nocturne communique/nocturnal e-mission
the pillow that sweats yr perfume
textual relations/e-ruptions
i liked you. it was comfortable. so i turned it into a narrative to be enacted. but it's so attached to you + i'm so attached to it + you get the picture. i suppose there is a certain beauty in the stupidity of repetition. stupidity as in a poor ability to profit from experience. and repetition as in obsolescence. or maybe i mean a certain stupidity in the beauty of repetition. like when a body jus goes, becomes not a BwO, but organs without a body. a motherless child. the eye of a terrific tornado. jus knots of nerves that sparkle and shock and ash on whatever happens to be proximate.
i tell you to strip in front of the ice blue glow of a t.v. in a dark room. and you do and yr body is pale milk and it luminesces. and when you are naked i turn off the screen and you phosphoresce like a firefly.
we are farmers in green tartan jumpers. you kiss my rubber boots and beg for my scraps on all fours neath the table, food you've stolen for me in exchange for permission to glean yr affection.
it's true, i don't desire you, i fetishize you, it doesn't move. you have deluded me and now i am drunk.
in dreams (january)
i am standing in front of a meadow at the top of yr driveway where you can't see me, waiting for you to return.
my consciousness is so expanded i am able to experience the sensation of kissing myself.
i am on an above ground subway which is jus one track that loops one gigantic building. i am trying on wigs for valentines day. i try on a crimped red wig with short braids. sometimes i wish my hair were cut that way.
i am on my way to beaches on the jersey shore and the journey is taken by tiny boat through a labyrinth of well kept park islands, artificially blue water, and fast food restaurants.
i am climbing up a mountain of snow plow that keeps melting underneath me.
the dream is that the three of us are all fighting / sharing a cheeseburger (jus the bun and cheese).
i am making out with you as a turkish boy i met at the pool who has bad adolescent breath and keeps trying to take my picture with his phone.
you introduce me to yr vegetarian friends who feed me vegetarian food which is mac 'n' cheese 'n' grapes. we are eating it in a helicopter with my grandmother, madgical, who is picking out the shapes of things below.
i walk to madgical's house. she emerges with two wine glasses and a bottle of wine and says we can get drunk. we sit in lawn chairs next to the garage. it is early afternoon.
either i am blind or i am being chased by blind people. evading death in a warehouse.
the soles of my shoes are falling off my boots. something has caught fire and it moves to beneath the oil heater and i am led outside to film it with a video camera.
ghosts in the house that we recognize. i take a car to go for a run. i join a high school running team and i'm running with them at the same time that i'm running away from them. until you turn around and expresses interest and then i realize we're off the beaten track on the top floor of a building and i push you up against a wall and push it up against you and you turn yr head around and we're making out like furiously. and two old lesbians come in and they are jealous of our audacity and warn us that the rest of the team is coming, so we stop and everyone settles down to eat and watch something and then i'm deciding i have to leave and we decide to make it before i do in front of everyone and they're all so fascinated at the pumping and cumming and i leave with a wet and sticky shirt.
LOOK!
antony - the culture show
the pillow that sweats yr perfume
textual relations/e-ruptions
i liked you. it was comfortable. so i turned it into a narrative to be enacted. but it's so attached to you + i'm so attached to it + you get the picture. i suppose there is a certain beauty in the stupidity of repetition. stupidity as in a poor ability to profit from experience. and repetition as in obsolescence. or maybe i mean a certain stupidity in the beauty of repetition. like when a body jus goes, becomes not a BwO, but organs without a body. a motherless child. the eye of a terrific tornado. jus knots of nerves that sparkle and shock and ash on whatever happens to be proximate.
i tell you to strip in front of the ice blue glow of a t.v. in a dark room. and you do and yr body is pale milk and it luminesces. and when you are naked i turn off the screen and you phosphoresce like a firefly.
we are farmers in green tartan jumpers. you kiss my rubber boots and beg for my scraps on all fours neath the table, food you've stolen for me in exchange for permission to glean yr affection.
it's true, i don't desire you, i fetishize you, it doesn't move. you have deluded me and now i am drunk.
in dreams (january)
i am standing in front of a meadow at the top of yr driveway where you can't see me, waiting for you to return.
my consciousness is so expanded i am able to experience the sensation of kissing myself.
i am on an above ground subway which is jus one track that loops one gigantic building. i am trying on wigs for valentines day. i try on a crimped red wig with short braids. sometimes i wish my hair were cut that way.
i am on my way to beaches on the jersey shore and the journey is taken by tiny boat through a labyrinth of well kept park islands, artificially blue water, and fast food restaurants.
i am climbing up a mountain of snow plow that keeps melting underneath me.
the dream is that the three of us are all fighting / sharing a cheeseburger (jus the bun and cheese).
i am making out with you as a turkish boy i met at the pool who has bad adolescent breath and keeps trying to take my picture with his phone.
you introduce me to yr vegetarian friends who feed me vegetarian food which is mac 'n' cheese 'n' grapes. we are eating it in a helicopter with my grandmother, madgical, who is picking out the shapes of things below.
i walk to madgical's house. she emerges with two wine glasses and a bottle of wine and says we can get drunk. we sit in lawn chairs next to the garage. it is early afternoon.
either i am blind or i am being chased by blind people. evading death in a warehouse.
the soles of my shoes are falling off my boots. something has caught fire and it moves to beneath the oil heater and i am led outside to film it with a video camera.
ghosts in the house that we recognize. i take a car to go for a run. i join a high school running team and i'm running with them at the same time that i'm running away from them. until you turn around and expresses interest and then i realize we're off the beaten track on the top floor of a building and i push you up against a wall and push it up against you and you turn yr head around and we're making out like furiously. and two old lesbians come in and they are jealous of our audacity and warn us that the rest of the team is coming, so we stop and everyone settles down to eat and watch something and then i'm deciding i have to leave and we decide to make it before i do in front of everyone and they're all so fascinated at the pumping and cumming and i leave with a wet and sticky shirt.
LOOK!
antony - the culture show
appaloosa - the day (we fell in love)
thomas broen - osom
dutty wine colombian style
amy finkbeiner
forgive sam adams
thomas broen - osom
dutty wine colombian style
amy finkbeiner
forgive sam adams
LISTEN
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