anti:freeze

window creatures

2007-12-22T00:30:57Z

sculptures in the window of a local gallery, 4:00 AM, shot with the Lomo

abandoned carts

2007-12-22T00:08:06Z

Abandoned cart, 4:00 AM, Pearl

More abandoned carts have appeared in the Pearl lately, left behind in front of posh galleries and boutiques, or parked next to city meters in front of the Rite Aid. To me, they seem significant far beyond the surface connections - harried shoppers who fail to return carts to the store, or homeless people forced to abandon them in the pouring rain. I look at them, and I wonder what it means to leave behind the thing that carried your burdens for you - to simply stop pushing it and walk away.

And maybe because of the time of year - with everyone I know frazzled and broke from holiday shopping - I cannot help but think of the emptiness of that particular burden. We could simply stop pushing it around. Leave it behind.

But that is not quite it, either. With the value of the dollar falling, and with families facing foreclosure, I cannot help but shudder at the image of the empty, abandoned cart. While it is wonderful to imagine leaving a burden behind, it is equally terrifying to think of all that emptiness -- all those carts left unfilled, no apparent purpose left for them. I do not mean this in the sense of feeling sad about lost opportunities to charge junk on credit. I mean something else entirely - the loss of that sense of abundance and hope, prosperity.

But then I see a cart like this, glimmering like a jewel in the morning rain, parked in front of a neighborhood gallery:

And how can I not see this as beautiful?

photos taken with Lomo, long exposure, no flash

Check Out my Review of Psychogeography by Will Self (illustrated by Ralph Steadman) in The Los Angeles Times

2007-11-04T00:00:07Z

You can read my review of Psychogeographyby Will Self (illustrated by Ralph Steadman) in the Los Angeles Times Sunday Books section for November 4th. It published a day early online. Enjoy! Read the review here!

check out my audioboook reviews on emusic.com!

2007-09-18T20:39:20Z

Some of my audiobook reviews are now up at emusic.com! You can check them out here: Review of the audiobook version of The Disappointment Artist by Jonathan Lethem and Review of the audiobook version of The Portrait of a Lady by Henry James I recommend both audiobooks highly. And BTW, downloading makes it possible to add these to iTunes, transfer them to your iPod and listen to *amazing* literature while you work out, ride the bus, or relax on your couch.

Hotel Theory, by Wayne Koestenbaum - read my review in the LA Times

2007-09-03T00:45:03Z

Here is my latest book review for the Los Angeles Times: http://www.latimes.com/features/books/la-bk-higgins2sep02,0,5788030.story?coll=la-books-center What I wanted to add, but could not in my 350-word space: Koestenbaum started writing Hotel Theory in January 2002 - only a few months after September 11th. In the opening dossier, he says he was "broken." He checked into "Hotel Heidegger" for "one cold, difficult month" and "thought nonstop about hotels." With the two books inside this volume - "Hotel Theory" and "Hotel Women" - running in columns side-by-side, I cannot help but see the Twin Towers. Their very absence in the text evokes them more strongly, just as "not-being-at-home," in Koestenbaum's explication of Heidegger, is more primordial than "being-at-home." And at the end, when "Hotel Women" ends first - not long after Lana Turner and Liberace visit their hotel bomb shelter in preparation for the apocalypse - I cannot help but think of tower one as it falls. When "Hotel Theory" dissolves into fragments and disappears, I see the slow-motion collapse of tower two. And then only blankness - being "in hotel," as Koestenbaum was. And we are now.

Justice for Tammy Zywicki?

2007-07-18T23:46:32Z

This time of year, my thoughts always turn to Tammy Zywicki. On August 23, 1992, she went missing after her car broke down on Interstate 80. Her body was found nine days later, wrapped in a blanket and dumped along Interstate 44 in Missouri. She had been stabbed eight times. Her killer has never faced justice. Over the years, various suspects have been investigated, but the leads never led to resolution. Now, there is a new possible break in the case. Here is another story about the lead. After so many fruitless leads, it is hard to feel optimistic. But I hope this finally brings justice - and answers - to the Zywicki family. My essay about Tammy can be read here.

LA Times Book Review of "Piercing" by Ryu Murakami

2007-04-21T17:32:17Z

Here is my latest LA Times book review: "Piercing" by Ryu Murakami This book was a bitter pill to swallow but absolutely engrossing and moving all the same. Be sure and read more Murakami, especially "Coin Locker Babies," which has become one of my favorites. On a side note, I love the art that accompanies my review - kudos to Noma Bliss. Be well, Karrie

my latest LA Times book review

2007-03-14T20:09:05Z

In recent weeks, I have thought long and hard about reconnecting with my blog (and my creative work in general). Teaching occupies most every moment of every day. If I am not answering emails or responding to complaints about grades, I am grading. If I am not grading, I am responding to student discussion posts. I love it (except the grade complaints), but I desperately need time to connect with photography, essays, poetry, and psychogeographic experiments. So here I am. Consider this a first step in my recommitment process. I had another book review in the LA Times last Sunday. I reviewed a wickedly funny little satiric novel called "The Little Girl and the Cigarette." Check it out: "The Little Girl and the Cigarette" That link should work for about a month or so. More very soon. I have plans to steal much more time for myself.

severed

2006-10-27T22:55:30Z

riding on the bus, oversized hardbound book spread across lap, messenger bag squeezed between feet on the dirty floor, listening in as a woman with an asymmetrical bob haircut (one side trimmed so short it barely caresses the top of her ear, the other side swept to her chin, all of it tangled and growing out a burgundy dye job), glass lamp bead earrings, and sports sandals points out Tri-Met stops to her aging mother who stares straight ahead and nods her head patiently even though the woman with the asymmetrical bob speaks in babytalk to her - as if she will not understand - and folds and unfolds her map, each time listing off all the sites she plans to show her in downtown Portland, her personal docent I glance out the window at a construction tractor, a long, pencil-shaped tool attached at the front that says breaker in a sligtly tilted font, suspended just above the shoulder of the street and twenty feet behind, a piece of the tracker removed, left behind - the bucket attachment (or is it a shovel?), the one with teeth on the end, sitting in the center of an intersection, surrounded by caution tape, like a crime scene - a grisly severed hand with dirty fingernails two stops later, the woman with the asymmetrical bob led her mother off the bus, repeating the list of Tri-Met stops and pointing pointing pointing at everything - the bank towers, the streets on her map, the bus as it pulls away

welcome to our new digs! testing testing ...

2006-09-25T15:08:12Z

littlemotors.org moved to a new web host over the weekend, so this is just a test .... Today the fall quarter begins at PSU as well, so expect some reflections on restorative justice, white collar crime, and other issues soon.

read me in today's LA Times

2006-09-03T10:47:57Z

Sorry for the lack of posts! I ended up with three sections of Composition & Literature, and I teach, grade, and cope with catastrophes 12-14 hours per day, every day of the week. Online, asynchronous classrooms can erase the normal barriers between work and the rest of life. But I love teaching, so in the long run, all that work is worth it. Today, you can find me in the LA Times Sunday Book Review: Being in Nothingness Enjoy!

into the rabbit hole

2006-07-22T11:11:37Z

Thanks for all the sweet emails. I have not died or contracted a fatal illness. Nope, nothing like that. No chemo drip or dramatic tales of kidnapping by undercover agents. It was teaching that killed the blog these past few months. This term, I teach Principles of Composition and Composition III. Both last just 5 1/2 weeks, but include an entire quarter's worth of essays and readings. Oh - and never mind the students who carpet bomb me with nasty emails when their grades threaten a supposedly stellar GPA. Or the plagiarized papers I catch every term. That adds a whole new level of documentation and labor. Then there's the book review I'm working on, due in just about a week. (I'll link that when it publishes.) See ya soon! I teach two sections of Composition again for the second session this summer, but one is literature, and I usually have more free time when I teach that. =)

blue no. 1

2006-06-03T06:19:12Z

terminal transfer

2006-05-31T16:02:51Z

truck parked in downtown Portland This is the truck that drives onto the exit ramp and never returns. The truck with mysterious cargo in the trailer and a locked back door. The truck that waits outside your front window when your parents are late arriving home from work. When your father's heart stops and doctors bring him back a second time. When your mother has a stroke at 42. When your cousin drives into a ditch in mid-seizure, her body found battered and bruised by the county police within the hour. When your chest aches and nobody is there to help you. When you collapse in seizure, the shower still running hot - then cold - over your skin. Your blue skin. When the child crawls into the backseat of the stranger's car. The Terminal Transfer truck is there and there, too. And here always. It does not turn on its headlights in the rain. It rides your tail. It fails to switch on the turn signal. It slips past the "Do Not Enter" signs without a single horn honked. Without a police siren.

strange beauty/rabbits on the red-eye to your dreams

2006-05-31T10:53:51Z

gallery window in Portland Something about this image reminds me of reading Wendy's dreams. Maybe because of the red-eyed rabbits, but more because of the strangeness. Wendy transcribes her dreams without artifice, revealing even the most bizarre details without a hint of self-consciousness. And without artifice, they transcend the dream diary and become art. Red-eyed rabbits, where did you travel last night?