Photos: Hubble Site
Song: Not A Robot, But A Ghost by Andrew Bird
Short Story: Claudia Smith

The falcon carried her for many miles, over wheat fields, highways, and city lights. Years later, that night would come back to her in shots, firing off in her head, pop-gun memories. She was a child then, and so the cities were like flickering candles on a cake, and she was not afraid of the flight.

When her son calls out for her at night, she carries him into her room. He twitches, says mommy, and she strokes his damp hair. She will not take him to the forest. He sleeps in his own room, with three night lights and a scout lantern. But she wakes, every night, as she did when he nursed, her body carrying her to the blue and green room, and there he is, every time. She’ll smell his clean skin, or adjust his coverlet.

One night he wakes to tell her there is a robot outside his window. A giant robot he says, a dark robot with one claw. “He doesn’t have hands, Mom,” her son says, “he goes like this. He goes like this.” He crumples his forehead and stares. They look out the window, and she remembers a friend telling her to check the closet, to spray glitter water, to banish monsters. But she is afraid. It’s storming and the neighbors are gone. She would like to carry him to her room, put the phone by the bed, turn on the lights and the television, the radio too. It could be there, a man, or something cold, waiting. There’s an odd smell, like plastic burning.

Photo Collages: Chris Thompson
Music: 81 by Joanna Newsom
Short Story: Lydia Copeland

I ran up the side-walked hill when you asked. You had a buzz cut and wore an oversized green coat with down feathers quilted inside. Once you put your finger inside my finger to stop the bleeding. Once we fell asleep in your parents’ bed with the sound of their dream machine looping train tracks. I hid in one of my father’s empty classrooms and cried into a wood desk. My father walked in, stood in front of the chalkboard with a can of Sprite in his hand and a silk tie beneath his collar. He said I had some explaining to do. The blinds were drawn. All around us there were deciduous trees stripped from the mountains, mulberries and lyre-leaf-sage. Milkweed in a darkening sky. And stalks of wheat. Everything was blowing in the wind. That night I listened to my mother’s tape of folk music in the car and thought about how words are just words, and you should say them without agony, without sorrow or song in your voice, just straight and sober. The next day, I had a speech in my head. In the closet mirror I prepared to recite it to you like an oath, looking into your face, eyes open all the way, hand on heart. I didn’t know you’d forget to speak to me again for the rest of your life. I didn’t know I’d be in New Jersey one day and find only an herb garden in the concrete, and there you’d be on a farm somewhere, remarried and floating down a river with your country son.

(Note: Such a depressing story but it goes great with this song, I think.)

Photos: Pellerin/Maxppp

I’m taking a break from posting my favorite Autumn/Winter 2010 men’s collections to display one of the best Balenciaga collections to date. Ghesquire really harnessed the many facets of his aesthetic into a very cohesive and restrained selection. It’s a step up from the futuristic style he began to develop the previous fall and a natural progression from the self-control he presented in the spring. The hand-painted latex coats and dresses are really some of the most jaw-dropping garments ever.

Video: Azuma Makoto & Alessandro Tinelli

Annually, a group of six prominent artists are selected to create a series of six fragrances with six celebrated perfumers in order to raise awareness and funding for a deserving charity. Collectively, diverse members of the creative world are invited to contribute and a global initiative is launched. The goal is to trigger momentum around each cause through creativity with a conscience.

Six Scents: Series Two
In collaboration with Givaudan, Six Scents Series Two explores the relationship between artist and nature through a collection of fragrances, stories, films, art and photography. Each experience intends to instigate the desire to preserve the environment of Six Scents so that others can continue to be inspired by the beauty, power and intrigue of nature. A portion of all proceeds will be donated to Pro-Natura in support of their environmental sustainability programs.

Six Scents Website

Photos: Charles Bergquist
Music: Islands by The Xx
Short Story: Elizabeth Ellen

     We were drinking beer out of shot glasses on my kitchen floor. You were wearing your winter coat. You’d said you could only stay a minute.
     Another, you said. Another.
     The faster I poured, the faster you bottomed up.
     Whoa there. Easy, partner, I said.
     But you didn’t let up. You were really throwing them back.
     At some point it occurred to me it would be easier to hand you the can, but when I extended my arm you waved it away.
     There’s something to it, you said.
     To what?
     To the theory that it hits you harder this way, you said, grabbing my wrist and downturning it. In smaller sips.
     I’ve never heard that theory, I said. But it would explain a lot.

     An hour later you were still here, the cans lined like conquered countries on the floor between us. You were visibly sweating. You still refused to remove your coat.
     I can’t stay, you said. I’m going to leave soon.
     My left leg was already bridging the gap. I shifted all my weight onto it, elongating my right. Somewhere down below was you. All I had to do was lower.
     Whoa there, you said. Easy does it.
     My right thigh was in your hand. I hovered, waiting for your release.