:
The Fart Party (Cartoons!)
The Comics Curmudgeon (Blog about cartoons!)
Dykes to Watch Out For (Cartoonist’s Blog!)

- Damn. Tanya. Someone should have killed her ass years ago.
- Uh-huh.
- Killed her in a trashcan.
- Killed her in an outhouse.
(general laughter)
– Shit. You married?

I’m not so thoroughly modern as to have photos uploaded already, so you’ll just have to take my word for it that Brian’s open studio went swimmingly. The art was lovely and the crowds gushed gushingly.
And it was great to just hang in the studio all day, chatting with friends and meeting people and just [...]

Happy belated coming out day, Albus Dumbledore!

For those of you in San Francisco:
This weekend (October 20 & 21), from 11am-6pm, Brian willbe opening up his studio as part of ArtSpan’s citywide Open Studios (which you can read all about here).
For those of you not familiar with Brian’s work, he sculpts these big wood panels into a sort of collage-y melange [...]

from Unforseen
Evocation by Micah Ballard
From the burialgrounds of Old Metairie& hallways thru pyramids
with unnumbered bonesto the 3 St. Louises& live oaks of Cypress Grove
onward we carry whatever has traced our way. So might the soil
turn over — Apparitionscome forth, this pathhath only one following
one way to get away.East of [...]

His trail glows clear — like a track of fire.Invisible and silent — the spoor Of the polluted man.The smell of his mother’s womb clings to his heelsAnd sweats from his instep.Plain as the blood-slashed route of a wounded stagIn the noses of the hounds.