oh, renoir

nocturne communique/nocturnal e-mission
i'm not that cheap, so don't sell me so short

textual relations/e-ruptions
this time, this attention – they are gifts. they are not possessions, but the way in which they are employed and distributed by me is unique, and in this sense, they may be said to be "given" to you. it is the mark made by and of sacrifice and not convenience that is of import – maternal and sexual. cover yr tracks, their blasphemy and yr belligerence are intentionally embarrassing and therefore insulting. what they insinuate is vilely beyond my comprehension. in effect, i offer you transubstantiation and you stick yr head in the sand.

i want a regal discourse
not a legal recourse

i am yr disinterested saintly master and i will author the amorous history of our youth.

eight inches of rain
like the eight inches filling my pants
falling to yr knees
descending like mercury

and ninety-nine degrees
one for every pound you weigh

smelling of clean cotton and ivory soap, or
hair that smells like coconut and bodies that smell like peppermint and trees

the tiny words on yr skin
they let me in
they let me in
and you come to me
with bones in yr hands
and flowers in yr pants

why do i care and why am i caring? it is a complex joy, one rife with walls, blocks, and neuroses. it is not about you. only me. from what have you been banned and barred? and is there no window, no loophole, out from under which shines a light? one that casts democratizing shadows? how am i here? behind. is this the point or the point obscured? which is to say, do i continue to feed yr pleasure fire, my presence a kindling for forsaken-ness, or wait for the switch, the abatement? the continuity of a tunnel as opposed to the discontinuity of a bridge. the blue shirt means less than the body in it means more than my polite patience, the kind required of kind (i.e. not interventionist) research. black pattern moves down yr leg, onto the shelf, and forms letter-texts on page-walls. but it is not in yr voice. and it is not here, or any other place in which you may imagine being situated, for that matter. it is in the moment when both feet leave the ground.

these words
i will sell you
these words

this gift
i will sell you
this gift

everything comes from a stranger's lawn. a hand in the grass. the sticky white sweet. on the lips moist. and the mouth dry. some things are good dry. something's better white. like the lights in the trees tonight. and the inedible stars above them. it was this corner! it was dogs' blood! it was the the oxbow and the arrow.

LOOK!
laurie anderson - only an expert
death cab for cutie - coney island
tanya donelly - pretty deep
maurizio fiorino
gay shame
france joli - come to me
lykke li - can i kick it
attila richard lukacs
j morrison
benjamin renoux
alex rose
sarah sze
atelier tekuto
xiu xiu - master of the bump

LISTEN!
css
ossian ekenger
neil halsted - paint a face
joan as policewoman & antony - i defy
ladyhawke
lil wayne - shoot me down
love is all - so far away
mogwai - the sun smells too loud
pwrfl power
q lazarus
ulrich schnauss
slumber party
team ghost
tu fawning