This is not an informative blog regarding the hagfish. It is, instead, an autobiographical work by me, Ann Murray. I am not a fish. Sorry. This in one form or other, is the story of my mishaps, and also, some of my haps. Fair and Balanced and all that.



Thursday, March 14, 2013

Letter to the Dead

Today I am with my ghosts who appear to be more concrete than the living. My mother is sitting at my disorderly desk, my grandmother is looking out the window at the pre-spring drab landscape, my sister seems surprised and uneasy to be here. I want to calm my sister, to tell her I know what happened, but fear alarming her more. She is vivid, my Viola, tall and thin, always pretty.

My ghosts did not have easy deaths. I wish I could slide past the gate separating the allegedly living and the confirmed dead. Belatedly I could hold them in my arms, but it would be a selfish act, as it is me who needs comforting. The dead rest peacefully; it is the heart and soul of a living being that struggles incessantly with nearly everything. As an example, it is more often than not my struggle to hold fast to sanity. I must not let the reality of my mother’s life pierce me and pierce me until I am bled out. I must not allow my grandmother to be behind the walls of a mental institution looking outward even if there is a blank wall before her. I must not allow the image of my sister seeing the knife racing toward her head and her chest, with her arms held up to preserve life for moments more. I must not allow myself to hear the screams of horror and agony as she is pierced over and over. My poor ghosts. I have nothing to give you in the way of consolation.

Does it waken you when I think so deeply on you? Does it cause you pain to be remembered?

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

CapitAl Hill - a little taste of politics

By Dante DeNavarre

It's time to take back our government from double-dipping politicians and give it to the real citizens: Corporations.

What's it Going to Take?

How in the world are we ever going to fix the most dire, pressing dilemma of our time: Corporate Poverty, and the almost complete absence of Corporate representation in Washington?

Let's Elect Corporations!

Now is our chance, as a free nation, to finally eliminate the useless middleman! Now is the time to end the most notorious bigotry and discrimination in history, and proclaim from the rooftops: Corporations are people too!

Look at the time and effort, not to mention money, wasted in the elaborate pretense of campaigns and elections for a phony representative democracy. Why should We the Corporations have to pay a single dime in bribes to Representatives and Senators who already get an allowance from the taxpayers? All they do, at best, is rubber-stamp what corporations want, and at worst, try to water down corporate will with pricey bells and whistles. Why pay for that? If we could just grow up a little bit, put away our childish toys like the Constitution and accept the things we cannot change, we could save the rich untold billions more, and that is the name of the game, n'est pas?

Appoint Corporations Directly to Government!

Imagine the incredible streamlining of government operations, the efficiency, the clarity!

Ask the corporations which seats they want. Let them pick the committees to chair. Goldman for Finance. KBR for Defense. Exxon for Energy. Let them appoint cabinet and agency heads. Facebook for State. Walmart for Commerce. Bank of America for HUD. ConAgra for Agriculture. Blackwater/Xe for Justice. Monsanto for FDA. Koch for EPA. And let's not forget to allow full participation by both the Religion and Prison Industry sectors, two of the fastest growing Amerikan success stories.

No More Gridlock!

Gone would be the endless partisan bickering, the political posturing of pretending to be a champion of the poor unborn on one side, a champion of the born poor on the other, when none of those insects really matter! The belittled, embattled and embittered Legislature could finally be Free! After putting an end to all the acrimony over campaign donations, accusations of corruption and boring fund-raising dinners they will finally, gratefully, cobwebs clearing, muscles flexing, all stand together and with one clear, resounding voice pass laws like bolts of greased lightning, ending at long last our shameful dependence on domestic jobs, our spineless addiction to peace, our crippling health, environmental and financial regulations, our foolish infatuation with alternative energy, our greedy desire to tax the rich, our irresponsible handouts to small, useless people who are not corporations, the list goes on and on...

Capitol Hill can finally come out of the closet and proudly proclaim its true self, Capital Hill.

More of Mr. De Navarre's work may be seen at OpEd News

Thursday, February 25, 2010

When you can't think...don't

Please Click Image to Enlarge.

Compared to bitmap images, jpegs suck. This is a jpeg.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Placebo- Protect me from what I want

Presented By:TakeruxN

Protect Me

Click image to enlarge.

for a span
of time
thin as paper,
she believed
there was still
a reason
for hope.

there wasn’t one
after all.

in a room lit with
dying candles she
crouches, rocking
back and forth
like an ancient crone,
long given to
the means of grieving.

she chants a mantra:

protect me from love.
protect me from love.
protect me from love.

by A. Murray
February 8, 2010

Friday, February 19, 2010

By Love Posessed

Presented by GOFoxy

When We Dance


If he loved you
Like I love you
I would walk away in shame
I'd move town
I'd change my name

When he watches you
When he counts to buy your soul
On your hand his golden rings
Like he owns a bird that sings

When we dance, angels will run
and hide their wings

The priest has said my soul's salvation
Is in the balance of the angels
And underneath the wheels of passion
I keep the faith in my fashion
When we dance, angels will run
and hide their wings

I'm still in love with you
[ I'm gonna find a place to live
Give you all I've got to give ]
When we dance, angels will run
and hide their wings
When we dance, angels will run
and hide their wings

If I could break down these walls
And shout my name at heaven's gate

I'd take these hands
And I'd destroy the dark machineries of fate
Cathedrals are broken
Heaven's no longer above
And hellfire's a promise away
I'd still be saying
I'm still in love

He won't love you
Like I love you
He won't care for you this way
He'll mistreat you if you stay

Come and live with me
We'll have children of our own
I would love you more than life
If you'll come and be my wife
When we dance, angels will run
and hide their wings
When we dance, angels will run
and hide their wings
When we dance, angels will run
and hide their wings
When we dance, angels will run
and hide their wings

I'm gonna love you more than life
If you will only be my wife
I'm gonna love you more than life
If you will only be my wife
I'm gonna love you night and day
I'm gonna try in every way

(I had a dream last night
I dreamt you were by my side
Walking with me baby
My heart was filled with pride
I had a dream last night)

Monday, February 08, 2010

Click image to enlarge.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Loving A Butterfly, Is Like Being In Hell

I touch you
You are gone

It was just a dream.
It was just a dream.


One More Time

Vocal by Laura Pausini
Composer Richard Marx
Presented by all4lovelywomen
Link to Video.

One More Time
(Song Lyrics)

Nothing I must do
Nowhere I should be
No one in my life
To answer to but me

No more candlelight
No more purple skies
No one to be near
As my heart slowly dies

If I could hold you one more time
like in the days when you where mine
I'd look at you 'till I was blind
So you would stay

I'd say a prayer each time you'd smile
Cradle the moments like a child
I'd stop the world if only I
Could hold you one more time

I've memorized your face
I know your touch by heart
Still lost in your embrace
I'd dream of where you are

If I could hold you one more time
Like in the days when you were mine
I'd look at you 'till I was blind
So you would stay

I'd say a prayer each time you'd smile
Cradle the moments like a child
I'd stop the world if only I
Could hold you one more time

One more time

Friday, January 22, 2010

Becoming Unemployed During Hard Times

"We're letting you go..."
As if they'd been holding
you in a tender embrace.

"We're letting you go."
As though you'd
won your freedom;
as though it had been
a great struggle
and you'd emerged

"We're letting you go."

We're dropping you
into the chasm.

A. Murray

Thursday, December 31, 2009

Sunday, December 27, 2009

Marine Boy

I received this movie as a gift. The giver must have had some insight into my psyche of the moment, and decided I needed a jolt to get me out of there.

It worked.

Being anti spoiler, I won’t tell the story, but I will say, seeing Kim Kang Woo for the first time was a treat and a half.

For the girls: He’s very handsome (serious eye candy), masculine, and seductive.

For the boys: He can swim, fight, and successfully seduce pretty women.

This is a nifty mix of the hapless, entangled with dangerous gangsters galore, in all shapes and sizes. Lot’s of dirty dealing, lots of major violence that flips around so unexpectedly, you’ll laugh before you realize it’s funny. It’s that slick.

Being one who adores really violent explosive stuff that makes me howl with laughter for the simple reason it’s so over the top, I love this movie. It’s neck and neck with, “Running Seven Dogs”, one of my bloodiest insane favorites from Korea.

The power of horrible screen violence that is done with the slyest imaginable wit…the wild humor of madmen, who have utter disregard for the polite/prudish viewer’s sensibilities, is delicious.

I mean…look…a mouthy guy gets beaten to death by a major gangster boss wielding a dangerous frozen salami.

What’s not to love?

This is a great flick. I watched it twice in a row and found more to laugh at the second time around. It has staying power. There’s so much action, it’s virtually impossible to get bored with it. It’s as wild under the sea, as it is on solid ground, and everywhere in between. It has everything, not to mention a terrific cast loaded with quirky talent.
Available at HK Flix

Click image to enlarge.

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

A few new things...

have been posted at Hagfish Lite. Drop in, but be warned, good taste is not in the interest of Hagfish Lite. Hagfish laughs at narrow minded sorts, so...if you fit the profile, stay right where you are. Not that good taste is abundant here either, but there are fewer photos of naked butts, and sundry other thingys.

Now I know you can't wait to get over there.

Saturday, December 05, 2009

On the day of enforced rest...

Lately I’ve come to a point where being precise is losing appeal. There’s a constricted feeling about my existence, something that makes me edgy, something knocking at the perimeters of my life from the outside. It whispers, “jump”.

Restlessness has me in its jaws. I’ve been working on photographs, and I realized how controlled they've been. They're so acceptably presented. Neatly cropped for the most part and contained conventionally.

I've started to feel so commonplace it makes me itch. Those pictures are the reflection of a part of my mind. I don’t like the box I find myself in.

I want that un-cleaned, imperfect, ragged non gentrified photographic howl to come out of me.

This is what I want.

Please Click Image to Enlarge.

Monday, November 30, 2009

Hetrick's Barn, and how I feel about it

I hate this barn picture. I am not bucolic by nature.

Bu col ic–adjective Also, bu⋅col⋅i⋅cal.
1. of or pertaining to shepherds; pastoral.
2. of, pertaining to, or suggesting an idyllic rural life.

Give me grungy city streets any day.

It's true.

Please Click Image to Enlarge.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Old Girls

They were desperately alive back then, in their late twenties-early thirties. Manic and hopeful in their relief at having freed themselves from ill-chosen men.

They were smart, funny, vital, and laughed at everything. They were shot through with sexual energy and on the make for any new encounter. They glowed with an abundance of self assurance and joy at simply being.

They plucked their eyebrows, shaved their legs, put on perfume, wore high heels, and felt like women again instead of dish washing machines with vaginas.

They made love as often as possible, choosing their partners with an eye toward continuing freedom. In other words, they were like men; on the prowl, and disinterested in anything more than a few good times.

Of course some grew weary of the game life presented. Some of them missed the old ball and chain because they forgot what it was like. They married again, and occasionally, again and again. Trial and error doesn’t always work, but they had a na├»ve hopefulness, for which they must be forgiven.

There are those who remained single, and decades later, drabbed down and a little tired of it all, would ruminate on the fact there was nothing more interesting between their legs than the crotch of their underwear, which in some cases was still black-lace sexy, but wasted on an audience of one.

They are like the waning Moon, and the only waxing that gets done is to the outdated furniture they inherited from their soured marriages, or maybe their rooms as teenagers, when they were flowers; restless to know life, still safe with parents keeping them in check.

When they look back, what do they see?


Little bits of glitter they should have picked up with reverence, to be stored against all the rainy days to come?

The glitter these days is a flash of mica embedded in the stones they tread; not to be mined by them…beyond their grasp.

What could cheer them up and on?

A cluster of rampant penis’s perhaps?

Penis’s attached to healthy males, preferably a bit younger who gave them the eye, and smiled that secret smile at a few still-pretty women. The kind of men who would adore them for a while because of their sophistication, wit, lack of demands, and in some cases, lack of inhibitions. The types who love women just because they are women. Men, who will flirt outrageously, then follow it through with a certain air of gratitude and delight.

Of course the old girls would flee these encounters, laughing uproariously, escaping the bondage of good sex.

They’d fall in a heap into a booth at a ratty diner, order coffee and giggle, while normal color came back to their flushed faces, and their hearts raced with that high feeling of excitement, which comes in part from possibilities, in part from the somnolent embers that suddenly heated up even though they were assumed to be dead.

They’d glow again from the electrical charge of being seen as desirable.

They’d go home to slow baths with bubbles and emollients, shave their legs, put on perfume, seductive earrings, a bit of makeup, dress sharp, and then go dancing.

That’s all it takes… a little genital buzz.

Dedicated to Carlos, one of those men.