Adam H Tierney

Concept for Colony by Zoran Mojsilov

Sat, 29 Dec 2012 21:10:18 -0500

Concept for Colony by Zoran Mojsilov

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Sat, 10 Nov 2012 10:00:39 -0500

Robert Doisneau - Dans la Cave, 1946

Sun, 07 Oct 2012 11:40:00 -0400

Robert Doisneau - Dans la Cave, 1946

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Wed, 12 Sep 2012 11:08:59 -0400

anofferingtoloplop: color illustration by jean de bosschère,...

Sun, 03 Jun 2012 11:07:27 -0400

anofferingtoloplop:

color illustration by jean de bosschère, from folk tales of flanders (1918) via feuilleton

invisiblestories: Invented topographies (plates left folded...

Sun, 27 May 2012 12:23:13 -0400

invisiblestories:

Invented topographies (plates left folded through digitization).

Throughout A Voyage of Discovery to the North Pacific Ocean, 1795-1798 by William Robert Broughton (1804). Original from Harvard University. (via theartofgooglebooks)

50watts: crystilogic: from The Dance of Death by Joseph...

Tue, 17 Apr 2012 17:50:48 -0400

50watts:

crystilogic:

from The Dance of Death by Joseph Sattler, reprinted in Modern Illustration by Joseph Pennell (1895)

(via oldbookillustrations)

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Wed, 11 Apr 2012 20:28:45 -0400

taliesinzine: Read the First issue of Taliesin online. Hard...

Mon, 02 Apr 2012 20:50:29 -0400

taliesinzine:

Read the First issue of Taliesin online.

Hard copies are available through arcane methods.

Margaret Lord Fransee
(www.megfransee.com)

Adam Tierney

nevver: Ex Libris

Tue, 21 Feb 2012 23:23:49 -0500

nevver:

Ex Libris

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Thu, 19 Jan 2012 21:46:31 -0500

“I give you blood Satan gives you power. You shall run for me on earth, I shall burn for you...

Tue, 17 Jan 2012 12:31:16 -0500

“I give you blood
Satan gives you power.
You shall run for me on earth,
I shall burn for you in hell,
You shall travel through forests and fields,
gathering milk and cream.”

-Troll Cat spell

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Mon, 26 Dec 2011 21:22:18 -0500

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Sat, 17 Dec 2011 10:00:05 -0500

troll becoming a mountain

Wed, 14 Dec 2011 12:55:37 -0500

troll becoming a mountain

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Sat, 10 Dec 2011 14:08:59 -0500

Us Dogs

Fri, 09 Dec 2011 12:38:34 -0500

From the fields the city lights are disorienting,
the snow becomes glow snow, it is like a mirage.
There are roads and there are hidden roads.
A bike can go on the roads; some of the snow is too deep.

To camp I can build a quinzhee, almost anywhere–
near a wire fence where they might bring the animals
and the animals’ visible breath, the animals’ heavy warmth.
Fleshy animals.

With each road that is covered a different way is shut.
I can see the city, which is like a steaming pile of light,
the farm houses, which are light caves.
A quinzhee is like a mound, which is dark.

There are wicked labyrinths: that move while we sleep,
that grow more blue and colder at dawn.
There are labyrinths that are perpetually snowing,
that are wide open land.

When I wake up and this is real,
after I pull some fruit and nuts from my pack
and eat snow from the walls. After I unearth my bike.
The blue starts to fade to grey. I move on.

Maybe it is like cold sickness
and we can heal it with winter squash and syrup.
Maybe it’s not.
The holidays are here, inevitably.

Three times I’ve come over to help you decorate
and it never gets done. On your big Afrikaans table
I brush the flour into the cracks between the boards–
at this point it’s very finely ground.

I worry that you will undercook the chard again.
Sometimes I tell you I want to date one of those skinny girls
with the weird eyes. I’ll point one out when i see one, I say,
they’re pretty much everywhere.

I am not weary, but I do want to dry my boots by your radiator,
lean up against your oven. In your yard there is snow silence.
Could you name what is changing in me? I pack your fireplace
with newspaper and cringe in the draft

that drifts even in the cavernous engine of your house.
There are pieces of wood that shine
and reflect my face, areas of your kitchen that
still have not caught the sunlight setting at 4:30

I had taken to doing the blasphemous mass
with the club crackers and Riesling
and everything had gone down hill
and you became self-conscious about your body

and I became self-conscious about my blood–
which I could feel clotting all over.
The doctors found we were fine
except for my anxious Catholic childhood.

When I run the clots jingle like bells
or push up against my skin,
as if the blood pressure
is going to make it all burst through.

These things give way to the era of wellness retreats
and health food eating that I give up because
of poverty. And then the era of canned beans
and boiling all the fat off the carcass.

I’ve learned that I cannot plan ahead
or measure out intent. Instead I go snapping all the bones
and saving each part that I have gnawed upon, until
what I’ve hoarded away begs to burst–like with clotted veins.

There is a cabin full of tea and wine
where the tannins have sucked all the salt from my body
and there is the quinzhee that I have abandoned and
the one I have yet to build–

though I’m stopped at a crossroads with cramping.
Across the fields I can see many alluring drifts
like the graves of napping beasts
in the late afternoon night.

In an old tin can packed with snow
there are memories of an empty prairie that stretches
like a cloud, a home for beast-flesh that I will cook–
a single white house that lives forever.

I know I have cold sickness and that there is no hope for
anything, at least not for months.
But I did not tell you that in my childhood,
standing in the middle of a

pitch-black frozen lake I forgot my fear of being
swallowed by ice and, in the winter’s ghost light
realized that I had always been doomed
for the magnetic north star.

Photo

Wed, 07 Dec 2011 20:08:51 -0500

watching hockey in California

Wed, 07 Dec 2011 17:08:00 -0500

When the rain comes again in December
I’m in a bar of of Guerrero
hoping for long years in which to trim my nose hairs
putting off paying Pacific Gas & Electric
because I know I can’t freeze here.

For the puck and
for the fealty I’ve sworn to ice,
for the thick armed butchers and their shower caps
who I’ve high-fived
crossing Minnesota just below the iron range
for this giant Finn named Pekka Rinne crouching in the net.
For Groveland Park
and the way my lungs sparkled
when they were freezing in January.
For my Grandparents, the warming house,
for Forest Lake when it was frozen by Thanksgiving
When I made you giblet gravy from the Joy of Cooking
and you wouldn’t eat it.

For the mornings
when my roommate was baking bread.
For now, when it’s been snowing for days.
For weeks ago,
when we were freezing in your apartment.

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Thu, 17 Nov 2011 20:48:57 -0500

Adam H Tierney

Concept for Colony by Zoran Mojsilov

Photo

Robert Doisneau - Dans la Cave, 1946

Photo

anofferingtoloplop: color illustration by jean de bosschère,...

invisiblestories: Invented topographies (plates left folded...

50watts: crystilogic: from The Dance of Death by Joseph...

Photo

taliesinzine: Read the First issue of Taliesin online. Hard...

nevver: Ex Libris

Photo

“I give you blood Satan gives you power. You shall run for me on earth, I shall burn for you...

“I give you blood Satan gives you power. You shall run for me on earth, I shall burn for you in hell, You shall travel through forests and fields, gathering milk and cream.” -Troll Cat spell

Photo

Photo

troll becoming a mountain

Photo

Us Dogs

Photo

watching hockey in California

Photo

“I give you blood
Satan gives you power.
You shall run for me on earth,
I shall burn for you in hell,
You shall travel through forests and fields,
gathering milk and cream.”

-Troll Cat spell