fridgemagnetswithfriends.com - take a look and let me know if you'd change anything?
came about because i was daydreaming with some friends about the best way to figure out a mission statement for a project we're doing.
Tuesday, December 30, 2014
Sunday, December 28, 2014
a thousand muted cries behind glass of pains,
screens of intoxication
The pigeon man runs his private circus in the sky above the clamor
of trains, frustrations, the small broken glasses of wine
and big fights for space
There is a general and confused impression that the rich are doing it all
right
as we all of us sit side by side, traveling together,
pardoning the indifferent fur coat
while shunning the one who has less
the one in the corner offering out his evening drink.
Dogs scrapping trying to find some relief
in an ecology of only human invention.
Pay a visit to the most difficult city to live in
only to stare at gold on the ceiling.
I cannot tell you what I am doing now
but I can tell you that mountains are still real
that spanning not too far all along one side of me
the ocean is crashing and crashing on itself
onto the land, trying to get here
but I can tell you that mountains are still real
that spanning not too far all along one side of me
the ocean is crashing and crashing on itself
onto the land, trying to get here
...
i can't say how long you'll live and where you'll next move
but i can tell you the stars will be there
whether or not they have names
the sun will burn
filling the day with warm hues
warming the pelts of many animals
the many many sensual world
will blink all around you
Wednesday, December 10, 2014
claudia's in the back with me drinking women's energy tea
i can't have it! she says
when we were growing up you know
i dressed like a boy, i brought my own money to bars
of course, my father warned me
and now
i can't have it! you know? a man who behaves like that?
so sensitive and retiring, i cannot take it
and all of his friends
weesh, so boring
but lemme show, my dove
look what i got at treasure city thrift!
a soaring tower of dress for 7 dollars
an aventail of lace all the way up to the throat
on my life, a cream you could eat
we're laughing, of course
because it's a wedding dress
and she just put a man down
for being too soft you know
oh ah, who would marry a mean old bitch like me
they're all scared of the little mexican
little old me
so i promise
i'll marry you to yourself, claud
i've seen water moving
i'm practically a priest
i can't have it! she says
when we were growing up you know
i dressed like a boy, i brought my own money to bars
of course, my father warned me
and now
i can't have it! you know? a man who behaves like that?
so sensitive and retiring, i cannot take it
and all of his friends
weesh, so boring
but lemme show, my dove
look what i got at treasure city thrift!
a soaring tower of dress for 7 dollars
an aventail of lace all the way up to the throat
on my life, a cream you could eat
we're laughing, of course
because it's a wedding dress
and she just put a man down
for being too soft you know
oh ah, who would marry a mean old bitch like me
they're all scared of the little mexican
little old me
so i promise
i'll marry you to yourself, claud
i've seen water moving
i'm practically a priest
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
you came from san fransisco, i don't even have an iphone
there's u-shaped dog at the door
with the pelt of a hyena
but she's sweet so sweet
and gambols high at the pitch of my voice
this is not the usual place for this
it should be noted
apologies for the open door and the poor sound quality
the usual culpas from a beanied and winged girl
i'm looking at the back of heads mostly
through a video, a short speech, an offer
really though i'm envying
the root systems ripped from the ground
and powerwashed
and strung up on the ceiling, integrated right into the lights
abstractly, i'm here for the root system
or for difficult, abstract wood sculptures in my future
what more can i say?
on the subject of well-decorated rooms?
the usual culpas to the pallets i promised to never abandon
and this is why everyone else is here too
if not for sculptures
then for seat covers for their cars
or a new body part
to finally go to their own frontier
so we're all saying why
because we're pretending this is empowering
but not really because everyone uses the words time and money
and some man
taking it all too far
says
"i'm interested in market place integration"
or maybe
"horizontal, vertical, visible, costumer base"
you know him, you do
and i lock eyes
with her
across the table
you know one of these teenage dream girls
looking like she's built a home in her denim jacket
like she knows what to do with those boots
looking like she'd crowd you into corners
at the bars on 4th street
my face is transforming
and i put all the disdain i've ever felt
into shape on my cheeks
and she's smiling just a little
as my eyes roll around my little head
i've imagined our whole lives together
and she's telling the story of how we met
when i rolled my eyes
and she laughed
and we walked out of the warehouse holding hands
with the pelt of a hyena
but she's sweet so sweet
and gambols high at the pitch of my voice
this is not the usual place for this
it should be noted
apologies for the open door and the poor sound quality
the usual culpas from a beanied and winged girl
i'm looking at the back of heads mostly
through a video, a short speech, an offer
really though i'm envying
the root systems ripped from the ground
and powerwashed
and strung up on the ceiling, integrated right into the lights
abstractly, i'm here for the root system
or for difficult, abstract wood sculptures in my future
what more can i say?
on the subject of well-decorated rooms?
the usual culpas to the pallets i promised to never abandon
and this is why everyone else is here too
if not for sculptures
then for seat covers for their cars
or a new body part
to finally go to their own frontier
so we're all saying why
because we're pretending this is empowering
but not really because everyone uses the words time and money
and some man
taking it all too far
says
"i'm interested in market place integration"
or maybe
"horizontal, vertical, visible, costumer base"
you know him, you do
and i lock eyes
with her
across the table
you know one of these teenage dream girls
looking like she's built a home in her denim jacket
like she knows what to do with those boots
looking like she'd crowd you into corners
at the bars on 4th street
my face is transforming
and i put all the disdain i've ever felt
into shape on my cheeks
and she's smiling just a little
as my eyes roll around my little head
i've imagined our whole lives together
and she's telling the story of how we met
when i rolled my eyes
and she laughed
and we walked out of the warehouse holding hands
Sunday, November 30, 2014
Thursday, November 27, 2014
Wednesday, November 26, 2014
More echo poems
SPOONS, NO LESS
Here, on the east fork of the Illinois
the water runs black with oak leaves
walls ache and clench with heat
nasturtiums whispered in the morning:
"frost."
Certainly, somewhere fall away spoons
have never been conceived of.
There the leaves stay put. Stop.
White like fading memory.
Forever moans with a slight wheeze.
Calendula! This night does not deserve you!
Oh yes, we have thought of spoons.
We have too plucked the leaves
from their perches; I'll show you,
Start now -- in this moment
the only moment
(we deserve it, if only this)
Posh. pish-posh. a pock
full of i-told-you-sos.
You've hid all the canaries
and now the sun is gone.
We will never finish the work
of refinding the bright.
And more.
ughhhhhhh i've empty pockets but
well-soled toes
and your chest is a-twitter, don't
deny, I see the light radiant
Put down your work, pick up your fork--
black hands, no less.
INTO THE MUD
The ditch does not dry well
The freeze has taken all but the
eaves
Faster time stops to further
forward
Tomorrow, we go home
The bitch does not fry well
The skeeze has bacon
all butt, # he grieves
Plaster rhyme mopes to tether
more words
Through sorrow be(come) poem
The snitch does not dwell.
Crying is bad.
Ass for days. A whole freezer
full of ass makes all
the babes say yay.
History follows the lines in
the fibers in the splinters of wood.
I laugh and shed air.
The rich cannot quell --
Well. Cry! be bad! no tomorrow!
"YAY" -- it passes for glaze
History?! burns like wet wood
I weep and weep my feet sinking into the mud.
Giving Up
Chimes down the alley
like women singing songs.
Dangerous. Don't follow.
They say pants are
made for wearing but I
seen them the breeze flow
through them like chimes.
I don't follow.
Hey baby, hey darlin, wanna take a ride
with me sleek swoop sweatmobile you
know you want it huh-nee so be kind
but don't lose your mind just remember
that I'm your bay-ay-ay-ay-bee-ee (come
a lil bit closer child)
take take take your fingers next
to me i lay down pretend to
need anything at all to keep me
here to keep me breathe a
sail a story a locket one glory.
gasp. The world is wide.
Ah. (rest)
It's yours. (rest)
No, really. (rest)
It's not (rest) up to me.
..
Do you ever wake up to a painless spine?
A smooth whip of angel's ivory.
The relief of standing up, of
never swaying, of taking one
easy long trip to a tall and comfortable place.
That's what I want.
Here, on the east fork of the Illinois
the water runs black with oak leaves
walls ache and clench with heat
nasturtiums whispered in the morning:
"frost."
Certainly, somewhere fall away spoons
have never been conceived of.
There the leaves stay put. Stop.
White like fading memory.
Forever moans with a slight wheeze.
Calendula! This night does not deserve you!
Oh yes, we have thought of spoons.
We have too plucked the leaves
from their perches; I'll show you,
Start now -- in this moment
the only moment
(we deserve it, if only this)
Posh. pish-posh. a pock
full of i-told-you-sos.
You've hid all the canaries
and now the sun is gone.
We will never finish the work
of refinding the bright.
And more.
ughhhhhhh i've empty pockets but
well-soled toes
and your chest is a-twitter, don't
deny, I see the light radiant
Put down your work, pick up your fork--
black hands, no less.
INTO THE MUD
The ditch does not dry well
The freeze has taken all but the
eaves
Faster time stops to further
forward
Tomorrow, we go home
The bitch does not fry well
The skeeze has bacon
all butt, # he grieves
Plaster rhyme mopes to tether
more words
Through sorrow be(come) poem
The snitch does not dwell.
Crying is bad.
Ass for days. A whole freezer
full of ass makes all
the babes say yay.
History follows the lines in
the fibers in the splinters of wood.
I laugh and shed air.
The rich cannot quell --
Well. Cry! be bad! no tomorrow!
"YAY" -- it passes for glaze
History?! burns like wet wood
I weep and weep my feet sinking into the mud.
Giving Up
Chimes down the alley
like women singing songs.
Dangerous. Don't follow.
They say pants are
made for wearing but I
seen them the breeze flow
through them like chimes.
I don't follow.
Hey baby, hey darlin, wanna take a ride
with me sleek swoop sweatmobile you
know you want it huh-nee so be kind
but don't lose your mind just remember
that I'm your bay-ay-ay-ay-bee-ee (come
a lil bit closer child)
take take take your fingers next
to me i lay down pretend to
need anything at all to keep me
here to keep me breathe a
sail a story a locket one glory.
gasp. The world is wide.
Ah. (rest)
It's yours. (rest)
No, really. (rest)
It's not (rest) up to me.
..
Do you ever wake up to a painless spine?
A smooth whip of angel's ivory.
The relief of standing up, of
never swaying, of taking one
easy long trip to a tall and comfortable place.
That's what I want.
Tuesday, November 25, 2014
Echo poems
This is surrealist poetry by eliot-n-fox in the style of call and echoing response. that is: one person scries, the other cries its opposite, and so on.
written in a small cabin filled with the anxious insanity of early late twenty-something, surrounded by a dark winter garden, surrounded by the quiet vigilance of pines, surrounded by an inky black sky, surrounded by a world at pains.
YOUR DEAD MOM IS HERE WITH ME
Speak slow, my bones are still waking up
I flash through the inter webs like neon panda and open all the windows
o p e n i n g
l i
g h
t s
t r
e a
m s
i n
myselftiny
hateways
i
I'M THE FUCKING BEST THING SINCE GOD AND I HATE ALL YOU HATERS CAUSE YOU DONT SEE IT
sh, i'm still asleep and
your dead mom is here with me.
TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT
Religious turmoil steers our fate.
Prodigious rock'n'roll leers at the gate.
Who goes there?
I do not know
your guitar Gods
hey sweetheart, it's me i miss you i love you
i'm sorry please forgive me it's me it's me
Get off the phone, Susan.
Eat your boogers and say your prayers.
get off on the phone, Susan--
yeah, yeah. eat em. yeah.
say it -- say it -- tell me what you really want
I HEAR THE GLASS EMPTY
Fawn settling into my belly,
lay low the fear-of-crazy
hermit's glee
esoteric rabbithole
down the fog-float-ing-on-the-pond,
i drink deeply
Empty tightening of
never knowing enough.
I get strung out on surrealism
daily. Strange. Satisfying. Say yes.
Silence. The one language we all speak.
My mouth is parched.
I'VE GOT IT I KNOW
I KNOW ENOUGH, I'M FULL
YOU THE STRANGE, YOU THE
STRUNG OUT
IT IS TIME WE SPEAK
THIRSTY MOUTHS WIDE
SAY (YES) SAY SAY
you don't need to scream.
sticks and stones make up my bones
and words are the dirt i eat.
here. drink some water.
written in a small cabin filled with the anxious insanity of early late twenty-something, surrounded by a dark winter garden, surrounded by the quiet vigilance of pines, surrounded by an inky black sky, surrounded by a world at pains.
YOUR DEAD MOM IS HERE WITH ME
Speak slow, my bones are still waking up
I flash through the inter webs like neon panda and open all the windows
o p e n i n g
l i
g h
t s
t r
e a
m s
i n
myselftiny
hateways
i
I'M THE FUCKING BEST THING SINCE GOD AND I HATE ALL YOU HATERS CAUSE YOU DONT SEE IT
sh, i'm still asleep and
your dead mom is here with me.
TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT
Religious turmoil steers our fate.
Prodigious rock'n'roll leers at the gate.
Who goes there?
I do not know
your guitar Gods
hey sweetheart, it's me i miss you i love you
i'm sorry please forgive me it's me it's me
Get off the phone, Susan.
Eat your boogers and say your prayers.
get off on the phone, Susan--
yeah, yeah. eat em. yeah.
say it -- say it -- tell me what you really want
I HEAR THE GLASS EMPTY
Fawn settling into my belly,
lay low the fear-of-crazy
hermit's glee
esoteric rabbithole
down the fog-float-ing-on-the-pond,
i drink deeply
Empty tightening of
never knowing enough.
I get strung out on surrealism
daily. Strange. Satisfying. Say yes.
Silence. The one language we all speak.
My mouth is parched.
I'VE GOT IT I KNOW
I KNOW ENOUGH, I'M FULL
YOU THE STRANGE, YOU THE
STRUNG OUT
IT IS TIME WE SPEAK
THIRSTY MOUTHS WIDE
SAY (YES) SAY SAY
you don't need to scream.
sticks and stones make up my bones
and words are the dirt i eat.
here. drink some water.
Friday, November 7, 2014
how being on the computer makes me feel kind of weird and empty and sad
standing still, it is impossible to see how things have changed so much.
from longing comes movement.
from movement comes the recognition of change.
small changes add up to small movement,
or perhaps not small at all.
a warm house, a cold day, quiet breathing,
reaching out for poetry--adrienne rich, marge piercy, t.s. eliot, rumi--
to locate myself in this ever-shifting world.
to remember, understand, anchor
the feeling of my body
filling with the light of the full moon.
did you know
that come
comes from the moon?
as life is becoming quieter
the voices in me become shriller.
perhaps this is anxiety, or fire.
i have filled my new small cabin with bins and boxes.
there is not space for all my books, so i will have to choose.
for hours, there is no sound unless i sing or speak aloud,
or the pings and pops of jar lids and things ready to fall from their perches.
i am afraid of getting lost. i am afraid
of the quiet incubating desperation of winter
of dreams without movement.
love, fear. fear, change. change, death. death, sex. sex, desire. desire, liberation. liberation, shame. shame, silence. silence, waiting. waiting, wanting. wanting, giving. giving, taking. taking, opening. opening, change.
change, love death fear death sex death desire liberation change waiting silence death shame opening giving love silence waiting fear taking opening change. sweet potatoes, woodstoves, pine pitch, bitter leaves, coconut oil, toothache, blankets, car exhaust, gasoline, cancer, collapse, elections, morning rituals, small songs, the moon my body the moon my body.
we are moving into the darkness now,
sun stealing away earlier and earlier,
even noon gray-dark with clouds.
missing times, longing times, quiet times,
dreaming times, visioning times, cozy times,
wishing times, deep times, learning times,
resting times, planning times, slow times.
so we dance--
around fires,
on wood floors,
in parking lots,
in the grocery stores,
in the waiting moments,
like our lives depend on it,
like we are dancing for the dead who long for the pleasure of being in a body.
from longing comes movement.
from movement comes the recognition of change.
small changes add up to small movement,
or perhaps not small at all.
a warm house, a cold day, quiet breathing,
reaching out for poetry--adrienne rich, marge piercy, t.s. eliot, rumi--
to locate myself in this ever-shifting world.
to remember, understand, anchor
the feeling of my body
filling with the light of the full moon.
did you know
that come
comes from the moon?
as life is becoming quieter
the voices in me become shriller.
perhaps this is anxiety, or fire.
i have filled my new small cabin with bins and boxes.
there is not space for all my books, so i will have to choose.
for hours, there is no sound unless i sing or speak aloud,
or the pings and pops of jar lids and things ready to fall from their perches.
i am afraid of getting lost. i am afraid
of the quiet incubating desperation of winter
of dreams without movement.
love, fear. fear, change. change, death. death, sex. sex, desire. desire, liberation. liberation, shame. shame, silence. silence, waiting. waiting, wanting. wanting, giving. giving, taking. taking, opening. opening, change.
change, love death fear death sex death desire liberation change waiting silence death shame opening giving love silence waiting fear taking opening change. sweet potatoes, woodstoves, pine pitch, bitter leaves, coconut oil, toothache, blankets, car exhaust, gasoline, cancer, collapse, elections, morning rituals, small songs, the moon my body the moon my body.
we are moving into the darkness now,
sun stealing away earlier and earlier,
even noon gray-dark with clouds.
missing times, longing times, quiet times,
dreaming times, visioning times, cozy times,
wishing times, deep times, learning times,
resting times, planning times, slow times.
so we dance--
around fires,
on wood floors,
in parking lots,
in the grocery stores,
in the waiting moments,
like our lives depend on it,
like we are dancing for the dead who long for the pleasure of being in a body.
Saturday, August 23, 2014
turns out we were getting cancer from sleeping beside our computers all these years!
turns out we were getting cancer from living too long.
once you start living forever you certainly can't be expected to stop.
turns out were exactly what we thought we were
we knew all along
we turn to paste and spread
turns out we were getting cancer from living too long.
once you start living forever you certainly can't be expected to stop.
turns out were exactly what we thought we were
we knew all along
we turn to paste and spread
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
rise from the august dust, burning burning
where longing and yearning meet the prayer of repetition
as we do not have food to harvest, may we harvest stones
fill our pockets with the grief and joys of history
i will make a bulletin board about my idols and ancestors
on it i will pin "pussy riot" and "arwings khodek" and "maxine"
and the names of my friends
it is august, the skies are smoky,
we prayed for days up at twin lakes and then a fire started,
helicopter swooped down over the blue blue clear lake to scoop up water
to douse the forests.
in august in hugo we have red fuchsia sunsets, bloody moons,
low ceilings,
stinging eyes.
standing in paradocks
living in love
remembering the well
without drowning my fury
electrified by old traumas reenlivened
here we are, this is it.
what is it, to live in a sleepy place?
what is it, this desire for spectacle,
to chain myself to the doors of walmart,
the desire to buy a gun,
it is august and fires are burning,
hey, welcome to the world, have your experience!
[when was the last time you stood up for something you believe in?]
i want to read all the memoirs of men whose lovers died of aids
i want to cut my hair
i want to scream
i want to run to the ocean
i want to be everywhere at once
i want to eat blueberries all year round
i want to die
i want to live
i want to wear floor-length satin and velvet robes and tux jackets with fishnets
i want to live with all my friends
i want to know my ancestors and my grandfathers and my dead friends better
i want to cry
i want to let myself be loved, or believe it's possible
i want to parade with giant puppets
i want the wars to end, the cops to betray their uniforms, naked dance parties in the streets of saint louis, bodies brown red pink blue salmon
i want to crawl into a hole in the ground and be held by my mother
i want to lay bare the human heart
i want to lay bare the human heart
as we do not have food to harvest, may we harvest stones
fill our pockets with the grief and joys of history
i will make a bulletin board about my idols and ancestors
on it i will pin "pussy riot" and "arwings khodek" and "maxine"
and the names of my friends
it is august, the skies are smoky,
we prayed for days up at twin lakes and then a fire started,
helicopter swooped down over the blue blue clear lake to scoop up water
to douse the forests.
in august in hugo we have red fuchsia sunsets, bloody moons,
low ceilings,
stinging eyes.
standing in paradocks
living in love
remembering the well
without drowning my fury
electrified by old traumas reenlivened
here we are, this is it.
what is it, to live in a sleepy place?
what is it, this desire for spectacle,
to chain myself to the doors of walmart,
the desire to buy a gun,
it is august and fires are burning,
hey, welcome to the world, have your experience!
[when was the last time you stood up for something you believe in?]
i want to read all the memoirs of men whose lovers died of aids
i want to cut my hair
i want to scream
i want to run to the ocean
i want to be everywhere at once
i want to eat blueberries all year round
i want to die
i want to live
i want to wear floor-length satin and velvet robes and tux jackets with fishnets
i want to live with all my friends
i want to know my ancestors and my grandfathers and my dead friends better
i want to cry
i want to let myself be loved, or believe it's possible
i want to parade with giant puppets
i want the wars to end, the cops to betray their uniforms, naked dance parties in the streets of saint louis, bodies brown red pink blue salmon
i want to crawl into a hole in the ground and be held by my mother
i want to lay bare the human heart
i want to lay bare the human heart
Sunday, April 27, 2014
Thursday, April 24, 2014
feel like i'm going batty
hung upside down in the dark
i open my eyes to try and see but all i hear are the sounds
i reach for the foods just to live
but if i was brave enough, i'd let myself wither
and live off this feeling alone
guidance
guidance
i am always listening for you
so why do i find that only despair comes to visit?
i am battling my body
my body is battled
my battle i embody
i cannot support this,, it angers me beyond any other measure
i cannot be at war with myself
there are much larger wars outside that deserve, nay, call on my attention
for too many years have we been kept away from power, turned against our own selves
fractured and in conflict
at war with our bodies
this self-hatred is not mine and i renounce it
it is so difficult to think what you do with your day is right
when there is no one around to agree with you
it is hard to find the strength to plant another seed, to visit another rock, to speak to the sky
when you do not know who that seed will feed
or why
words seem to ripple off unanswered
so many voices to be this or that to be relatable to others
be quiet, be sexual, be fabulous, be a bitch, be gay, be straight
when all i really want to be is this welling in my chest
all i really want to be are these tears in my eyes
all i really want is a place to put this anger
women across the world are still punished for eating of the tree of wisdom
i would eat a thousand more!
they are silenced, they are eaten with words, gestures, deeds,
in the name of male gods
in the name of oh fathers and oh lords
oh woman, oh mother you are so rich in your struggle, you are so very strongly, powerfully unalone
man, how do you get led so obsessively to evil?
how did you stray so far from the love of your equals?
oh woman, oh girl, oh mother, oh womb
oh holy heart full of dread, compassion; love and revenge
the animals
the animals
the animals
of our planet are fleeing
i don't know that there are safe places left for them to run to
every shriek, cry, post on facebook rings like a state of alarm
the humans
the humans
the humans
we too it feels do not know what to do
awaiting instruction, quivering across the wide web, anxious in our beds
running to the city, running to the wild
awaiting a great rally
can we take back the earth? altogether this time?
it feels like i will spend my whole life seeking the innocence taken from my childhood
it feels like i will spend my life defending my childhood
freedom, come back to me
i need so to be unafraid in the face of pain
they say we already fell from grace
but i continue to fall and lift myself everyday
hung upside down in the dark
i open my eyes to try and see but all i hear are the sounds
i reach for the foods just to live
but if i was brave enough, i'd let myself wither
and live off this feeling alone
guidance
guidance
i am always listening for you
so why do i find that only despair comes to visit?
i am battling my body
my body is battled
my battle i embody
i cannot support this,, it angers me beyond any other measure
i cannot be at war with myself
there are much larger wars outside that deserve, nay, call on my attention
for too many years have we been kept away from power, turned against our own selves
fractured and in conflict
at war with our bodies
this self-hatred is not mine and i renounce it
it is so difficult to think what you do with your day is right
when there is no one around to agree with you
it is hard to find the strength to plant another seed, to visit another rock, to speak to the sky
when you do not know who that seed will feed
or why
words seem to ripple off unanswered
so many voices to be this or that to be relatable to others
be quiet, be sexual, be fabulous, be a bitch, be gay, be straight
when all i really want to be is this welling in my chest
all i really want to be are these tears in my eyes
all i really want is a place to put this anger
women across the world are still punished for eating of the tree of wisdom
i would eat a thousand more!
they are silenced, they are eaten with words, gestures, deeds,
in the name of male gods
in the name of oh fathers and oh lords
oh woman, oh mother you are so rich in your struggle, you are so very strongly, powerfully unalone
man, how do you get led so obsessively to evil?
how did you stray so far from the love of your equals?
oh woman, oh girl, oh mother, oh womb
oh holy heart full of dread, compassion; love and revenge
the animals
the animals
the animals
of our planet are fleeing
i don't know that there are safe places left for them to run to
every shriek, cry, post on facebook rings like a state of alarm
the humans
the humans
the humans
we too it feels do not know what to do
awaiting instruction, quivering across the wide web, anxious in our beds
running to the city, running to the wild
awaiting a great rally
can we take back the earth? altogether this time?
it feels like i will spend my whole life seeking the innocence taken from my childhood
it feels like i will spend my life defending my childhood
freedom, come back to me
i need so to be unafraid in the face of pain
they say we already fell from grace
but i continue to fall and lift myself everyday
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
I took photographs of people holding hands
sitting in a pile resting after working
after drinking water
after walking under 1:17 PM sun.
we are not so complicated
but we do pretend to be
and now we're stuck in the sprawl
of trapdoors, mirrors and lawns
starting to run as to have enough time
to sort through what can be felt and everything else.
sitting in a pile resting after working
after drinking water
after walking under 1:17 PM sun.
we are not so complicated
but we do pretend to be
and now we're stuck in the sprawl
of trapdoors, mirrors and lawns
starting to run as to have enough time
to sort through what can be felt and everything else.
Monday, April 21, 2014
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
how far can a mind turn inward on itself
before something truly is lost
that special mysterious layer
that's wild.
the wilderness is not wild.
there is something among the things of this place that are
we are one of these things.
i ve been roaming now for twenty five years
to find.
to be an artist is not what it used to be,
but any day we are free to walk away from ourselves
to get out of our own way
Sunday, April 6, 2014
quotidian freedom practices
from laura arrington dance (oakland, CA), march 2014
"Freedom comes from disruption, comes from feeling familiarity, comes from sudden dislocation and disorientation. So arguably, making art and thinking about the power of art are both processes of getting free. It’s a weird and humbling thing to think about, as we are – more than ever – so hugely aware of how embedded we are in the prisons and ruts of contemporary social and political systems. But when we look around and feel scared and frustrated, the two of us can’t shake the feeling that we have a choice; and the choice is about what we practice*. And so, Freedom Practice is about studying our quotidian impulses and behaviors, and learning their innards in a effort to infuse beauty, hope, and impracticality into each and every little thing we do.
"Freedom comes from disruption, comes from feeling familiarity, comes from sudden dislocation and disorientation. So arguably, making art and thinking about the power of art are both processes of getting free. It’s a weird and humbling thing to think about, as we are – more than ever – so hugely aware of how embedded we are in the prisons and ruts of contemporary social and political systems. But when we look around and feel scared and frustrated, the two of us can’t shake the feeling that we have a choice; and the choice is about what we practice*. And so, Freedom Practice is about studying our quotidian impulses and behaviors, and learning their innards in a effort to infuse beauty, hope, and impracticality into each and every little thing we do.
But… it’s fucking personal. So, we need you to collaborate with us, please. We need you to ignite your own ideas and experiences of choice, of resistance, of madness, of body intelligence and survival. We want to build a new behavior, and this time of practicing with you is our research. We hoped that dropping the word “freedom” – as an object – into a text about a dance workshop might get your mind working on how, with our dance/art practice, we can begin to re-animate such a word; a word that comes with such a big blasting bombastic charge (a charge that is sometimes useful and other times not useful at all). It seems that a word like FREEDOM gets tossed around with such frequency that its potency becomes diluted by the sheer volume of its occurrence. Still… we think that we kinda know exactly what we mean, when we say FREEDOM. It’s a bodily state. It’s a way of being together. And when we can’t muster much action around any of this, it is at least an intention. One distillation of all of this is what ye olde dictionary (online) says, just to get pedantic on ourselves:
freedom- the absence of necessity, coercion, or constraint in choice or action
...We’ll create scores/rituals that we can take home and invite into the minutiae of our bodies, our homes, our beds, our dreams. We extend the practice to excavate the creative viability of the big wide world around us. Using the practice as both a personal and political tool to unlock the total possibility of LIVING ART. Let’s try hard! It is our personal belief, that the world needs these shake ups RIGHT. now. The potential of art/creativity/ritual/magic need to be unhinged from the pivots of “career” and “profession,” and allowed to seep into the totality of our being/living."
Saturday, March 29, 2014
march 28 between raging and drizzling
spring is here
swollen rivers run
the rains come
hair tangles unbrushed for days
we are singing, dancing,
packaging maple buds in a little pouch
for the travelling times to come
still undrawn, the scars of surviving
carried through the winter
tattooed starry stomps
burning through sheets of mist
audrey
works at the general store
she is 23 or 24, or maybe 25 like me
big with her imminent baby
her husband was stabbed
in a bar in grants pass
in a fight
they got married this summer
he worked at the general store too
mud in the tracks of boots
our people are coming and coming
throw the rotten eggs in the fire
dance close until they break on your skin
releasing the death and decay that sat under your collarbones
the composting corpses between your toes
the slime unwiped behind your heart
(all these things aren't real until they are, and maybe you fake it till you make it and then it is really gone, really)
out with the story that
the things i see, the work to be done, that i will always be the one
doing and then receiving the accolades,
going to all the things, weaving all the knowing,
out with the story that
i can do it all right, that mistakes are failures,
that the paralysis of indecision would
ever be preferable
to the sulphurous splatter
the tear-stained peeling of the onion
breathing-into-the-stomach expansion of what i thought was possible
ready for new stories,
new-old stories,
old-new ways,
where they will come from i do not know
(we are enough)
they are coming and coming and
they are dancing, they are always dancing
swollen rivers run
the rains come
hair tangles unbrushed for days
we are singing, dancing,
packaging maple buds in a little pouch
for the travelling times to come
still undrawn, the scars of surviving
carried through the winter
tattooed starry stomps
burning through sheets of mist
audrey
works at the general store
she is 23 or 24, or maybe 25 like me
big with her imminent baby
her husband was stabbed
in a bar in grants pass
in a fight
they got married this summer
he worked at the general store too
mud in the tracks of boots
our people are coming and coming
throw the rotten eggs in the fire
dance close until they break on your skin
releasing the death and decay that sat under your collarbones
the composting corpses between your toes
the slime unwiped behind your heart
(all these things aren't real until they are, and maybe you fake it till you make it and then it is really gone, really)
out with the story that
the things i see, the work to be done, that i will always be the one
doing and then receiving the accolades,
going to all the things, weaving all the knowing,
out with the story that
i can do it all right, that mistakes are failures,
that the paralysis of indecision would
ever be preferable
to the sulphurous splatter
the tear-stained peeling of the onion
breathing-into-the-stomach expansion of what i thought was possible
ready for new stories,
new-old stories,
old-new ways,
where they will come from i do not know
(we are enough)
they are coming and coming and
they are dancing, they are always dancing
Monday, March 17, 2014
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
weird time
off-duty martha graham
37 hours a week
subway clogs and shoulder socks
press me for i am untethered
no cord no word
a fantasy work
a cold hand worker
finger print singed off
whose hair in your underwear
beneath the arches
no care for parks in the greenbelt
i become commerce and bare
i bear
bring me the emollients and oils
oil me up
so i can slide through the cracks
off-duty martha graham
37 hours a week
subway clogs and shoulder socks
press me for i am untethered
no cord no word
a fantasy work
a cold hand worker
finger print singed off
whose hair in your underwear
beneath the arches
no care for parks in the greenbelt
i become commerce and bare
i bear
bring me the emollients and oils
oil me up
so i can slide through the cracks
Sunday, March 9, 2014
southbysouthwhy?
new york, take your beautiful people back!
i already had to bathe my fingers in my tongue to keep them warm!
you know this
you knew as much already
texas is trying to talk about the bees
and men are telling us we're blessings
even without eyeliner
we're renaming the doubletree
the drowned tree
in honor of day three of the festival
being canceled this year
i glowed logo
shirt afire
push push push goddamnit!
say au revoir to california
new york, i am begging you
i'm pleadin here
take the kneeknockers away
a pedicab is not a throne on a popular television program
a telephone is not a toy
i glowed logo and tooth-white
to people who don't care where the milk comes from
i already had to bathe my fingers in my tongue to keep them warm!
you know this
you knew as much already
texas is trying to talk about the bees
and men are telling us we're blessings
even without eyeliner
we're renaming the doubletree
the drowned tree
in honor of day three of the festival
being canceled this year
i glowed logo
shirt afire
push push push goddamnit!
say au revoir to california
new york, i am begging you
i'm pleadin here
take the kneeknockers away
a pedicab is not a throne on a popular television program
a telephone is not a toy
i glowed logo and tooth-white
to people who don't care where the milk comes from
Thursday, March 6, 2014
words/no words
Tonight No Poetry Will Serve
by Adrienne RichSaw you walking barefoot taking a long look at the new moon's eyelid later spread sleep-fallen, naked in your dark hair asleep but not oblivious of the unslept unsleeping elsewhere Tonight I think no poetry will serve Syntax of rendition: verb pilots the plane adverb modifies action verb force-feeds noun submerges the subject noun is choking verb disgraced goes on doing now diagram the sentence 2007
From "Him and Others":
Thoughts. Silly. I’d rather
sink my teeth in your neck,
seriously, knock you down
on the floor — all for love.
You’ll forget my lousy
poems but if I could just
mar you or something. Nothing
nice ever sticks but boy
a scar — If I could ever
really bruise you with
my feelings, them, so infinitely
forgettable & gone.
- Eileen Myles
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
Monday, February 24, 2014
the addicts of sturdy male faces
and the places where their dicks drag around
lording over barren planes and suggestive crevices
leaking presumptuously looking for shadows to sidle up to.
i had to find something else to fill me, something new
when they were between me i felt empty
when they were just filling a hole
when i didn’t notice
when i was looking out the window
Saturday, February 22, 2014
a quest to go to hell,
had to get chocolate covered peanuts to unlock the gate?
had to take little trains to find the chocolate peanuts
the arthur moore train or the A train,
trains run between stores, named after stores,
spent awhile in a cross beween New York & Company and H&M and American Apparel
no chocolate peanuts, don't need these socks
and turned out there was some kind of spell that i couldn't see them
i was blind to chocolate peanuts
in the bulk bins,
had to ask for help,
ate all the other chocolates while i looked,
both kinds of pretzels and other things,
four tiny chocolate dice. we need them for the trip.
take the corvette or walk to hell?
walk.
had to get chocolate covered peanuts to unlock the gate?
had to take little trains to find the chocolate peanuts
the arthur moore train or the A train,
trains run between stores, named after stores,
spent awhile in a cross beween New York & Company and H&M and American Apparel
no chocolate peanuts, don't need these socks
and turned out there was some kind of spell that i couldn't see them
i was blind to chocolate peanuts
in the bulk bins,
had to ask for help,
ate all the other chocolates while i looked,
both kinds of pretzels and other things,
four tiny chocolate dice. we need them for the trip.
take the corvette or walk to hell?
walk.
Friday, February 21, 2014
something like a root tapped,
even zapped,
a 2 AM reminder of legseven zapped,
fingers
and the how many places a body can
blush.
you think it's just there but think even deeper
i think i am in love with pink
i can barely stand to look at anyone's lips.
i am following through as ifby which i mean escapes are good
and you must have left your weathered shoes
cuz the footprints continued to climb.
I HAVE RENOUNCED MYSELF OF MEN
i vow off their easy attentions
their long, captivating looks
captive no more
dog, you can't have this bone
i don't care if that makes me less than a speck in your book
a speck of dust in your book
too many that you own
you silly man
you have no idea what it is to be me
you have all your clubs of belonging
arms ready to pull you to where you belong to be
oh don't worry,
you think this pretty face is all i need
but when i turn it away (and i'm turning)
is there anything else you see?
no one, ever, expects me to speak.
i don't want your protection.
i'll let this anger take care of me.
to all the fathers of the world,
you are so needy.
you need my respect. why do you need me to feel pleased?
in return, you promise me things. how stupid could you be
i'm tired of parting my legs
i want to do the parting or not at all
i'm tired of being won over only to be left
i want to do the parting or not at all
my father reminds me he is dying
he wants the world's pity.
but the world is ending
and i think the world will end and take them all, wee
at least that's what i heard
men have outgrown their need
one, two, three and let me be
four, you, i haven't even made it to thinking of you.
i've spent the last 3 years resisting vanity
i really don't even want you to look at me
a flower no more
a scab i'll be
so unremarkable a thing to be a girl romantic,
so stabbing, so enflamed a thing to not.
i vow off their easy attentions
their long, captivating looks
captive no more
dog, you can't have this bone
i don't care if that makes me less than a speck in your book
a speck of dust in your book
too many that you own
you silly man
you have no idea what it is to be me
you have all your clubs of belonging
arms ready to pull you to where you belong to be
oh don't worry,
you think this pretty face is all i need
but when i turn it away (and i'm turning)
is there anything else you see?
no one, ever, expects me to speak.
i don't want your protection.
i'll let this anger take care of me.
to all the fathers of the world,
you are so needy.
you need my respect. why do you need me to feel pleased?
in return, you promise me things. how stupid could you be
i'm tired of parting my legs
i want to do the parting or not at all
i'm tired of being won over only to be left
i want to do the parting or not at all
my father reminds me he is dying
he wants the world's pity.
but the world is ending
and i think the world will end and take them all, wee
at least that's what i heard
men have outgrown their need
one, two, three and let me be
four, you, i haven't even made it to thinking of you.
i've spent the last 3 years resisting vanity
i really don't even want you to look at me
a flower no more
a scab i'll be
so unremarkable a thing to be a girl romantic,
so stabbing, so enflamed a thing to not.
keep poems in your pockets
"the deer lay down their bones" by robinson jeffers
"concerning the rights of mother earth" by monte merrick
"catechism for a witch's child" by j.l. stanley
"hurt hawks" by robinson jeffers
knowing the land is resistance (collective based in the carolinian forest of southwestern ontario)
yes, maybe i am...
got some more for my pockets? (i know you do)
justin/tate,
what of your wedding??
"concerning the rights of mother earth" by monte merrick
"catechism for a witch's child" by j.l. stanley
"hurt hawks" by robinson jeffers
knowing the land is resistance (collective based in the carolinian forest of southwestern ontario)
yes, maybe i am...
got some more for my pockets? (i know you do)
justin/tate,
what of your wedding??
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
i'm sorry about all the just sounds
it just sounds good
i really don't have anything to say
i don't know what orange or yellow is
they sat next to each other on the sill
that's all
that's all
when you call
i will say
i'm giving this up
i've decided to be good now
ambition is a sickness
and i've been sent to the infirmary
did anyone ever tell you, it's lying to myself that lets me lie to you? oh my angel, i don't know a single thing. i became white white white with all my lies. i am dressed for a christening and a wedding and a funeral. i wear white. i shield my eyes.
it just sounds good
i really don't have anything to say
i don't know what orange or yellow is
they sat next to each other on the sill
that's all
that's all
when you call
i will say
i'm giving this up
i've decided to be good now
ambition is a sickness
and i've been sent to the infirmary
did anyone ever tell you, it's lying to myself that lets me lie to you? oh my angel, i don't know a single thing. i became white white white with all my lies. i am dressed for a christening and a wedding and a funeral. i wear white. i shield my eyes.
Monday, February 17, 2014
screwed from the jump
you're hot
and i'm bored to death of looking
i'm sick on high ceilings
turgid on light
all i've got is orange and yellow
and a yearning for linen
nubs on cloth
the way the light passes through cream colored pjs
i've got eyes and maybe they're bad
you're what absorbs light and shows up in the black window
lamps are there too
but they're giving off
screwed from the jump
the jump i mean is
an older male relative who comes too close
the no-alternatives, lacrosse lifestyle
the wicked tricks of fat distribution as focal point for eyes
is that too much?
i retract
please type [redacted]
i'd rather be paying off synthetic body parts, my love
y'know?
i was born with a perception filter
but it's organic
so you can't pay that back or even really ask for it
i break down machines
i rolled up in foil
and you licked me
have you got a static tongue? have i? have i?
you're hot
and i'm bored to death of looking
i'm sick on high ceilings
turgid on light
all i've got is orange and yellow
and a yearning for linen
nubs on cloth
the way the light passes through cream colored pjs
i've got eyes and maybe they're bad
you're what absorbs light and shows up in the black window
lamps are there too
but they're giving off
screwed from the jump
the jump i mean is
an older male relative who comes too close
the no-alternatives, lacrosse lifestyle
the wicked tricks of fat distribution as focal point for eyes
is that too much?
i retract
please type [redacted]
i'd rather be paying off synthetic body parts, my love
y'know?
i was born with a perception filter
but it's organic
so you can't pay that back or even really ask for it
i break down machines
i rolled up in foil
and you licked me
have you got a static tongue? have i? have i?
Saturday, February 15, 2014
each day i reconstruct what i did today
- breakfast. 1 egg + 1 corn tortilla + decaf coffee, gulped.
- tell the neighbor that their dog is stuck in a tree and thank the boy on the street who told you but was too afraid to knock on the neighbor's door because of the dog (in the tree).
- get free vegetables from the farm across the street because it's saturday.
- slow motion movement - fucking the space - shaking. 5 minutes each.
- the polish exercises.
- 1. move across the floor without using your legs, on your back, with your arms crossed across your stomach.
- 2. same as above, but on your belly, arms dead at your sides.
- 3. move across floor, legs up in the air, arms across chest. (you can move your legs.)
- low-slow-flow. contact improv, 5 minutes: stay low, move smoothly (flowing), move slow.
- lapdance. in duos; one person lies across other's lap, tailbone aligned with sternum, and rolls over and over toward sitting partner. sitting partner manipulates legs, torso freely, maintaining alignment; switch freely.
- tops and bottoms. in duos; again, perpendicular. bottom partner rolls, attempting to get partner on top to fall off; top partner tries to stay on top, using contact improv principles (i.e. keep giving weight, stay in contact, move smoothly.) switch.
- fixed point of contact. partner up, choose a fixed point of contact between your bodies, excluding the arms past the elbows and legs past the knees. move, holding this point (ex. left shoulder to right collarbone). repeat with a new partner and a more awkward point (ex. mouth to crotch, ear to ear, etc.)
- choose a partner. lie on top of them (face to face, top person is giving full weight) for 5 minutes. after 2 minutes, person on bottom begins talking nonstop (stream of consciousness). top partners go stand against wall and then choose new partners to lie on top of.
- 3-3-3. three people try to get across the floor, can only have 3 points of contact with the floor, must all be in contact with each other, only 3 steps in any given configuration. get across the floor. repeat as 5-4-3 (five people, four points of contact, three steps).
- eat lunch. walk to the co-op. smoke cigarettes. eat ice cream.
- read heteropatriarchy and the three pillars of white supremacy by andrea smith, slow. i.e., 1 person reads a paragraph, then discuss; reread if anyone requests; move on if desired. no need to read the whole article.
- questions game with movement: you can only speak in questions. move freely. ask questions. end whenever it ends.
- restage political theatre developed by keith hennessy/"turbulence" project -- a street theatre piece about the shooting of a bipolar man, 20 times, in a theatre in san francisco. (http://www.sfbg.com/36/17/news_tragedy.html)
- discuss pussy riot. restage "punk prayer/virgin mary, put putin away" with 3 people screaming lyrics (in english) and one person making electric guitar noises. discuss.
- ask keith for book recommendations.
- make out. discuss love and queerness and making art in this world-culture-economy. idea of a support group for artists confronting political and social issues.
- bike home. check email. smoke a cigarette and try to call my friends. read about the shittiness of uchicago support for survivors of sexual assault and article ideas/submissions for the next issue of the country grind quarterly. drink wine. make macaroni and cheese. write a blog post and think about my day/life.
- bike to a one-woman show of the vagina monologues. cry and laugh.
- walk home with lover. look at the moon and blossoming trees. talk about love and past relationships and projects and freedom.
- eat toast.
- tell the neighbor that their dog is stuck in a tree and thank the boy on the street who told you but was too afraid to knock on the neighbor's door because of the dog (in the tree).
- get free vegetables from the farm across the street because it's saturday.
- slow motion movement - fucking the space - shaking. 5 minutes each.
- the polish exercises.
- 1. move across the floor without using your legs, on your back, with your arms crossed across your stomach.
- 2. same as above, but on your belly, arms dead at your sides.
- 3. move across floor, legs up in the air, arms across chest. (you can move your legs.)
- low-slow-flow. contact improv, 5 minutes: stay low, move smoothly (flowing), move slow.
- lapdance. in duos; one person lies across other's lap, tailbone aligned with sternum, and rolls over and over toward sitting partner. sitting partner manipulates legs, torso freely, maintaining alignment; switch freely.
- tops and bottoms. in duos; again, perpendicular. bottom partner rolls, attempting to get partner on top to fall off; top partner tries to stay on top, using contact improv principles (i.e. keep giving weight, stay in contact, move smoothly.) switch.
- fixed point of contact. partner up, choose a fixed point of contact between your bodies, excluding the arms past the elbows and legs past the knees. move, holding this point (ex. left shoulder to right collarbone). repeat with a new partner and a more awkward point (ex. mouth to crotch, ear to ear, etc.)
- choose a partner. lie on top of them (face to face, top person is giving full weight) for 5 minutes. after 2 minutes, person on bottom begins talking nonstop (stream of consciousness). top partners go stand against wall and then choose new partners to lie on top of.
- 3-3-3. three people try to get across the floor, can only have 3 points of contact with the floor, must all be in contact with each other, only 3 steps in any given configuration. get across the floor. repeat as 5-4-3 (five people, four points of contact, three steps).
- eat lunch. walk to the co-op. smoke cigarettes. eat ice cream.
- read heteropatriarchy and the three pillars of white supremacy by andrea smith, slow. i.e., 1 person reads a paragraph, then discuss; reread if anyone requests; move on if desired. no need to read the whole article.
- questions game with movement: you can only speak in questions. move freely. ask questions. end whenever it ends.
- restage political theatre developed by keith hennessy/"turbulence" project -- a street theatre piece about the shooting of a bipolar man, 20 times, in a theatre in san francisco. (http://www.sfbg.com/36/17/news_tragedy.html)
- discuss pussy riot. restage "punk prayer/virgin mary, put putin away" with 3 people screaming lyrics (in english) and one person making electric guitar noises. discuss.
- ask keith for book recommendations.
- make out. discuss love and queerness and making art in this world-culture-economy. idea of a support group for artists confronting political and social issues.
- bike home. check email. smoke a cigarette and try to call my friends. read about the shittiness of uchicago support for survivors of sexual assault and article ideas/submissions for the next issue of the country grind quarterly. drink wine. make macaroni and cheese. write a blog post and think about my day/life.
- bike to a one-woman show of the vagina monologues. cry and laugh.
- walk home with lover. look at the moon and blossoming trees. talk about love and past relationships and projects and freedom.
- eat toast.
Friday, February 14, 2014
you're on your off. will power.
get me out of here
these are words i can definitely say
as power is lurking
self-revolving
fingering a random orb
sitting here shaking
considering light
why have i shied away
all these years
growing straight
not without knobs and chains
a tight coil undressing its tension
a music finds a buried line
something of its own is
rising done with talking
it's 80 n' clear
jouissance sol
jouissance polyritmique
jouissance solo!
old yid, old kid
yr pink streaked on the inside
and so's the sky
you and the sky, kid!
jouissance de star studded overpasses
what's one panhandle or another
welcome to the flat plains
the kid spreads out
it's the sun coming straight for your eyeballs
who's a tight coil?
it's the kid, it's the kid!
kiss the nation-state hello for me old yid
press your lips to the cactus
i don't wanna rock
but i will if i gotta
jouissance polyritmique
jouissance solo!
old yid, old kid
yr pink streaked on the inside
and so's the sky
you and the sky, kid!
jouissance de star studded overpasses
what's one panhandle or another
welcome to the flat plains
the kid spreads out
it's the sun coming straight for your eyeballs
who's a tight coil?
it's the kid, it's the kid!
kiss the nation-state hello for me old yid
press your lips to the cactus
i don't wanna rock
but i will if i gotta
Thursday, February 13, 2014
miss miss uk miss
drove up to mich
and then after that
WELCOME TO TEXAS
i was in jaipur when you were in lucknow
yeah, we all got here the same way
there's money for research
and money for children
ah! allow me to introduce - the girls from Mexico City!
i'm in the borderlands
edgewater and water's edge
i'm pouring myself over the waterfall
of west central texas
tejanos and mexicanos
something about being historically not from here
the transplant flood
can you describe the light quality
of kingston upon thames
for the panel please
can you describe the parlor
in prague before you were an idea
a parlor
or one dusty book shelf?
plaques on the buildings in berlin
horse bones in the mountains maybe
frozen pipes in an old farmhouse
a slant-eyed uncle
and one who looks like a lennon-son
perhaps a lenin-son
and a levinson
on the grass is burnt a huge circle
where the ship touched down
its thrusters blasting a million degrees
and after that
what can you farm there?
i welcome my darling to texas
him and me and girls from Seattle
we burrow in
this is boring and this happens again
drove up to mich
and then after that
WELCOME TO TEXAS
i was in jaipur when you were in lucknow
yeah, we all got here the same way
there's money for research
and money for children
ah! allow me to introduce - the girls from Mexico City!
i'm in the borderlands
edgewater and water's edge
i'm pouring myself over the waterfall
of west central texas
tejanos and mexicanos
something about being historically not from here
the transplant flood
can you describe the light quality
of kingston upon thames
for the panel please
can you describe the parlor
in prague before you were an idea
a parlor
or one dusty book shelf?
plaques on the buildings in berlin
horse bones in the mountains maybe
frozen pipes in an old farmhouse
a slant-eyed uncle
and one who looks like a lennon-son
perhaps a lenin-son
and a levinson
on the grass is burnt a huge circle
where the ship touched down
its thrusters blasting a million degrees
and after that
what can you farm there?
i welcome my darling to texas
him and me and girls from Seattle
we burrow in
this is boring and this happens again
Saturday, February 1, 2014
Mel Gibson has a house in my anus.
9/7/09
that's all i wrote
the title?
what the fuck
it's february 2014
what have you dropped in your nearly 5 years?
shit, nearly 5
i really want to know
p.s. goin through our drafts guys
p.s. i have been trying to reconcile my old selves
p.s. memory is shit
p.s. you, you were always, and continue to be, so brilliant
that's all i wrote
the title?
what the fuck
it's february 2014
what have you dropped in your nearly 5 years?
shit, nearly 5
i really want to know
p.s. goin through our drafts guys
p.s. i have been trying to reconcile my old selves
p.s. memory is shit
p.s. you, you were always, and continue to be, so brilliant
wow, i forgot i wrote this and now i don't even remember who it was for
i bought you a planet and a shore and you can have it if you ask because even though i had to pay all these dollars to get it it was kind of worth and i'd always thought i'd rather give it to someone else than keep it for myself. there are no shelves and no tables and nowhere to keep your stuff and it's not the most comfortable and there are no amenities like running water or electricity, but i'm sure we can build that if we like. and there's no guarantee that someone else won't buy me out, because that's the nature of the market. and i know the sand looks terrible because so many people have been here before and we might have to spend weeks picking up the debris and who knows what's in the woods over there because i forgot to bring my map. no they were out of maps at the visitor center. i'm probably totally allergic to the flora here.
you can have it. you can have it because i think you think that no one would think to do that for you. you're so dumb. you're a dolt, an idiot.
i have such poetry in my mouth that must be written on your neck in saliva. here is my promise: i'll never want to marry you, but i will want to fuck you by the time i've cropped my hair close and started to only wear Eileen Fisher. god, i hope you're still dumb then too. i hope you never get wise.
you can have it. you can have it because i think you think that no one would think to do that for you. you're so dumb. you're a dolt, an idiot.
i have such poetry in my mouth that must be written on your neck in saliva. here is my promise: i'll never want to marry you, but i will want to fuck you by the time i've cropped my hair close and started to only wear Eileen Fisher. god, i hope you're still dumb then too. i hope you never get wise.
Thursday, January 30, 2014
on dying? and you? and you?
filled up to bursting. whether ice in the mouth or whether sweat in the space heater's forgiving eye. folded up bones, pushed so close they grind and hurt. filled up to spilling. yes? is this what you mean? no? more on this later, no, more on this now.
she calls herself my work girlfriend, my world is all girls now, a slight gravy of dripping in boy from time to time and then it's mostly me doing the boyness, more on this later (maybe never, don't look too close please, walking next to zeena when we're 10 and she's still shorter than me and i think, "am i a boy?"), at dinner she told the table that i was flirting with everyone from behind the counter, can other people see what we can't? (bursting and spilling over but finding skin to fold it back in again, to keep it secret, the river's run is gushing)
she has a boyfriend. he is subject of great complaint because he is sad. standing behind the counter, i'm leaking vaguely. "i want to talk to him" that's me and "why" that's her and me again "i know him, i know him from everything you've said. we drop our bodies the same. he needs me, i promise." i'd like to be two waterfalls in the same room. the river's run is gushing. is this what you mean?
and then there's mothers and muses, yes? love that is hard to return because it's so far away, yes? and not pushing too hard and asking too much, right? the small and the large. the smell of your own pillow. the balanced equation of a good flick of the wrist. all the shoes you've ever owned. the remembered bits that still have blank spots. the distance between now and some highschool mathematics class. what time you woke up. the punishment you devised. where your phone is buried underneath cast off pants, right? the not-good soup you fucked up.
i mean even (or especially) when things are good and you are in the mud up to your neck like a delighted barn-yard animal, dying dying dying and you'd think people would notice that you are about to combust at any moment, but they don't of course. is this what you mean?
she calls herself my work girlfriend, my world is all girls now, a slight gravy of dripping in boy from time to time and then it's mostly me doing the boyness, more on this later (maybe never, don't look too close please, walking next to zeena when we're 10 and she's still shorter than me and i think, "am i a boy?"), at dinner she told the table that i was flirting with everyone from behind the counter, can other people see what we can't? (bursting and spilling over but finding skin to fold it back in again, to keep it secret, the river's run is gushing)
she has a boyfriend. he is subject of great complaint because he is sad. standing behind the counter, i'm leaking vaguely. "i want to talk to him" that's me and "why" that's her and me again "i know him, i know him from everything you've said. we drop our bodies the same. he needs me, i promise." i'd like to be two waterfalls in the same room. the river's run is gushing. is this what you mean?
and then there's mothers and muses, yes? love that is hard to return because it's so far away, yes? and not pushing too hard and asking too much, right? the small and the large. the smell of your own pillow. the balanced equation of a good flick of the wrist. all the shoes you've ever owned. the remembered bits that still have blank spots. the distance between now and some highschool mathematics class. what time you woke up. the punishment you devised. where your phone is buried underneath cast off pants, right? the not-good soup you fucked up.
i mean even (or especially) when things are good and you are in the mud up to your neck like a delighted barn-yard animal, dying dying dying and you'd think people would notice that you are about to combust at any moment, but they don't of course. is this what you mean?
Monday, January 27, 2014
what is the soul? - more questions
"as performers, we're faced with several crucial problems:
what is the soul?
what does it long for?
what are these spirits who inhabit our bodies trying to tell us?
inevitably, what these spirits desperately need to tell us reveals both in our day-to-day lives, and in our performances. because those spirits are so desperate to convey their feelings, they do so without the slightest restraint. at times, it's almost as though they're begging us, 'please, please look.' keep in mind though, that unless you visibly tear yourself apart, we won't understand what those spirits in ou are trying to say."
- kazuo ohno
what is it to be an american
artist
inspired most by the work
emergent from other cultures
responding to american/westernization
civilization
cultural invasion?
what is the relationship of one's heritage and place
to one's soul
and intuition?
(as a sidenote,
i still feel as if i may die at any moment, perhaps tomorrow--
and you? and you? and now? and now?)
what is the soul?
what does it long for?
what are these spirits who inhabit our bodies trying to tell us?
inevitably, what these spirits desperately need to tell us reveals both in our day-to-day lives, and in our performances. because those spirits are so desperate to convey their feelings, they do so without the slightest restraint. at times, it's almost as though they're begging us, 'please, please look.' keep in mind though, that unless you visibly tear yourself apart, we won't understand what those spirits in ou are trying to say."
- kazuo ohno
what is it to be an american
artist
inspired most by the work
emergent from other cultures
responding to american/westernization
civilization
cultural invasion?
what is the relationship of one's heritage and place
to one's soul
and intuition?
(as a sidenote,
i still feel as if i may die at any moment, perhaps tomorrow--
and you? and you? and now? and now?)
Saturday, January 25, 2014
Friday, January 24, 2014
questions
here,
will the trees
never undress themselves
to wait for the snow?
where will my bruises go
when they leave my hips and my shoulders?
if the stars are pinpricks,
where are the edges of the fabric of the sky?
how shall i know what to listen to
when there are so many voices?
could we exhaust the possibilities
of how a human body can move?
where does the beauty of youth go
when one is no longer young?
can dirt come in through your pores and become part of your body?
what is it to dance?
is there ever an ant who lives alone?
if it is warm and sunny,
does winter come without claws and shrieks?
when will the rain come?
will the trees
never undress themselves
to wait for the snow?
where will my bruises go
when they leave my hips and my shoulders?
if the stars are pinpricks,
where are the edges of the fabric of the sky?
how shall i know what to listen to
when there are so many voices?
could we exhaust the possibilities
of how a human body can move?
where does the beauty of youth go
when one is no longer young?
can dirt come in through your pores and become part of your body?
what is it to dance?
is there ever an ant who lives alone?
if it is warm and sunny,
does winter come without claws and shrieks?
when will the rain come?
Thursday, January 23, 2014
if big brother insidious then big sister benighted
on the telephone you become somebody's blister
this is how
not-kingrichard on your feet and in the night
the crusade in new jerusalem
happening on your behalf
your knights move against each other
you are black and you are white
you are glass and marble
(and hey if the child bleeds how will you know)
england is so many miles away
this is how you become somebody's sister
if he can ask for himself then maybe you can too
they handed us rotten coils of rope, my little darling, my fondest hope
planks crumble and raccoons take up residence, oh baby who is not my baby
the gods in our house
blazed through the sky in their chariots
one heading west in the morning
and one heading east
that is how they played it
it worked far better than if they had carved the same path
if i am thirteen and you are five
how can we be the same
we share the flouride and chlorine stains
in our teeth and hair
what did we know
they way they talked about us to each other
we listened too closely
our obedience is spun so finely
it's almost like wearing nothing at all
he says the name over and over again
so its written down with meaning inside our cheeks
i get cankers
you repeat
i've spit out everything that is my mouth
but on the phone is a full blister
on the telephone you become somebody's blister
this is how
not-kingrichard on your feet and in the night
the crusade in new jerusalem
happening on your behalf
your knights move against each other
you are black and you are white
you are glass and marble
(and hey if the child bleeds how will you know)
england is so many miles away
this is how you become somebody's sister
if he can ask for himself then maybe you can too
they handed us rotten coils of rope, my little darling, my fondest hope
planks crumble and raccoons take up residence, oh baby who is not my baby
the gods in our house
blazed through the sky in their chariots
one heading west in the morning
and one heading east
that is how they played it
it worked far better than if they had carved the same path
if i am thirteen and you are five
how can we be the same
we share the flouride and chlorine stains
in our teeth and hair
what did we know
they way they talked about us to each other
we listened too closely
our obedience is spun so finely
it's almost like wearing nothing at all
he says the name over and over again
so its written down with meaning inside our cheeks
i get cankers
you repeat
i've spit out everything that is my mouth
but on the phone is a full blister
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Hey fox! thinking you would like this
ANTHEM
by Ariana Reines
I am a mart in the dog and look, here's some merchandise. I am a mart in the dog. Aye.
Being a mart in the dog is like being a world: overstated.
Do you know what love is if you are a mart in a dog. You sell Hoodsies and cigarettes and lotto tickets. You are real.
Do you know what a dog is if you are trapped inside of him.
Everything is part of something.
I am part of something because my life is so stupid.
Being a mousse made of stars in the night that I want to feel is being too because I am gluey like a girl.
I even am a girl. Wow, fuck me.
Being a night inside of the mouth of a loved boy. Red black and shiny teeth with a tongue. The word of a loved boy has sense.
In mart where there are newspapers and burnt coffee all night long, bic pens in a jar, scratch tickets and pornography, everything's ok. I am not the nice man in the mart I am the mart itself, which is inside of a dog who would love me by instinct except he doesn't know I am inside of him and a mart isn't an I.
Infinity has got to become mine so that I can know which way to turn, so that I can know in what direction something like morning is breaking.
by Ariana Reines
I am a mart in the dog and look, here's some merchandise. I am a mart in the dog. Aye.
Being a mart in the dog is like being a world: overstated.
Do you know what love is if you are a mart in a dog. You sell Hoodsies and cigarettes and lotto tickets. You are real.
Do you know what a dog is if you are trapped inside of him.
Everything is part of something.
I am part of something because my life is so stupid.
Being a mousse made of stars in the night that I want to feel is being too because I am gluey like a girl.
I even am a girl. Wow, fuck me.
Being a night inside of the mouth of a loved boy. Red black and shiny teeth with a tongue. The word of a loved boy has sense.
In mart where there are newspapers and burnt coffee all night long, bic pens in a jar, scratch tickets and pornography, everything's ok. I am not the nice man in the mart I am the mart itself, which is inside of a dog who would love me by instinct except he doesn't know I am inside of him and a mart isn't an I.
Infinity has got to become mine so that I can know which way to turn, so that I can know in what direction something like morning is breaking.
sometimes
i cannot feel things
how can this be
sex delivered on screens
screams haved no sound
my my my what has happening
yet the longer i dwell
the less there is to tell
it’s just a feeling after all
of loneliness so strong and threatening
as to make one feel heightened mid-fall
but there’s nothing unique about it
this drama repeats
Monday, January 20, 2014
where are we if not above or below the gazes of the others.
policing the gestures that strive toward unpredictable arrangement
busy drowning to
make waves, decorate their places upon the shore
water that their toes may appreciate
upon warms sands
“look at the ones out there
the idiots swimming
in cold dark water”
their hair delightfully engaging the wind without risk
bodies as wholesome objects fattening luxuriously spreading outward
their hunger taking on superfluously, leaning toward getting fucked
browning under the sun
dreaming of designs and change
with uncertain amounts of pain.
Sunday, January 19, 2014
yeah where is everybody sez elliot, well here's a poem i was juts planning to post :)
--
dear thread, hey way,
me n sweetie took a road trip to mt real.
walked the fuck all around the over every never ending this is hard to believe.
je mange pa le ble'.
downstairs at the upstairs jazz bar clib i had a duke old fashioned, which is whiskey, so that's 21 dec 2013 to 18 jan 2014.
for the record.
three hundred eighty sum days without.
impact and intent.
record of silence.
--
dear thread, hey way,
me n sweetie took a road trip to mt real.
walked the fuck all around the over every never ending this is hard to believe.
je mange pa le ble'.
downstairs at the upstairs jazz bar clib i had a duke old fashioned, which is whiskey, so that's 21 dec 2013 to 18 jan 2014.
for the record.
three hundred eighty sum days without.
impact and intent.
record of silence.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
also this is interesting
http://www.designingasociety.net/
i am in RESOURCE MODE
like making connections like knitting except at the end i DO NOT HAVE A SCARF
dropping words and pennies and then waiting for them to show up in a water fountain
you know, i really think i see it as a good thing in my life when the same advice/recommendation/etc. is coming from two directions at the same time,
this is happening because i am in RESOURCE MODE
and i feel a bit like a spider
an owl-mirror spider-dancer internet-crawling bike-about-er
maybe it is because i realized i will never fully integrate all of my parts
and so i want to integrate the world around me
weave webs tight as blankets that will serve as the walls
of our yurt-trailers in our utopic-dystopic queer perma-village of ephemera
when all of the RESOURCES are gathered
and there will be no more cracks to fall through because
we will not set up our village on a faultline or a cliff
and the crumbling that's happening will be mostly composting
instead of widespread precarity
in the face of precarity i launch into RESOURCE MODE
i danced it today
here's the new game, from leslie who learned it from a butoh artist in the bay who has a very long name that sounds like 'boat':
divide yourselves into pairs, lay out a rope on the ground.
not too neat, squiggled around.
one person goes to the beginning of the rope and closes their eyes.
they will walk, heel to toe, along the length of the rope without falling off, and their partner
holds their hand. the next pair follows, and so on.
upon completing the rope-path, switch roles;
when finished, take a few minutes to discuss.
optional follow-up: stand across the space from your partner. walk toward each other, precariously, with the same feeling as when you walked on the rope, maintaining connection and eye contact the whole time. when you meet, express your state through movement and sound, until satisfied. optionally, discuss.
i am in RESOURCE MODE
like making connections like knitting except at the end i DO NOT HAVE A SCARF
dropping words and pennies and then waiting for them to show up in a water fountain
you know, i really think i see it as a good thing in my life when the same advice/recommendation/etc. is coming from two directions at the same time,
this is happening because i am in RESOURCE MODE
and i feel a bit like a spider
an owl-mirror spider-dancer internet-crawling bike-about-er
maybe it is because i realized i will never fully integrate all of my parts
and so i want to integrate the world around me
weave webs tight as blankets that will serve as the walls
of our yurt-trailers in our utopic-dystopic queer perma-village of ephemera
when all of the RESOURCES are gathered
and there will be no more cracks to fall through because
we will not set up our village on a faultline or a cliff
and the crumbling that's happening will be mostly composting
instead of widespread precarity
in the face of precarity i launch into RESOURCE MODE
i danced it today
here's the new game, from leslie who learned it from a butoh artist in the bay who has a very long name that sounds like 'boat':
divide yourselves into pairs, lay out a rope on the ground.
not too neat, squiggled around.
one person goes to the beginning of the rope and closes their eyes.
they will walk, heel to toe, along the length of the rope without falling off, and their partner
holds their hand. the next pair follows, and so on.
upon completing the rope-path, switch roles;
when finished, take a few minutes to discuss.
optional follow-up: stand across the space from your partner. walk toward each other, precariously, with the same feeling as when you walked on the rope, maintaining connection and eye contact the whole time. when you meet, express your state through movement and sound, until satisfied. optionally, discuss.
these are totally some of our friends
http://farmpunk.blogspot.com/
more soon. dance camp is intense and great and weird and there are many more specific things to say, like today i spent 5 minutes curled up sucking my thumb and then moved about it, like floating interviews and learning release again and again and again, my first aerial class today was so fucking hard i thought i might cry, getting inspired by this amazing studio art-space collective and super down-to-earth creators. more. i am dancing till tired then scheming and planning. i have ideas. i wanna hear yours too.
also i am kind of lonely here, moments between busyness, wow where are my friends and my cats? maybe i will make some friends; maybe the ocean.
more soon. dance camp is intense and great and weird and there are many more specific things to say, like today i spent 5 minutes curled up sucking my thumb and then moved about it, like floating interviews and learning release again and again and again, my first aerial class today was so fucking hard i thought i might cry, getting inspired by this amazing studio art-space collective and super down-to-earth creators. more. i am dancing till tired then scheming and planning. i have ideas. i wanna hear yours too.
also i am kind of lonely here, moments between busyness, wow where are my friends and my cats? maybe i will make some friends; maybe the ocean.
Saturday, January 11, 2014
lol
DECEMBER 2012//
miami fucking sucks
i hear it's the new new york
new york is set to sink in the next 10 years
so they're moving all their crap down here
and no doubt all that steel, all those dollars
all those eyeless bastards/sunglassed douchebags
will weigh this swamp into the ground
and round and round we go
this the place of my nightmares.
synthetic sounds of peaceful nature
make my body quease
can you imagine?
keyboard seagulls
sunsets for your facebook cover photo
birds of paradise seat covers for your backseat
i grew up in a place
where the only rivers are 8 cars deep
what little life remains is parched
dying under the heat of a sun
untempered by all the taken-out trees
we're talking grim looks
heat, hostility
stained skin
on blinding fields of asphalt leading to warehouses of concrete
a burning hellscape
a city that turns into a sirening underworld
of shadows of hunger of sick men
right around 6 o clock
and until the next business day resumes
a whole fucking half of every day you are forced to be resigned
to the safety of your house
or else all the fucking depravity of these lost dicks
will sic you like the last happy meal on earth
landscaping means palm trees
because
what is imagination?
the party doesn't stop but your creativity certainly did
and everything
EVERYTHING
has a price tag.
i thought miami reminded me how to be utterly irresponsible,
cuz i can use doses of that,
but it really reminds me how to feel - culturally, soulfully - POOR.
----------------
woah i was kinda a classist bitch here at the end
DECEMBER 2012//
miami fucking sucks
i hear it's the new new york
new york is set to sink in the next 10 years
so they're moving all their crap down here
and no doubt all that steel, all those dollars
all those eyeless bastards/sunglassed douchebags
will weigh this swamp into the ground
and round and round we go
this the place of my nightmares.
synthetic sounds of peaceful nature
make my body quease
can you imagine?
keyboard seagulls
sunsets for your facebook cover photo
birds of paradise seat covers for your backseat
i grew up in a place
where the only rivers are 8 cars deep
what little life remains is parched
dying under the heat of a sun
untempered by all the taken-out trees
we're talking grim looks
heat, hostility
stained skin
on blinding fields of asphalt leading to warehouses of concrete
a burning hellscape
a city that turns into a sirening underworld
of shadows of hunger of sick men
right around 6 o clock
and until the next business day resumes
a whole fucking half of every day you are forced to be resigned
to the safety of your house
or else all the fucking depravity of these lost dicks
will sic you like the last happy meal on earth
landscaping means palm trees
because
what is imagination?
the party doesn't stop but your creativity certainly did
and everything
EVERYTHING
has a price tag.
i thought miami reminded me how to be utterly irresponsible,
cuz i can use doses of that,
but it really reminds me how to feel - culturally, soulfully - POOR.
----------------
woah i was kinda a classist bitch here at the end
FEBRUARY//2012
i'm a girl i'm a girl i'm a girl
oh my god i'm a girl
and when i dance
strange things happen
like melodies take shape
and eyes change lanes
and i become the anger the amusement the need
of all the women who have worn my blood
the women for whom i am another chance, a hope for our future,
who were asked not to dance, (not to dance?!!!)
too sexual
too impractical
too free, too alive
who bled from their wombs just to scream
who hid their wilderness in a pair of jeans
who never stopped dreaming, eyes lingering out the window
hearts snapping
my mother,
my grandmother,
and so and so saint, may they ravage in sleep
and i perform
yes, i perform
and not to see your shit-eating jawdrop
but because performing is living
to move outside yourself, interact with the world,
to know that you are being seen anyway
and so you may as well make it spiritual beautiful
hell, shakespeare said it, no? all the world's a stage.
it's not so scarey when you take responsibility
for the character you create.
and you are creating, aren't you?
the way i see it,
we wear masks now having seen each other's real faces
we wear godshifting costumes
knowing that we'd give it all away
i'm a girl i'm a girl i'm a girl
oh my god i'm a girl
and when i dance
strange things happen
like melodies take shape
and eyes change lanes
and i become the anger the amusement the need
of all the women who have worn my blood
the women for whom i am another chance, a hope for our future,
who were asked not to dance, (not to dance?!!!)
too sexual
too impractical
too free, too alive
who bled from their wombs just to scream
who hid their wilderness in a pair of jeans
who never stopped dreaming, eyes lingering out the window
hearts snapping
my mother,
my grandmother,
and so and so saint, may they ravage in sleep
and i perform
yes, i perform
and not to see your shit-eating jawdrop
but because performing is living
to move outside yourself, interact with the world,
to know that you are being seen anyway
and so you may as well make it spiritual beautiful
hell, shakespeare said it, no? all the world's a stage.
it's not so scarey when you take responsibility
for the character you create.
and you are creating, aren't you?
the way i see it,
we wear masks now having seen each other's real faces
we wear godshifting costumes
knowing that we'd give it all away
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
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