Archive for the 'press play' Category
animal skeleton slideshow
new york times slideshow with photos by Patrick Gries
Filed under: brain matter, curious, evolution, knowledge, press play, what the world is made of | Leave a Comment
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 [...]
Filed under: brain matter, curious, evolution, moss child, press play, scarcity and fear, 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, [...]
Filed under: curious, press play, so much exists outside you, what the world is made of | Leave a Comment
Filed under: all the paper, brain matter, knives, knowledge, press play, scarcity and fear | Leave a Comment
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”
Filed under: brain matter, curious, evolution, knowledge, moss child, parade, press play | Leave a Comment
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 [...]
Filed under: curious, moss child, parade, press play | Leave a Comment
love in myself bends like curating the next exhibit, love in my tomb, love in my lollipop central station… all the way glowing, all knowing, microphone telephone pole. exacting the sourest day, may they love hay pay gray stay. hotel mermaid band-aid. celery cell phone. come home pet. i need the sky in my soup, [...]
Filed under: evolution, moss child, parade, press play, scarcity and fear | Leave a Comment
i make my own alphabet
i make my own words
i make my own language
i make my own communication
i make my own tether
i make my own bones
i make my own leather
i make my own stone
i make my own battle
i make my own shoulder
i make my own cattle
i make my own boulder
keep the love long and tight
keep the [...]
Filed under: press play, the most civil, what the world is made of | Leave a Comment
song for broken bones
i’m loud!
i’m real loud!
in the cleaners, i’m loud! i’m real loud! at the cleaners in between the close rack!
i’m screaming, because i’m loud, real loud, at the cleaners!
because i’m loud! real loud at the grocery store, i’m screaming, i’m loud. looouuuud!
i’m screaming in the produce aisle, in the cereal ailse, i’m screaming,
i’m loud, real [...]
Filed under: curious, press play, scarcity and fear, the most civil | Leave a Comment
i see things most clearly in a gray-colored rot. not because i choose to. there exists no love, anywhere. this non-love, it’s everywhere, in the water, in human blood, thriving. see my face cringed permanently in unrest. i’ve got some kind of unbending sickness. a slow developing allergy to poor cohabitation with disengaged [...]
Filed under: brain matter, dangerous, press play, scarcity and fear | Leave a Comment
please feel free to add your own personal interpretation of the lyrics to this song:
jump rope with esophagus. grow a beard of clay. cancel all your life saving surgeries. today’s a brand new day.
eat the neighbor’s dogs. burn off all your toes. smash your face into an earthquake. today’s a brand [...]
Filed under: moss child, press play, the most civil | Leave a Comment
embers
to be sung in a high pitched scratchy voice, dramatized with eyes squeezed tight and head tilted back at a forty-five degree angle:
no, it’s not love. it’s not love. it’s not love. ahhhh. you’re too kind in your own clothes. not mine. it’s up to your own fingers. fingers, embers, fingers, embers. no, it’s [...]
Filed under: press play, what the world is made of | Leave a Comment
