Just last week I spent a day in Walled Lake, a small suburb outside of Detroit. Suburban Detroit has always seemed so sterile to me; a huge maze of Applebee’s, strip malls and gas stations. Populations are growing so fast that high schools are a mile away from each other and neighborhoods with names like Whispering Trails, Maple Village and Rambling Brook are wedged together like Tetris blocks. How the fuck does anyone carve an...

I know how it happens now. After a week of drinking and lethargy one finds that they have accomplished very little besides smoking cigarettes and feeling poorly. Resolute, that same individual vows to be healthy and make better decisions… and he does, and feels better and is incredibly productive. And when he is grinding out sets of shoulder shrugs or running his customary three miles, he feels unstoppable: An individual who creates...

I have been in a very strange place for the past ten days. Questioning the bombardment of stimulus that was Chicago, San Francisco, Detroit and now home. A short story was born however, and it will be yet another attempt to capture the tingling nostalgic anxiety that accompanies the passing of time, people, and places. Another of my friends died Wednesday, but the paper just printed the story today. I suppose keeping him alive for the...

Are you still in love Or are you fading Howard Dean emailed me today While I drank punch in the Castro bleeding fog and winded toasting Secretariat…….a finisher I shall be too

Homecoming is a short animated film exploring the work of Franz Kafka through his homonymous story. The story follows the homecoming of a wayward son back to his fathers' farm where he spent the first years of his life.  The piece focuses on his inability to connect to the environment, and on his hesitation to make any step of approach...

The Windows is my attempt to visualize C.P.Cavafy's poem of the same name. The animation was created in 2003, and was a personal project reflecting certain aspects of my own psychology at the time. A translation of the poem can be found below...

Brian Hardie Agnostic fears believe faith is a Love not able to be torn from. The innocent Houses lined in the park deceive the Scripts written by a Homeless sensation. From coast to coast, To the avenues of sorrow, mistaken foods are sold on Circumstance, tattooing the sensitive Voices on the opposing spectrum. Abrasive pigtails send The ill fated intentions of souls suffering The harm to hurt. Informal attires of the poets sadness Is to...

Ashok Niyogi kingfisher dives for fish when the tiger is coming the monkeys know from treetops oh so many greens on this ochre mountain such glorious parakeet pea-hen sit camouflaging peacock eggs jackal husband and jackal wife walk over rounded stone mellowed by river for a few moments someone weeps loudly in yellowed grassland interrupting the buzz of thousands of gnats and then we can hear the setting sun Ashok Niyogi was born in...

Ashok Niyogi tigers saunter in for Western Union from their non-resident children oak forests have walked away and left behind a two-blade ceiling fan a hundred years ago here Corbett shot a man-eating leopard in the kitchen garden the ‘India Post’ cottage on the ridge has an artist postmaster with gerbera and carnation in his hair grey with time deposits that fathers bequeath their sons and diesel fumes that the hill-girls now carry as...

Howie Good True, but wouldn’t you rather jerk awake to the beating of invisible wings and later, if the light is right, watch a river scratch itself until it bled? And as to the example of those who keep their feet firmly on the ground, like a telephone pole, or a feeding trough, or a tombstone – when you’re in love, you’re happy to board the wounded plane last seen disappearing over the mountains and never heard from again. Howie...