April 2012
5 posts
“I am become
dumb
in answer
to your dead language of amor.”
– Mina Loy, from “Letters of the Unliving“ (via visualandcritical)
Sketch, 25 April 2012
flesh
returns
to
bones
and mornings are redefined
as a time
for breaking-fasts
and sleeping late in your arms
not drinking tea
and dreading the curves of the softening fruits
in the...
“I desired always to stretch the night and fill it fuller and fuller with dreams.”
– Virginia Woolf (via seabois)
1 tag
100412 - All I write lately are first lines in a...
This morning there is a possum slaughter on the wet asphalt.
Entrails festoon the route between our houses, little clumps of fur like bouquets affixed to pews for a wedding.
March 2012
3 posts
2 tags
“Don’t melt too much into the universe, but be as solid and dense and fixed...”
– Henry James to a friend, Grace, in response to a letter in which she explains her deep sadness over the death of a friend. The entire text can be found here.
3 tags
050312: A list
I feel so consistently comfortable in 9 lines of text, someone else’s tattered and too big shirts, the warm light of 10AM, your arms which know the heavings of my sobs and of my laughter, the syrupy burn of my third bourbon of the night, with the beginning of a smile-ache under my dimples, the careful application of black mascara and brave red lipstick. But, I am not comfortable in...
February 2012
21 posts
1 tag
112711: Piss Strikes Porcelain
Piss strikes porcelain. The necessity of personal drainage cascades against once precious Chinese glass. My grandmother insists on describing urination as a “tinkle,” as though the inside of a body is a series of well-crafted bells, instead of a well-worn pathway of constantly decaying and regenerating flesh; excretory symphonies clanging in a soft-sack mausoleum. Solving the problems of...
2 tags
The artist is the mirror of the world.
The world is falling apart.
—Steven Parrino, The No Texts
1 tag
1 tag
Fat Tuesday Indulgences
cheekbones
differing opinions delivered with dimpled smiles and sincere eyes
full lips
the kind of honesty that can crush the belief that you can hide a half-assed project without crushing your belief in yourself
the way the sun illuminates even foggy mornings spent in the warm cocoon of body-heated beds
not working
working
when my pen stains the inside of my middle finger
the way your...
3 tags
16 February 2012: Observations of Clifford Owens'...
You, the artist, are instructed to do the following by Kara Walker via a proxy who reads the script aloud:
1. Select an adult from your audience
2. French kiss them + push them against a wall
3. Demand Sex
4. If they are open to the sex, make them the agressor, begin describing how they are violating you
*I am quoting from memory, forgive errors, but these are the cues even if my words are...
“It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors.”
– o. wilde, preface to dorian gray (via burdgeinthehand)
Thanks for the reminder about this one LB
1 tag
Thought: 10 February 2012
I came to New York, but left all of my shaman-robes and mystical scarves in Los Angeles. I feel incognito and out of sorts, naked and bare, without my colorful fabric scraps to play with when the conversations lag.
I don’t like the people that are into fashion week.
But, I like some of their fashions.
Poem (Something someone else wrote, that I liked.)
Poem We are very much a part of the boredom of early Spring of planning the days shopping of riding down Fifth on a bus terrified by easter. but here we are anyway, surviving like a wet street in August and keeping our eye on each other as we “do it,” well, you go west on 8th St. and buy something mystical to wear and I’ll simply tuck my hands into my courdoroy pockets and whistle over to...
1 tag
Poem: 27 December 2011 (Something I wrote, and...
Apologia
(For and against TJW)
I am not patient. My discipline wavers in and out: Some days cloistered, others well… I am resolved, and then I bend. I see the brightness and beckon the darkness closer to behold it’s blinding glory. There are no clocks where I am, no expectations nor definitions of success, only observances of small details, jubilant and out of context. ...
1 tag
Sketch II, 13 June 2011
We were fighting. So, I went for a walk.
There was a little boy. A toddler. Curled and kneeling. Playing with a piece of string. My initial impulse was to kick him, like the empty can of soda I’d knocked down the block only moments earlier. Instead, as I passed him, and he stood up, I looked at him and smiled. Most likely it was a wan and pathetic smile. I doubt he noticed. My expressed fondness...
1 tag
Sketch II, 07 February 2012
I hate the way, when I sit down in a café, fully intending to write and read, and research and be serious, like a real writer, I spend at least three hours looking at fashion blogs and Facebook and nutrition advice about sprouting legumes and how to lose weight and how to hide / heal your eating disorder and not even googling things that are funny. It takes three hours of Facebook investigations...
January 2012
9 posts
1 tag
1 tag
Love Isn't Enough
whywebrokeupproject:
Sure, we loved each other. But trying to build a life together based on nothing but love is like trying to build a beach house on a foundation of jello. It sounds romantic but is really just a big mess. I love you, I love you, I love you. And that is why we broke up.
How to break a dialectic. Option #1
openclosed
oclosedpen
opcloseden
opeclosedn
ocploseden
oclposeden
oclopseden
oclospeden
oclosepden
…
Is there an app for this?
March 2011
1 post
“We are used to descriptions of our whole common life in political and economic...”
– Raymond Williams, Communications, 1966
February 2011
6 posts
“When I was 5 years old, my mother always told me that happiness was the key to...”
– John Lennon (via a-ladys-findings, gwenmccartney) (via speaklisten) (via veganfeast)
“This is crucial. This is what mammals are about. They are concerned with...”
– Gregory Bateson, “From Versailles to Cybernetics,” in Steps to an Ecology of Mind, p. 478
January 2011
6 posts
“The two biggest self-deceptions of all are that life has a “meaning”...”
– David Byrne, Bicycle Diaries, p. 74
