Tuesday, 21 December 2010

the boy from the play

 2010:

making dinner with you



2011:

eating breakfast with you.

Thursday, 16 December 2010

all i want for christmas is a new reality

Saturday, 11 December 2010

furious



I know you said nothing. twice. again.
so much nothing. but then
I caught you shaking
I caught you
shaking
and you blamed the cold
but I know it was more like the heat
or the something
whatever that was.

I know this is what happened, but I've been losing sleep
my mind wanders
and winds
over the details that meld into blur and then fade.

In the morning with the snow falling
the ground is shining through my window
and my toes wiggle the blankets to anything closer to warm
I can smell the air seeping through the cracks of the house that whistles in the wind
and it smells familiar
and not like you.

Saturday, 4 December 2010

ez

The Best Way to Know a Person

I’ve been seeing the human condition suffer from a lack
of physical contact, so they turn
to masturbating
their iPhones and Blackberries in public.

In subways and in schools,
on aeroplanes and buses,
in front of families at dinner tables, while
driving or in the movies and
at funerals.

I would like to say to these people:
"If you want to connect with somebody
so badly then
why don't you just fuck them?"

i hope your ears bleed

i am going to demand more.



don't forget,
history.

Wednesday, 24 November 2010

we don't sleep

when the sun
goes down

Tuesday, 23 November 2010

right now



 
this feels good

Thursday, 18 November 2010

skinny little wrists


i am never going down
on my knees for you


 


Tuesday, 16 November 2010

i like the way the universe works

i like that you're horny


Sunday, 14 November 2010

the ones that are blamed

we all have daddy issues

Monday, 1 November 2010

not in love



so it goes


Wednesday, 27 October 2010

jezebel


this is a good moment
a tingly thing
i am giddy
and he is smiley

Tuesday, 19 October 2010

burning

it's getting colder.

Wednesday, 13 October 2010

the book of eli

oh snowman,

i want to be your oryx.





caribou

i want to prowl around
in tight
dark
clothes,
breaking glass in slow motion
while on
mute.


(the soundtrack being swim and thus very much not muted. doyouunderstand)


Saturday, 11 September 2010

june second. twenty ten

in the space between our words fly feeling like haphazard beings of locomotion
not yet classified as flight they are free from the talons of The Label

the deep set weight, the pressure is building and this one is not to be jumped off of, this one has a metallic structure only constructible 
in a pitch-canvas tent were the absence of vibrations are the playdough of the welder-gods 
and the outcome is something no hijacked plane can ever crash into

The muffled echoing of snow 
feet movement 
under a static blanket

the absence of sound is not silence but rather something akin to death. silence is the presence of the pure,
white and black light meeting in the embrace of joy screams, 
without noise we are rendered visible to all,
our perceptions a changeling no longer willing to live without the birthmother, returning home it shall find the silence, 
silence of a horses hooves on the bones of it’s master, 
the travelers son no longer wants to be the calling boy, he has left and will not return, he goes in silence and leaves behind…the absence of sound.

within our silence is held all the noises that were not made, not yet uttered, all the meaning that we meant, floating, 
crushing 
our lips             our sense              our vocal chords 
straining, can we reach the language of the divine and return to tell the tale in the tongue of the masses, 
let us communicate under the excruciatingly inadequate noun.
silence.
oblivion.


write about a silence.



Saturday, 4 September 2010

the genre


there was a girl. she carried herself like a woman. she talked like a woman.
she met a boy.
he carried himself like a boy. he talked like a boy.
they met late one night, somewhere no one would hear or see them.
the next morning, he woke up a man, and she, a girl.


Friday, 13 August 2010

i see jesus and judas making love

what is your escape
your filthy little whimper
the wrapper beneath the pillow
the stain on your lips
dirty nails
glowing eyes
what is your drug?

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

i hear a recording, low-poor quality (youtube gold). my fingers curl, my legs squirm, feet yearn to move, my head rolls, lolls, eyes fluttering closed i am there, all over again. the sound so full its you, pounding, thrashing until your ribs are the ones producing the beat ... beat ... beat ... all you do is pound out the bass, let it pour from your screaming mouth, the boy licks sweat from your neck, you are the dancer, the music, the throbbing writhing drug.
 you, altered, alive, no future, no past. just movement. in this moment you are the drop, the pulsing reaction, you are as full as you can be. seeping through my cracks, its coming, the explosion, the afterwards, but just for now let me have ... one ... more ... yesssssss.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

my pupils, jet black,
engulfing the irises
take you in. suck you up.
what is your story
your moment
your pupils, jet black,
engulfing the irises
take me in. suck me up.
now, now you are mine.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


i saw jesus and judas
making love.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Tuesday, 3 August 2010

zircon

i don't participate in goodbyes

do they exist, if i ignore them

turn off our imaginations and we become
bored



peaceful

Monday, 2 August 2010

coat my mouth in honey

i want to bite you
hard.
i want to watch
as your insides,
your silent bits,
seep out,
to stain the floorboards.

i want to bite you.
hard.
i want to see the movement of a cheek,
under a tingling palm become more
than could ever have been foretold.

i want to bite you.
softly.
i want you,
its temporary,
everything, everything
don't take it so seriously, there's a now
a moment.

i want you to bite me.
hard.

Sunday, 1 August 2010

dirt on the walls

we weren't meant for [this] love

Monday, 26 July 2010

wont you believe

i'll call off the dogs, 

 


 

 if you call off your guard



Saturday, 24 July 2010

where i want to be

 




 that secret that you knew
without asking
that whisper that you heard
without listening
that love that you gave
without trying

that is why
it is you.






Sunday, 27 June 2010

Friday, 25 June 2010

cloud-shaped communication


 here



 



 living within an apathetic moment






Sunday, 20 June 2010

water


it smells like summer

 
it feels like waiting


Thursday, 17 June 2010

ispirazione







lately we have been listening to
dark,
folk poetry

horse feathers 






Saturday, 12 June 2010

the way in which we grow


i am an experiential being

 


photograph by eriver hijano  


Tuesday, 1 June 2010

la vista



in the darkness of a  pocket, 
clutched in the spaces between fingers,
smuggled over a border,
mirrored in the colour of your eyes,
escaping from the moisture of my mouth.



.we 

are 

all 

hiding 

something.


to be the Tallest on Earth

it was everything i wanted it to be


- i try not to have expectations-



why am i scared



why do you care


Friday, 28 May 2010

My Kind of Beast

?  

Yes, yes I do.

 dance away 
thought, 
sweaty rivulets,
the water of this place.
in their music we are
alive.


?
yes. 

Sunday, 23 May 2010

compulsion



it felt like he cared



Saturday, 22 May 2010

cunnilingus

change. 
what a powerful thing


C. it's you now. it happened.
don't leave.
it will show
i do care.

Sunday, 16 May 2010

Thursday, 13 May 2010

near the library doors

 
"he doesn't like love stories"



. . . that is not what this is.


the book is heavy as i carry it home.

rub


So Much Happiness

By Naomi Shihab Nye


It is difficult to know what to do with so much happiness.
With sadness there is something to rub against,
a wound to tend with lotion and cloth.
When the world falls in around you, you have pieces to pick up,
something to hold in your hands, like ticket stubs or change.
But happiness floats.
It doesn’t need you to hold it down.
It doesn’t need anything.
Happiness lands on the roof of the next house, singing,
and disappears when it wants to.
You are happy either way.
Even the fact that you once lived in a peaceful tree house
and now live over a quarry of noise and dust
cannot make you unhappy.
Everything has a life of its own,
it too could wake up filled with possibilities
of coffee cake and ripe peaches,
and love even the floor which needs to be swept,
the soiled linens and scratched records…
Since there is no place large enough
to contain so much happiness,
you shrug, you raise your hands, and it flows out of you
into everything you touch. You are not responsible.
You take no credit, as the night sky takes no credit
for the moon, but continues to hold it, and share it,
and in that way, be known.






i am dedicating this to A.S.
i love you girl.
may we always be as carefree, loving and free as we were that day on the beach.

Monday, 10 May 2010

18

lust
in Times New Roman, font size 12
innocence
in brackets, a stage note
aghhh

lyrics
in messy hand, crumpled paper
meaning, veiled, longing
hhmm
fingers, as they harmonize
yi-yi-yii

eyes, oh
rehearsed knee, nudges yours
trembling, fingers round your ribcage
yes.


( we -the actors- sculpt our realities from the palpable product of your imagination)

Sunday, 9 May 2010

ma

i no longer know 


how to sit still


Monday, 3 May 2010

the distance of time

within the timezone
of the mushroom girl
i am left  -mapless-

within the timewarp
of the carbon emission
i am left  -lifeless-

within the timelaps
of our separation
i am left  -dreaming-

within the timecapsule
of our bodies
i am left  -hungering-

within the timepiece
of our society
i am left  -bedraggled-

within the distance
of time
i am contained.

Friday, 23 April 2010

young pilgrims

i am leaving early
[tomorrow morning]
traveling

behold the unreached
traveling

acquainted with no one
traveling

i'll not miss you
but when i'm done
i will miss
traveling





my hair is a new length.

Sunday, 18 April 2010

my kind of awesome

  •   Travel.
  • The Hype Machine
  • silk on freshly shaved legs
  • poetry
  • remixed songs recommended by a self proclaimed music snob: H.
  • smell of espresso on a cold morning
  • sex
  • a good read. Roald Dahl. Tom Robbins. etc.
  • hugs; really great, completely enveloped, this doesn't have an expiry date hugging
  • The Tallest Man On Earth
  • funny comedians
  • eroticism
  • crisp grapes
  • a great song coming on the radio
  • making people smile. sincere, suddenly appearing on their faces just because they can't hold it in any longer smiling
  • Crystal Castles
  • Italians; mainly you J. L., G. (my "Fratello"), and V. (my "Sorella")
  • getting good grades
  • getting drunk: without hangovers and vomit
  • Wes Anderson
  • self expression. colour. art. movement. textile
  • good radio shows: Open Heart Surgery, etc.
  • raves
  • having curly hair
  • sex marks
  • photography
  • food. good food. foreign food. gourmet food. home cooked food. guilty food. i'm eating this because i'm young and i can food.
  • bad music thats fun to dance to
  • collage-ing
  • fires. bonfires. campfires. firemen.
  • superbly comfertable bedding
  • painting. art. walls.
  • vintage
  • statements
  • acting. the high from a good performance
  • stage kissing
  • Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros
  • making a strangers day
  • eating food without plates and utensils
  • gorilla art
  • admiring someone
  • swimming
  • pie
  • physically exhausting activities (that aren't team sports, because i suck at team sports)
  • getting sincere compliments from people you admire
  • finding a muse
  • bits of yourself that you suddenly realize you like.
  • admitting secrets
  • gummy worms
  • orgasms.

Thursday, 15 April 2010

Parabolic whimsy

today i was a child.
i was a kid. 

i was young. 

i personified joy, innocence.

tilting, sun light, nah: sun warmth
breeze,
in my hair, 
my face, 
under my arms, through my fingers, 
swirling round
collide

rock playthings
yellow roadline hopscotch
 tightrope success

in my ears
beating, pounding

the wind, the rhythm, the sun, the lyrics.

laughing, beaming.

today i was a child.






Wednesday, 14 April 2010

Sunday, 11 April 2010

this space is themed

waist adorned with apron strings
she -nonetheless- saunters

this space is themed
Tuscany: chipped paint,
peeking-tom wood grain
china
retina jab of colour

digital standstill
two hour laundry, pre instantgratificationism

this space is themed
Scandinavian: bear hug elegance,
toe curling comfort
blood
legfire delicacy

this space is themed

marrow churning, subconscious alliance

this space is themed
Ocean: acidification
deepsleep rhythms
goose flight equipment
womb light
under the bed there dwells

plainveiw secretwhispers: unfulfilled eroticism

this space is themed:
my 3:00 p.m. Scotch neat
my bottle of Valium

face adorned with laughter
she -nonetheless- falters

this space is open to suggestions

Thursday, 8 April 2010

When you talk to Denis on Thursday

please let him know,

For your information,
and Denis's,
you assign a director
and that is it.

if he so desires them to

you will need to tell him this
and
tell him how to do so.


correct permissions.



resources only appear         ...            ...             ...          in the footer link?


Wednesday, 7 April 2010

Wednesday, April 7, 2010



"Our similarities 

provide us with a common ground, 

but our differences 

allow us to be fascinated by one another."

Monday, 5 April 2010

-endangered beauty-

red rabbits


revert to childhood.
the anticipation is stronger
the taste, acquired

the hunt, innocent
my mind tightly focused
on you
the,
chocolate bringer
the,
waffle maker
the,
camouflager
the,
greetingcard resurrection


Saturday, 3 April 2010

within the breath

the organized chaos of this room is forcing me into lines, boxed shapes. the manufactured grain of the wood matches the flyeye speakers.
bands on my fingers, synthetic on my toes, structured, man-made.
the whorls of shadow, cast by my confusion don't fit in the drawers.
there are edges and middles and we make it, we create it, we place it there and expect it to be there upon our return and it is, because we are the makers. we are the water. the icebergs and this room is the ground, the mountains, aching for valleys to mediate the jagged edges, to promote the raw sexuality of the straining molecules. this is the room with the chemical paint finish. with the flat realities and legal identities. this is the room without glass portals, this is the room of our descent.
my memory knows something else. something farther away. where the whorls are lifted, memorized. in that place we impose labels, lines, but they are shaken. they are thin veils, sheer, flirty. useless. for when the dance starts, those veils fall, one-by-one, and we are left naked, exposed to our others. in the place we haven't created, we change nothing and it will always change. in this place birthmarks become continent maps. wineglasses are swimming pools for butterfly nannies, where nailpolish is a figment of the goats imagination. we are in the valleys, the left over sex-scent of carnal beginnings. we are inanimate. we are the intimate. we are there and that is us and without our veils we fly apart, our pieces finding niches. our glistening, is all the light and we are all that we can see, hear, we are the sensation of a lovers tongue, we are the tip of destruction and the definition of breathe.

Sunday, 28 March 2010

inspiration -muted-



pick your reasons


elias Tahan



marlene Marino



aaron Feaver



hrystia Kaminska



emilie Muller



flora Hanitijo



hrystia Kaminska



wai lin Tse

there's something in my throat i can't swallow

  two is over.   i want three to be how i want it to be   (...you're left with this feeling that it happened, it's gone, and it meant [nothing]
  even though you thought it would mean something...)   [nothing] is the wrong word; i'm left with an inadequate taste in my mouth  

Thursday, 25 March 2010

treetops

i was thinking about treetops, high places. doves don’t perch there do they, they’re ground birds

did we make them that way, us with our pitchforks, cement pathways our crumbs?

...high places

i was wondering if you’re scared of heights, if so, how much? would you jump out of a plane [with me]?

do you prefer sweet or salty or spicy? if you had to only feel one texture what would it be?

my linear questions are predictable in the way that D means drive and daisy is yellow

why do we still have neutral in cars anyways? i don’t know what it’s used for…coasting down hills? it’s fun

Predictable.

we could look at each others eyes for minutes, flickering focus

‘n i feel as though i’m falling in a hole

traps set out by my mind and
i’m setting myself up to fall with overthinking panic

if the world was muted, could we live in it

lets go barefoot on sandless beaches

perch in treetops because there the highest places around

lets think of encompassing delight, because I am no longer the one who can give the light

i am the girl who bites her lip when you’re on the airwaves, the one who beams when you write to me, the one who is memorizing you, the one who is scared to show her weaknesses

i want to do everything with you
in treetops

in high places; let's see how trivial it is,
how much we live in this moment is our doing          our pleasure

Monday, 22 March 2010

acute triangles



we are supplementary





i am worth it