The crux of the biscuit is the apostrophe.
-+- A r t s     C o l l e c t i v e -+-
Words   {essays, rants...}

Images   {paint, collage...}

Dreams   {surreal excursions...}

Happening   {best of...}

Etc.    {declassified...}

Spong   {HTMLart...}

Submit   {yeah, submit...}

Contributors   {who's that...}

Misheard lyrics    {our 'nuther site...}

The Birdhouse is a loose-knit collective -- a platform for essayists and writers, painters and digital artists, surrealists and situationists, ranters and rationalists, collagists and collaborators.



Scot Hacker -- Web(foot)master

This site is best viewed with a web browser.

Let me have silence always in the centre of the shouting, that is essential. Let me have silence so that no pin may drop and not be heard, and not a whisper. Escape is for all our spouting, nor the needle scratching upon this gramophone of the circular cosmic spot. Hear me, mark me, learn me, throw the mind's ear open. Shut up the mind's eye, all will be music. What sculpture of sound cannot, what cannot as a fluid token words, that nothing else cannot."

-- Wyndham Lewis

Alloy rotator