August 24, 2010 § 1 Comment
Lovely last minute wafers.
15 minutes until I have to zoomit to the borough.
Semi-fantastic proofs and formulas,
crazed through honey-wheat pretzels and windows down 287.
Going to be hopscotched in escuela, but as that usually gets born,
I’ll be slicing meat elsewhere.
Tune into slow smiles;
it’s going to be a crisp fall.
Salad on the trees doesn’t wilt
just loses juice.
Watch the visuals erode and the have faith in the soil.
So many things to do.
Absolutely Fabulous: Absolutely Everything,
Scotty Pilgramme vs. last minute,
seeing through clear perimeters/frames
re-organizing bookshelves for the new forty.
Rapidograph still-line faith-
red couch coffee bonanza).
August 19, 2010 § Leave a comment
I want to tell you: “I can do it”
with bullet points and a list of attributes
in my wrinkled
You can do it too,
except I have no knowledge if that is true.
I do not know how you waste
(if you waste in the presence of nature like drawn leaves or if you dry out in winter like soapy flakes of skin.)
I can tell you that I lose color and retain shape like a gingko in November. That I am brusque like bark
and softened by water.
There is talent to breathe through my eyes
and touch cold metal and feel it down my spine.
No talent is required to feel your resonance in my collar
-but you are metal too.
August 19, 2010 § 1 Comment
Some days I am haunted by the possibilities
I (ever) am about the actualization.
(For this I can not remedy and that is why it hurts when awake and asleep alike.)
August 18, 2010 § Leave a comment
You can make my most dull and stupid shit amusing to me in the future:
Also. This is a true story (paper above). It could not be more exciting. Promise.
August 18, 2010 § Leave a comment
Look at this kite.
There is a new burst so I am focusing on that. I slept 16 hours (if you add them up) and woke at 5am to blow out a candle. We put in the new radiator. I drank an Inca Cola (which I can’t find the diet version of- but it doesn’t even matter because it’s so good. Fai and I would always get sick on the stuff. If you haven’t had any- go to a Spanish owned Bodega and get some. I don’t usually see it in supermarkets). I have been kind of sick. My knees are fucked up. Not long needles under kneecaps fucked up, but enough to make me want to use a phone to schedule an appointment. I fear making appointments with doctors. I’m not sure why. I also went to A.I. up in Portchester and got myself a .50 Rapidiograph nib because I’ve just about given up trying to get the others to work and this burst is great but I can’t let it pass without fine lining out some maps and scapes of this temporary feeling. I would edit more photos and post them, but they are of nature and therefore boring if not on an epic internet scale. I wrote some really horrible things. The writing wasn’t horrible but I got into a snap and everything was frightening for a measure and I thought that if I went to bed it would be better and it was. I started thinking about how lovely certain people were to me. Then I started thinking about traveling with them. Then I couldn’t sleep. That was the other day and I only slept three hours. It felt like twilight sleep when you go in for surgery. I fucking hate Tao Lin and I hope he and his books burn in fucking hell.
August 14, 2010 § 3 Comments
(I can only do 5 minute writing exercises lately)
Because it is chic to write about new york as being alive and a friend whom you may not so secretly hate, but love to know:
New York i love you but you’re bringing me:
anxiety and pupils the size of melons and knocks on my door and thick packs of mail that have so many versions of my name
and people who call my names
and trees that fall down across driveways-
who say fuck you
before i can first
and small children who will grow up into
complete bastards and ruin
turning them into soil cores and plastic tops.
New York you’ve got a cool license plate
and a big juicy red Eden apple that rotates like the earth
on an axis between the East River and the Hudson
spinning polar energies into
who couldn’t learn French, love to read books
and get wasted and give handjobs on dancefloors-
then get into cabs, forgetting it all.
New York- you make me cry in supermarkets
and sweat in bodegas. you make me smoke and make me hateful
and zip up my problems and prod me to smooth-ooze into the winter
just as the roads loose friction.
you make me escape you and you make me love all of the people who claim
our zipcodes but don’t code well with others.
i have loved several other places.
i wanted you to know.
pictures are next.