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 an 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.
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animal skeleton slideshow
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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
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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
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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.
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i love how she speaks on trusting the universe
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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.
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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.
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it was very disappointing to see the much inferior movie Juno get an Oscar nomination and this one go without the recognition it deserved
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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
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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
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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
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War Zone
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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.
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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.
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kirk says, after having explained to him the nature of an amusement park planet created by a highly evolved species: the more complex the mind the greater the need for the simplicity of play.
i like that.
episode: “shore leave”
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which is to destroy logic
this morning i submitted work to an art gallery in brooklyn. i shall know within the next couple of weeks if my work has been accepted into the show. maybe tomorrow. maybe even tonight. i really don’t know.
i submitted two sound works. one called rabbit redux (a reworked and advanced version of another piece i did called swing the rabbit) and another piece called untitled #1. they are my most cohesive and professional works to date. i like them a lot.
i’ve decided to work mainly in sound and language arts. they feel most familiar to me. in these areas i feel very comfortable doing what i want to do most, which is to destroy logic and tell lots of lies.
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location, location, location
i think i’ve come away from 2008 with very few memories. i didn’t really change positions or locations too often. i think that’s why i don’t have many childhood memories. i remember spending my summer vacations inside my apartment in new york. i don’t know if i ever left until it was time to go back to school again. i think that’s why i don’t have the desire to move much or change positions and locations, because i’m used to being so stagnant. but it’s not everything that’s still, just my body, my thoughts are natural travelers. they are lost fisherman, space merchants, and fragrant nomads. i know this place isn’t designed for me (with everyone planting their feet firmly in the ground) i’ve always know it, but it’s not like i can just launch myself up to the stars. i’m here. so i have to find some way to make it my home.
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did you not like my last note. it was sent exactly a year ago from today. it was a bit lenient on authenticity, much like most notes i sent to you. i was just thinking of subway cars and their inherently ballsy way of bringing attention to themselves and i thought oh, yes, that was me for the majority of my early twenties and now i shall leave the station patiently picking up speed with more and more confidence the faster i get, and the more in control yet the more unresistant. an exhaled breath passing through a rat infested tunnel. the sewage and the slime, perfumed and predictable. and a passenger attempts to brush away a coffee stain before a small laugh follows the mistake. even though i’m not laughing i can acknowledge that maybe i should be. there is much too much that is funny about the nature of being odd and pathetic at the same time.
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