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An Arts Review

I think I’ll go out and embarrass myself by getting drunk and falling down in the street. You say I choose sadness that it never once has chosen me. Maybe you’re right…— Jenny Lewis

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My Father's Heart

Simon Bresler One thing you should know about my father is that he has an abnormally large stomach. The kind of stomach that, if x-rayed, would reveal a picnic bench of five angry truck drivers demanding a 4th serving of fillet mignon and mushrooms (if they happen to be sautéed and available). With that being said, my dad is not a particularly overweight guy. In fact, he spends an hour on the elliptical every morning and works out...

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Entering the Jungle

First I’m going to pull out all my brushes, take a good look at them, and then throw them overboard.  Next I’m going to open all the lids to the paint cans, shove my hand in to get warmed up, and then I´m going to Jackson Pollock all over the place, because that was my experience.  So if I lose you along the way, that’s okay, because I’ve lost myself as well.  Just look out for the big picture and try to avoid the...

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The Cuzco Stare

It’s really a stare; I guess you could call it the ´´Cuzco Stare.´´ It emanates from the eyes, dulls the cheeks and slackens the mandible. It’s a sort of glazed over look, like a donut that’s been left out too long. But it was almost everywhere in La Casa Gringa, a new age hostel that I stayed in for about a week, on and off. It worked like this: I would start to talk to somebody and the conversation would take an inevitable...

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A Woman Near Rio Grande

Simon Bresler Over the past year and a half I have been taking meditation courses in the city. As a supplement to these courses I have also been studying Eastern philosophy, energy manipulation (in a positive sense), and healing. While I imagine some of you have already begun to role your eyes, as I have just confirmed your suspicion of drinking spiked orange juice, I will say this with no further justification: There comes a point when...

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The Mines of Potosi

Simon Bresler I usually know exactly where to begin.  I start with an image that takes me in an unknown direction and I follow it like a compass needle until I vaguely see its shape and feel the momentum.  At that point, I know where I’m going and am able to anticipate the turns before I reach them. But right now I feel lost.  Its as if a magnet is spinning my needle in circles and I don’t know if I should begin with the 100...

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Recent

  • RPM Challenge 2012
  • January 2012
  • Andrew Hudgins
  • Bones For Tinder
  • Home Is Not One Heart

Recently Popular

  • Swaddled posted on February 1, 2012
  • “Follies” posted on February 1, 2012
  • The Zeppelin Field at Nurnberg posted on February 1, 2012
  • Book 2 of 100–Kathryn Stockett, The Help posted on January 26, 2012
  • Review: Neil Shepard’s “(T)ravel Un(T)ravel” posted on February 1, 2012

Manifesto

By incorporating music and visual arts Fogged Clarity aims to transcend the conventions of a typical literary journal. Our network is extensive and our scope is as broad as thought itself; we are, you are, unconstrained. With that spirit in mind Fogged Clarity will examine the work of authors, artists, scholars, and musicians, providing a home for art and thought that warrants exposure.
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