the human fur is burnt
the human fur is burnt
I wanted the fire to rise off of its keeper and spit up its fury onto the cliffs
of their shoulders. I wanted their trance-like curiosity to make the shape
of gray smoke and puff up the sacs of their lungs while they choked on
the swamp of their voyeurism.
I’m the magic and the mundane, naked and dishonest, I am knife and bladed
spine. I hold the attention of the virtuous and empty. I break the will and block
the path of the sovereign. I suck up the soft earth, pulling in the meat of seal,
shellfish, and sheep.
I spear the crowd. Their heavy eyes close—hypnotic coil, dance, dark, dense,
food for fire is the oil of hair—the human fur is burnt.
It crumbles like an antique September snow.
for ReadWritePoem Prompt #90
Filed under: brain matter, curious, dangerous, holograms, humanoid | 10 Comments
bleed your food
Together, with the palms of my hands and the intelligent moon, we drew the outlines of horses in the dirt and watched them balloon up and grow skin and muscle. We cut them with knives to be convinced of their possession of blood. Then we ate our conjured horses. It was savagery in its purest form. Grow your food, I tell my moon, bleed you food, my moon tells me. The pores in the palms of my hands sprouted flowers that fell over limp towards the ground to get tangled in the teeth of the horse skull. The black and white petals swept over a puddle of fresh mucus that had leaked from its nose when it fought us and our knives. The sound of our grinding teeth could be heard for miles. the sounds of our savergy can be heard thousands of years into the future and the past.
Filed under: knives, moth, owl bones, parade | Leave a Comment
bone breeds a baby
The bone i found is from the lower half of her body. It’s covered in dust. I wash it clean. I add it to a large bowl of other bones. Some from her body, some from other bodies. Some bones are teeth. Some bones and fake bones, stolen bones from the hips of museum dinosaurs, some are from the jaws of mermaids and large fish. I arrange the bones together. Fusing fish with fawn, dinosaur with deer, human with hyena. I smear my sweat on the monster. I wait for it to produce heat. I listen for the cracking sound of new bone growing. I hide and reemerge. I find it healthy and fat, dripping and organic, I find it alive and large, animal and plastic. My science awake and conscious with its own beating heart. Bone breeds a baby.
Filed under: holograms, humanoid, i believe in sweaty people, knives, moss child | Leave a Comment
mime twin
mime twin
we gave the earth a worn down feeling like being rubbed all over with the cream of the apocalypse. We tarred and feathered the surfaces of the lakes and oceans. the water boiled underneath its new skin. my twin is a mime, silent, and owner of conjoined twin dogs. with her soundless mouth she tells me we need to leave and get to higher ground because the water, angry in its encrustation is becoming hot and she can tell the difference between the natural heat of the earth and the fire of a vengeful element tossed out of balance. i abandoned my tar and feathers and told my mime twin to leave her dogs. she mouthed, “the wind will eat them” and i told her, “no, the wind will feed them” then we left for higher ground. When we reached higher ground we saw the ocean below us burst out of its feathery tar crust, look around for its captor, make violent waves in confusion, then settle back down flat and peaceful and cool and liquid. and on the beach the wind that had been bullied by the waves was carrying on its current small beads of the juice of pear into the mouths of the dogs. my mime twin mouthed to me, “the wind is eating them” and i said, “no, the wind is feeding them”.
For ReadWritePoem Prompt #89
Filed under: moss child, owl bones, parade | 3 Comments
another project is nearing completion. much to be excited about. may take several weeks to a few months to finish. must put all my energy into it. hope you check it out. will post it here when it’s done.
Filed under: evolution, knowledge, moss child, what the world is made of | 2 Comments
We’ve been looking for ways out of this dark hole.
Together we clawed at the earth until our fingers bled.
I left a tooth in the dirt after biting into it.
I want to leave this underground dampness.
I want to experience the surgery of the surface of the earth
And not watch myself get poked by bladed worm after bladed worm
And the moles, and blind snakes killing ants and drying the crumbles around them
I want the stars in the sky the fall into me
Slice up the seedbed and cut raw
Diamonds do damage when the rags tied around them start to weigh them down
We’ve been gnawing and clawing again.
At the roots of trees.
Sucking their oxygen until leaves die of starvation
And the tree dies.
And the roots uproot after whipping me with their vengeance
I was greedy and it stung
However long we’ve been bruised and bloody down here is of no importance
I want the game to cycle
I want the land to flip over
The rabbits will eat the fruits of inverted trees
I want the land to come to me this time.
I’m not going to it.
We’ll make a stain on the process of things.
Advert our attentions from the proposed laws
And the willingness of the buried and the dead and the helpless and sick
Will grow downward into the sweat of the rocks.
Filed under: holograms, moss child, weeping willow, what the world is made of | Leave a Comment
I think obsessively. About harmful things. Long spiny things full of metal and salt. I wish I’d stop thinking. I’d wish the long windows of the earth would close to me and nothing would leak in for me to considerer. But surely the clouds with clowns strapped to their moist tops riding them like cattle would pass through the glass and I’d ponder the unreal and psychotic blues of the pearl curled around the grain of sand. I’ve been in love with my mind for six whole weeks now. I don’t love anything else but my mind. I like the way it bends towards substance and playful feet. I like the way it stretches into my stomach because it’s hungry and my mind is smart enough to know where the food is, even if it’s chewed up and mixed with acid. My mind doesn’t care. It like food in a dull pooling wasteland. My mind takes a bath in the rut. It rots next to the rotting things. I wish to know your clan. Your hand that wipes the curls away like ropes on a thin line on the forward. I love your beam, your lightning stream. I can’t regress. I can’t always forgive the un-loyal. They went away to bite at the ankles of false love that hung like a loose bandage over their loneliness. I hate the way I cleansed their wounds and they repaid me by not listening to the beating drum of health. I beat my own drum. I carried a collapsed soul on my back for six weeks. I cleaned its teeth. I buried it underground. I told a story. I folded the pavement. Hard sediment melted in my hot hands when the heat came to me and frayed at the edges of everything I touched. My mind molds the blanket of this earth and I saw around the corner two spools of thread. I tied it to my thumb and ate a ripe banana while a rose petal tickled me between my toes.
Filed under: brain matter, curious, holograms, moss child | Leave a Comment
I smelled the apocalypse coming and I ran like a rat with pearl in her mouth. I smelled the apocalypse coming and I ran like a rat with copper in her mouth. I smelled the fire coming and I ran like a rat with wire through her tongue. My elephant waits for me next to the door marked july in red. My elephant waits for me to open the bunker door marked july in red ink. I am a rat with pearl in her mouth. I open the door. I shove in the fat of my elephant then I take the rest of her body and throw it in after the fat and I know I will stitch her up when I close the door marked july in red. I smelled the apocalypse coming and I ran like a rat with metal in her mouth. I’ve got metal in my mouth. I sleep in the fat of my elephant. I am warm. I smell the dust and fire in the air. I wait. I gnaw at my elephant. she gnaws at me. we bake and boil. we steam. I’d love a story right now. I’d love a spoonful of milk. I’d love a river. I’d love a terribly long joke.
Filed under: moss child, moth, parade, weeping willow, what the world is made of | 1 Comment
animal skeleton slideshow
Filed under: brain matter, curious, evolution, knowledge, press play, what the world is made of | Leave a Comment
brand new, birth, a baby of life
my wise morning came after such strange dreams that were in conflict with what i requested.
chameleon, adaptation, adopt new knowledge
a man came to my door with a box of supplies. building materials. machines and chemicals of progress.
possible selves, curiosity, childlike
ooooh. the robotic fingers and the whispered apologies and the burnt pieces of small paper and the windows inviting in fragrant pigeons.
authentic, no false face, peeled layers
all my bones and blisters stitched together with wire and thorns, cactus spines and splinters
abundant, radiant, fluid
posture that rivals the giraffe, vertebrae bridge, flexible as dust
Filed under: brain matter, curious, evolution, moss child, owl bones | Leave a Comment
bacteria colonizing on a petri dish bacteria colonizing on a petri dish bacteria colonizing on a petri dish bacteria colonizing on a petri dish bacteria colonizing on a petri dish bacteria colonizing on a petri dish bacteria colonizing on a petri dish bacteria colonizing on a petri dish bacteria colonizing on a petri dish bacteria
i grow on all kinds of things i grow on all kinds of things i grow on all kinds of things i grow on all kinds of things i grow on all kinds of things i grow on all kinds of things i grow on all kinds of things i grow on all kinds of things i grow on all kinds of things
i call attention to myself i call attention to myself i call attention to myself i call attention to myself i call attention to myself i call attention to myself i call attention to myself i call attention to myself i call attention to myself i call
i find new ways of being odd and pathetic i find new ways of being odd and pathetic i find new ways of being odd and pathetic i find new ways of being odd and pathetic i find new ways of being odd and pathetic i find new ways of being odd and pathetic
i purple and destroy i purple and destroy i purple and destroy i purple and destroy i purple and destroy i purple and destroy i purple and destroy i purple and destroy i purple and destroy i purple and destroy i purple and destroy i purple and destroy i
i don’t use the telephone i don’t use the telephone i don’t use the telephone i don’t use the don’t use the don’t use the telephone i don’t use the telephone i don’t use the telephone i don’t use the telephone i don’t use the telephone i don’t use
i fail to attract compatibility i fail to attract compatibility i fail to attract compatibility i fail to attract compatibility i fail to attract compatibility i fail to attract compatibility i fail to attract compatibility i fail to attract compatibility i
bacteria colonizing on a petri dish bacteria colonizing on a petri dish bacteria colonizing on a petri dish bacteria colonizing on a petri dish bacteria colonizing on a petri dish bacteria colonizing on a petri dish bacteria colonizing on a petri dish
Filed under: dangerous, knives, scarcity and fear, what the world is made of | Leave a Comment
i want your temperature
tonight i don’t feel well. but i know i’ll feel better in the morning because i always feel better in the morning. something about sleep is so healing. i want you to be here with me so i can show you how much someone needs to listen to me. i have so much to say. i need to talk about all the things i can’t see and feel yet. you have to tell me what they are. you’re going to be shocked when you see me and you’re going to want to pay attention because i believe it is in your nature to help. isn’t it? i’ll need you to make me some steamed rice. then carry me to bed. then hold my hand and tell me about your life and all the women you’ve loved, and the food you’ve shared, and the bones you’ve broken. and then you will leave. that is all. i don’t need anything else.
Filed under: evolution, parade, what the world is made of | Leave a Comment
i love how she speaks on trusting the universe
Filed under: so much exists outside you, the theater | Leave a Comment
gray days
i have writers block. i’ve always had it. since the beginning. and it just got worse. i got worse. as i got better i got worse. the time between pages grew longer. the pauses between words stretched out forever. it feels good to say it: i have writers block. or i have some kind of block. some one thing i’m not seeing clearly that could be erased from my life, from my sight, from my diet. i could clear it out and let things start circulating again. but what is it. how to find it. hypnosis, meditation. maybe i’m on a cycle. i’ll let it complete its course and when i’m 40 or 50 or 60 the real writing will begin. or i have writers block. i wrote twice last year. once in march, again in september. the last time was the most tragic. i spent three months on one page worth of words. three months and the thing is still sloppy but i pretend not to notice because to fix it would require years of revision and i don’t have it in me to face that kind of suffering. not yet. i can’t be a writer and produce like this. it’s pathetic, or an ailment, or a mind game, or possibly (unlikely) simply authentic. i remember feeling blissful and focused. i don’t remember the bliss and the focus, i just remember feeling that way when i produced well. what am i doing being lost like this. it’s a peculiar and hopeless fright. a fever. taking over. and i do it all in a vacuum without consoling or stopping for pleasant distractions. i just walk the balance beam of discontent and stagnancy always brave enough to jump off, always, but there is nothing to land on. and it’s not about taking risks, not this part, it’s about being nourished and warm. this part is about having enough to build with. it’s about collecting weaknesses and strengths and burying them underground and dreaming up the image of what you want to see grow. and then it grows. and it’s the color of your insides. and you smell it. and you eat it and blow its seeds into the wind and plant it again and imagine it again and then you chop it to pieces because it’s a part of you and you’re a part of everything else so nothing is ever destroyed and nothing is ever wasted. this part is about being so full of fats and cream and believing it and not returning to your frozen self who only has an appetite for metal.
Filed under: brain matter, evolution, knives, moss child, parade, the most civil, what the world is made of | 2 Comments
together we stole from the ocean thirteen elephants who didn’t belong there. we tied them to huge trees and set them on fire and watched them react without pain but rather the biting of their own trunks. we smiled like how we thought an elephant might smile and then we walked away to catch a new batch of misplaced animals and i remembered how much i hated being so full of fever. i left the ocean at sunset after balancing the children of the dead elephants on the horizon.
Filed under: brain matter, curious, evolution, moss child, press play, scarcity and fear, what the world is made of | Leave a Comment
it was very disappointing to see the much inferior movie Juno get an Oscar nomination and this one go without the recognition it deserved
Filed under: the theater | Leave a Comment
sometimes my right shoulder hurts really bad
sometimes i wake up at 11am and don’t eat until 2pm
sometimes i wake up at 11am and don’t get out of bed until 2pm
sometimes i think about how life would be better if i had a sister
sometimes i think about how life would be better if i didn’t grow up in a big city
sometimes i think i probably would get married if someone i loved actually asked me, even though nothing in me ever wants to get married, and the likelihood of me ever falling in love is so small love isn’t anything i even think about realistically
sometimes i take hour long showers, mostly standing still with my head down and eyes closed with the water hitting my back
sometimes i sit in complete darkness while listening to loud music or talking to myself or both
sometimes i really miss somebody even though i’ve never had a real, comfortable, fluid, friendly conversation with this person, just an odd, sloppy, awkward, unforgiving, peculiar interaction that i initiated because i didn’t know any better
sometimes i feel physically ill because i know my quality of life has been significantly lowered because of men’s sexism and misogyny, it would be really lovely to walk down the street and not hear ‘hey sexy’, ‘i want you’, damn, you’re fine’ and all the pathetic lines these piece of shit losers come up with.
and sometimes i think how if all the men in the world disappeared tomorrow women would easily adapt and set a path towards a very harmonious existence. if all the women disappeared from the planet tomorrow men would beat, rape, murder, and eat each other until they were all gone.
and sometimes i think that everything innately female is necessary for human survival while everything innately male is just extra, surplus, a bonus, but not necessary.
and sometimes i wish i knew at least one man who i believed was good and decent and kind and respectful and loving, then i would know there were others and i wouldn’t constantly feel the weight of a male dominated world shitting on the feminine perspective.
and sometimes i get really angry about all this and sometimes i cry about it too.
and sometimes i think the stress of it is taking years off my life.
sometimes i want to live in the middle of the woods
sometimes i think smokers are the most inconsiderate people on earth, actually i think this at all times because it’s true
sometimes i think i’ll be very rich and at other times i convince myself i’ll never make a single cent
sometimes i wonder why my relationship with the night time is so uncomfortable
sometimes i feel incredibly eccentric
sometimes i think about how much i regret going to college, doing the things i did, saying the things i said, studying the things i studied, getting the school loan debt i got
sometimes i want nothing more than admiration and adoration and a community of loyal followers
sometimes i want a very primitive and wild utopia where the weather is always 85 degrees and no one understands the concept of clothing
sometimes i want everyone to forget i exist
sometimes i want to erase my memory, my identity, and my ego
sometimes i feel i’ve given too much of my time to people who have judged me
sometimes i’m uncomfortably aware of the limitations of reality
sometimes i don’t understand how my loveliness goes unnoticed everyday
sometimes i think i’m having more interesting dreams than everyone else
sometimes i don’t understand why i’m not being actively loved by an admirer
sometimes i think there is danger all around me and it’s just a matter of time before it catches up to me and harms me beyond repair
sometimes i scream
sometimes i eat a really good mango
Filed under: curious, evolution, knowledge, scarcity and fear, so much exists outside you, weeping willow, what the world is made of | Leave a Comment
a quarter to midnight
dust, television, spiderwebs, glass of water, lamp light, bare feet, red paint, wool sweater, siren, 62 pages left to read in book, smudge on glasses, stillness, closed window, 53 degrees, closed curtains, longing, laughter, clothes on bed, looking for insects, cluttered desk, washer and dryer both off, anger, hardwood floors, commercials, anxious, sagging face, resentment, twitching, cracking toe bones, grudges, unusually bad posture
Filed under: curious, knives, what the world is made of | Leave a Comment
early morning/late morning
bamboo, male house finch, warm, sleepless, sun, npr, degenerate art ensemble, lint, bird seed, bamboo falling onto the tree, tulips, email, change positions, daydream, reflecting light, hole in linen pants, thinking about sewing, what’s for breakfast, going back to sleep, read, oatmeal, red bed sheets, cornmeal, butterfly, more bamboo, skin, mosquitoes will be here soon, sleep until noon, red-headed bird
Filed under: curious, press play, so much exists outside you, what the world is made of | Leave a Comment
War Zone
Filed under: a questioning, brain matter, knowledge, owl bones, the theater | Leave a Comment
potluck
i checked out three books and three DVDs from the library. my receipt only says i checked out three books and one DVD. i have now been put in a position to make the choice to steal or not to steal. but it’s not that hard. i’m going to take everything back on the day that everything should be due.
—
oh, memories. i’m learning to hold your hand a little bet less tight. not because you’re all bad. most of you aren’t that bad at all, just simply neutral: the map, the tree, the book, the beard, the noodles, the sea water, the handshake, the birds, the mitochondria, the walk, the rainbow, the sigh, the vitamin, the rubber, the third rail, the paper, the salt, the cartilage, the joke, the glass, the lamb meat, the laugh, the computer, the fall, the nail, the school, the heat, the cabbage, the cats, the dictionary, the bamboo, the buttons, the hose, the neighbor, the large and the small hands.
—
good news: i’ve prepared a feast of sound called “orchestra”. some words that are included: orchestra, elephant, squirm, envelope. and all this takes place over a neophyte yellow knit. the needles, so elegant absorbing the noise. if you squeeze the unused ball of yarn you’ll wonder why you’ve never taken flight before this moment. and in the mechanics of the notebook by the neophyte knit is nothing but effort, and maybe an experimentation in hand writing, or date collecting, kind of old, kind of sloppy, the right amounts of aesthetics and practice, many blank pages sitting patiently with no opinion of what needs to be spread out onto its surfaces.
—
oh love, a raggedy insect came during the night, on my ceiling. i’m so hesitant to write it because that makes it real, and i’m so awfully terrified of all things real and all things raggedy and insect. but it was killed. and another one is on its own path towards me unaware of the long stretches of preparation it takes to help me sleep peacefully.
and oh love, or not my love but a lovely thing you are, i imagined the weight of you next to me. and in all my glory and all your false and invisible glow, i tingled a bit in your artificial casing, not the real kind of embrace you might know, but the kind where i just pick a face that hasn’t been ruined for me yet, and yours, sir, i chose yours to sleep next to me because for some reason i believe you have judged me less then anyone else when with such ease you could have judged me the most.
—
i once said something about the nature of truth, and it is now forgotten. i said something else to myself about the nature of language, and it is now forgotten. i may have said something connecting them about how there is no truth in language and you have to massage it and make it your responsibility to pick the right words, relationships, analogies, and metaphors, and you can’t get sloppy with it. if you get sloppy then truth leaks out of your language and your language escapes truth, and all you will have left is awkwardness souring on the tongue of a botched opportunity.
Filed under: brain matter, evolution, what the world is made of | Leave a Comment
Filed under: brain matter, curious, scarcity and fear, so much exists outside you, weeping willow | Leave a Comment
headphones. macbook. twine. external hard drive. plastic bags. door hinges. curtains. eyeglasses. moroccan sheep skin lamp. knitting needles. extension cord. picture frame. led zeppelin 10 cd box set. push pins. bubble wrap. tape measure. jewelry box. yoga mat.
Filed under: knives, scarcity and fear, weeping willow | Leave a Comment
-
Recent Comments
batguy on who i really want to be/who i … Beth on life is what happens to you wh… Via Negativa on the human fur is burnt Dave Bonta on the human fur is burnt Dave Bonta on the human fur is burnt -
Recent Entries
- the human fur is burnt
- bleed your food
- bone breeds a baby
- mime twin
- the beginning of the end of this blog
- write 10 minutes without stopping #2
- write 10 minutes without stopping
- i ran like a rat with pearl in her mouth
- Anne Wojcicki and Linda Avey talk about 23 and me
- animal skeleton slideshow
- job-free pleasure centers in my brain are lighting up
Categories
- a questioning (7)
- all the paper (4)
- brain matter (79)
- curious (80)
- cut and paste (7)
- dangerous (20)
- evolution (42)
- gorilla milk (2)
- holograms (23)
- humanoid (11)
- i believe in sweaty people (3)
- knives (37)
- knowledge (65)
- moss child (58)
- moth (8)
- owl bones (8)
- parade (35)
- press play (12)
- scarcity and fear (69)
- so much exists outside you (65)
- the most civil (35)
- the theater (17)
- weeping willow (25)
- what the world is made of (71)
Archives
- August 2009
- July 2009
- June 2009
- May 2009
- April 2009
- March 2009
- February 2009
- January 2009
- December 2008
- November 2008
- October 2008
- September 2008
- August 2008
- July 2008
- June 2008
- May 2008
- April 2008
- March 2008
- February 2008
- January 2008
- December 2007
- November 2007
- October 2007
- September 2007
- August 2007
