Tuesday, June 30, 2009

the tights

///hey..sorry about the ugly video : ( original with album art removed///

model citizens

Saturday, June 27, 2009

computer love

the keggs

alt ctrl

you act in shame
your skin kissed
embraced in dull games
we have been near
exploding a captive ballad
exciting transmissions
licking inside my pulp filled mouth
in my illusions
I am setting myself free
to hold closer a quiet recluse
in my doubt
pulling internal
pulled into shards slivering
choking down my own
stream of consciousness
with a birth control pill
there are days
I could crawl digital
leaving surface worlds
leaving scattered bits
of infatuation to pack
into boxes
into computer screens
paper and plastic cubes
that know nothing
of who I am
and know not
where to find me

jan svankmajer

gilbert and george 1/3

Friday, June 26, 2009

where she stands

the same man
manifests himself
over and over
each time
crazier and crazier
the lesson being
how much I can take
until I am weeping
hungry for reality
more so mad than ever
chemical stung in spotlights

a mans work should be in novels
in shams and fallacies

I can no longer control
the way that time spans things
the ways to let go
tongue whipped words
lashing out of
confused guilt
it had to be mars
it had to be you

Thursday, June 25, 2009

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

modern woman

there are layers
pressing down
on the human feeling
below my forced art

it crawls from
the bottom of the ocean
it tears and bleeds
on currents
it drags dear to my heart
it salts my
hardening emotions

in salted skin
we wake the day
shedding charcoal
ill from each other
in loving you
only harm will come
to our beach fire bed
our crazy speak
our nervous fragmented light

in you
I have lost all my ideas
I am compulsive
confused for control
holding myself back and down
you'd tell me

I can not know
what we will
and I can not discern
what we won't

leaving you still
shipping off
k no w numbers
k no w time
there is no telling

telling the clock
we had planned this

and maybe I am
your modern woman
who leaves you sick
from a shotgun wedding
numb from brain waves

rusting mirrored neurons
consuming a shipwreck

Ransom will tell us

like consciousness

drops the insignificant digits

there is no telling
2012 we planned this

hobbies galore

I could not love
anything in this world
more than these
sound waves
it is odd
it is concrete in me


fad gadget

soma holiday

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Saturday, June 13, 2009

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

a fracture

It ran upon the veins of a trusting heart.
In between a world spat into imagination
and a dust storm. She took it all into the mist.

Pulling the thick cord behind her, attached snug at the waist. The other end secured by a crisp locked word to a tree at the edge of the thicket. A tree that marked where. Before it all disappeared.

Fourteen small steps inside. A damp salt eating away any regret. A pungent depth of fragmented clay. Nostalgically she picked a chunk of skin out from her shoulders to leave in every gasp of clear air; in the empty sponge she traversed through. All feeling of bottom ground.

As the blood poured down her back, it was evident that the only thing that was still living was the connection between her feet and what she imagined was the earth below. Sight, color, sound were all one repetition. Over and over a gentle tug towards starlit youth.

She could sense but not possess. The weight of the rope lifted as she furthered herself away from where she came. Where possession was a sickness, the white plague.

The rope must have weighed a hundred times her at least, causing for rest and deep resilience against returning to where she had bound herself.

The grass blades around her were singing.

The thick iron rocks below, sustaining her blood loss.

suburban lawns

dope as

Ariel Pinks' cover of Everybody by Madonna.

Thursday, June 4, 2009

the dance

aphelion and apogee


choreographed youth
left swept under rugs
that span
provincial boundaries
decorative skill
nausea of thoughts
and all of my dignity
all that I abhorred
and held close to touch
his figure in my pencil
and I have agreed to
alienate my patterns
q-tip constellations
a dug out hole where
I used to hide
the warm shiny things
where with heat
the minerals grew
from specs
to self blown volcanic pockets
when I become meteors
when I can sense my heat burning dry
leaving my points
remaining anomalous
and souls of the past
are of aphelion and apogee