srijeda, 09.11.2011.


Rocking Horse Cookie Cutter - Sesame Street C Is For Cookie.

Rocking Horse Cookie Cutter

rocking horse cookie cutter

    rocking horse
  • A rocking horse is a child's toy, usually shaped like a horse and mounted on rockers similar to a rocking chair.

  • A model of a horse mounted on rockers or springs for a child to sit on and rock back and forth

  • hobby: a child's plaything consisting of an imitation horse mounted on rockers; the child straddles it and pretends to ride

  • Rocking Horse is director Yaky Yosha's second feature made in 1978. It was the first film to represent Israel in the Directors’ Fortnight of the Cannes Film Festival. It also participated at Locarno, San-Francisco, Chicago and many other international festivals.

    cookie cutter
  • Denoting something mass-produced or lacking any distinguishing characteristics

  • a kitchen utensil used to cut a sheet of cookie dough into desired shapes before baking

  • A device with sharp edges for cutting cookie dough into a particular shape

  • A cookie cutter in American English and biscuit cutter in Commonwealth English is a tool to cut out cookie/biscuit dough in a particular shape.

  • having the same appearance (as if mass-produced); "a suburb of cookie-cutter houses"

One Eyed People Cry Twice

One Eyed People Cry Twice

Of white picket prisons
and sham tear-jerk churches:
the paperwork nation,
fed weekends by an iron fist (the invisible hand)
on a stomach full of butterflies and pharmaceuticals
in a space painted gray by faith
where if everyone thought differently you would think the same, so
the cookie cutter suburbs have won
with billboards for horse blinders
window shopping for fig leaves
for a life that moves under glass, we
we turn trees into telephone poles
while cursing the birds for chirping,
their songs drowned out by a procession of dinosaurs
on the highways wider,
for the disposable home
god, what blind pride must we have to sleep this dream?

And amended, we run slowly like under water, like in dreams from authority, by apologizing for politics
for the confines of this dream are lined by:
the gone pinecones and black bear,
the aborigine; Mount Rushmore is trespassing appeased with a bottle.
the theft of africa; our civilization takes itself for quarantinebut
the white man's burden, it is the ego of Rome
spreading literacy here
and the electric chair

and so, running slowly we are, pouring water over the heads of everyone across
fifty lands attached by tumbleweed
that prays for cowboys.
So give me the biggest city
or the patchwork ocean of waving prairies,
the old and elderly in the south - doors ajar on a front porch in July where the locust roars in the
cattails and the moon is smeared with the butts of lightning bugs.
Take me to the end of property, out in Big Sur, where for once our past precedes us
And meet me Henry Ford, to shake his hand on Highway One, but punch him on the Seventy
See me Ansel, the western blood-shot reds of the canyons blown open
by the artery of the Colorado
A road runs through it
to the clay and craw-deads of the Ozark,
to the dripping hemlocks of the Carolinas: built to the thump of bluegrass.
Smell me the log fires in long autumns of the northeast; the leaves turn in the smoke of early night.
Slide me down the river Huck, free and easy, on the Mississippi, and Bingham paint me
with furs to bring to the ports of New Orleans
for chance is cheap.
Then look back, Kerouac, across your groaning country and wrap a clicking tongue like jazz
around the gone roads of San Francisco
when at your back the sun slopes (for the world the day is done),
left for you a watercolor sky;
left for the cobblestone of the east
and in between the "if" for us

Because have you ever swept the empty street of this dream, where we have invented rock and roll?
Where thousands of evicted religious came with their versions of hell and pointed finger.
Where the Big Dipper dumps crickets into the Grand Canyon at night
Where we, the leavers, given the weight of the road, create sounds like the Blues,
Bittersweet and sea sick tumbling on a closing frontier
with an amnesia in our slumbers....
If we ever woke up would we be reconciled?



Day 30: Rocking horse. For some reason I hadn't noticed this one when digging through the collection all those other times.

rocking horse cookie cutter

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- 20:55 - Komentari (0) - Isprintaj - #

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