Back to Back

Back to Back by Calvin Burgamy

Airport Parking Paint

Airport Parking Paint by Calvin Burgamy

Questions? Comments?

Questions? Comments? by Calvin Burgamy

Below the Rapids

Sunset at Clairmont Oaks

Sunset at Clairmont Oaks, Decatur, GA by Calvin Burgamy

Atlanta Church Project

A mapping of over 50 small community churches in the Hosea Williams Blvd corridor from Candler Dr. to Cabbagetown, 2011/2012. Three services were filmed and edited from the original 2 - 2 1/2 hour length to 5 or 6 minutes: True Deliverance, Jesus House of Prayer and Faith Christian Fellowship. Links to the videos can be found by clicking on their pins on the map. Click here for full version of map. map produced by Calvin Burgamy

Limbs

by 

Jonathan Marcus

     

It’s not like that at 37 Bolton Road. Everything unpredictable, unenforced and everything always up for gobs of discussion. Even simple matters, like where to stop for gas, become bloated, confusing conundrums for the entire family to chew on. No line between the two parents and two children – my sister and I – cleans up these free-for-alls. 

     “No, don’t go to the Shell station.”

     “Why not?”

     “It’s on the wrong side of the street. You’ll have to make two left turns.”

     “I have to go to the bathroom.”

     “No, don’t go to the Esso.”

     “Why not?”

     “I don’t know, I just don’t like it.”

     “Don’t like it? How do you ‘not like’ a gas station?”

     “You just went to the bathroom.”

     “We wanna go where the horse is.”

     “Yeah, Pegasus. We want to go to Mobil, c’mon. We wanna see the horse. . .”

     “Let’s just get it on the way back. We have gas right now.”

     “No, Bob. You always do this. We need gas, and we need it now.”

     Judy and I never doubt that Mom and Dad love us, and we take that for granted, along with all our other blessings, when we form our non-verbal early childhood alliance to fill the power vacuum in the general nuthouse atmosphere at home. Most of the time, nobody’s in charge. And then we have the “go ask your father” and “go ask your mother” volleys when the two big people can’t agree over what to do about the upstarts.

     Sometimes, when the confusion engulfs everything, Judy and I exchange a glance that means enough is enough, at which point we step into the shambles, grab the rudder, and right the listing family vessel. Every now and then, something extraordinary results.

On this one thick and still summer Sunday, the sky goes dark with hulking thunderclouds. Trees curve, elastic in the gusts. Wind pours through the house, then curtains of rain shimmy everywhere. The lawn gone to pewter, everything sideways and swaying, everything wet, even the windowsills and the floors around the windows and little fingers, wet, clutching the windowsill. The storm full and fat and thrilling.

And then it’s gone. And everything’s changed. The temperature plummets, maybe fifteen degrees. New scoured air electrifies the land. Judy and I bounce around the house as if we’re plugged into that current.

     We start bellowing, “Let’s go for a ride!”

     We have to go for a ride. Mom and Dad never want to go for rides. But so what? We have to see it, the washed world. It won’t last, we know it won’t. We have to see it before it disappears. We’re in emergency management mode. Mom and Dad are beached whales, immoveable and mute, but within minutes they succumb to the force of our desire. We herd them into the car. "C’mon, hurry, before it goes away!"

     The car rolls down Bolton Road to Hartford Terrace, but instead of turning left towards school and work, the car turns right. In no time we’re out on Oneida Road, out in the country. Nobody else has yet emerged. The empty road glistens pitch black and forest green and sky blue. The car hums, windows down and ballooning with pure new air. On rolling Adirondack foothills, the road curves through the dairy farms and the spruce groves. Nobody speaks. The spectacular new world overwhelms our small family, and binds us together.

by Jonathan Marcus

Paperweight, Lamp

by Jonathan Marcus

Self Portrait

by

A Cord

Finding Jesus

Finding Jesus by Calvin Burgamy

Call Home

Call Home by Calvin Burgamy

Item: Man sows wild oat, pays small price of outpatient surgery. Hank Ruud, 17, of Uummannan, Kalaallit Nunaat, where the mean temperature is a mean 15 below zero (Fahrenheit, not Celsius nor Kelvin nor metric nor any other egghead bullshit temperature), drank several frothy adult beverages, stripped buck naked, stole a snowmobile, drove at speeds deemed unsafe by the local authorities, had wild, unrepentant sex (he says),  drank a pint of sweet gooey green stuff (contents unknown) rolled wildly in an unfettered manner in the snow, had a grand mal seizure, dry humped a discarded overcoat, sang, twirled, jumped and hollered in a language so primal, so feral that glaciers spontaneously calved in perfect symmetry and vast herds of nomadic elk were moved to perform unspeakable acts with heavy yellow equipment donated by tango-possessed Finns.  After the oat was sown, Mr. Rudd, spent a short afternoon in elective outpatient surgery to wipe the smile off his face.

Beach Flag by Calvin Burgamy

This Just In

Item: Godot Family Reunion turns into waiting game.

CARWASH 2 from Calvin Burgamy

Pole Narrowly Misses Man's Anus

Pole Just Misses Anus

Private Rinkle Jenks of Fort Blaine, Nebraska, barely averted disaster when a pole rapidly shot out of the ground and narrowly missed shooting up his anus. Private Jenks says he was standing outside at "parade rest" when the incident occurred. What is "parade rest" you may ask? Parade rest is a military command given only when the person is at Attention. The command for this movement is Parade, REST. On the command of execution REST, move the left foot about 10 inches to the left of the right foot. Keep the legs straight without locking the knees, resting the weight of the body equally on the heels and balls of the feet. Simultaneously, place the hands at the small of the back and centered on the belt. Keep the fingers of both hands extended and joined, interlocking the thumbs so that the palm of the right hand is outward. Keep the head and eyes as in the position of attention. Remain silent and do not move unless otherwise directed. Stand at ease, at ease, and rest may be executed from this position.
So as you can see Jenks, for all intents and purposes, already had a pole up his ass to begin with and another pole could have had horrific consequences. "Yeah, I know", said Jenks. "Whew. That would have caused a considerable amount of pain." There has been no word on where or why the pole appeared, it just did.

French Fried Look Increases Sales at Tarjay

Microfiber resemblance to french fries boosts sales astronomically at Tarjay. The big box store "Tarjay's" research department has discovered that sales of many items are increased by making items look like french fries. Take, for instance, the pictured chenille wash mitt. Prior to making the mitt look like french fries sales were stagnant. Tarjay was only moving 400,000 units a day. After the new look the microfiber chenille wash mitt is selling well over 2,000,000 mitts per day.  The net result of the uptick in sales is an increase in jobs at the Chin Chin Re-Education Mass Labor Camp for Recalcitrant Communist Party Lackies. Soon to be marketed at Tarjay is the french fry shaped men's underwear and the french fry shaped sunglasses.

Speed Humm

Speed Humm by Calvin Burgamy

A Cure for Hinky Fever Virus

Jazon Quomasio with Anti-Hinky Fever Virus "Cure"

Jazon Quomasio of James Hopkins Research Lab in Huffakers, NV shows his delight and amazement at having discovered a cure for Hinky Fever Virus. Hinky Fever has been plaguing millions of people daily in the course of their boring and meaningless lives. Throughout the day, at any given time, a person could get "hinky" if they perceive a slight or distaste for a fellow humans attitude or actions. It can be a cause of discomfort for the person getting "hinky" and the person giving "hinky" as the person giving "hinky" is likely to say "Are you getting 'hinky' on me?" and of course this banal exchange could go on for several minutes. Multiply this by 6 billion and you can see the negative effects of the Hinky Fever over the course of a day, week, month, year, ad nauseum.  Jason Quomasio will either get the Noble Prize or be quietly led out to pasture. It hasn't been determined whether removal of the Hinky Virus will help or hurt the species as of yet as some have speculated the everyday level of hinkiness is a kind of glue that holds us all together. Other scientists refute this as another form of the Hinky Virus itself.