nocturne communique/nocturnal e-mission
to traverse the fundamental fantasy

textual relations/e-ruptions
you're like the summer here. you're like the season. you're seasonal. a repository for -- weather. -- and -- whether? and i, maybe i'm like the puzzle and its inverse. it doesn't make sense cuz it's a puzzle and cuz it's unfinished. not doing one thing means you're doing something else. that's why you're rolling strips of paper into spirals: in anticipation of transportation.

in dreams (march)
you keep referring to camps (summer camp) and taylor (the girl with a boy's name) who owes you drugs. grandmother likes my handsome jumper.

i am camping in a tent next to the red carpet. it is raining.

i am living in a labyrinthine space. i want to clean it but i don't own it and hence am reluctant. the man i live with offers me two walls on which to hang all of my photographs.

i receive a text message from someone i know well suggesting that it is weird and we might not know each other so well.

a crank that i turn in private into my chest exposing my heart. air and light and radio waves rush in. no blood comes out.

i am watching a hysterical woman through a hole in the wall. it's fuck and lies. (it's fuck and run?)

an oversize squirrel is eating and foraging for food and it starts following me. along with a familiar forlorn dog. i am cautious of the squirrel cuz i've never seen one of its size or fiendishness and it may be trying to bite me. i am trying to keep it away with an umbrella. i have to go up some stairs in an office building to get to the bus. the dog lives next to me and needs to take the bus home otherwise he will be lost and stranded. i don't let him in the building, however, cuz then the squirrel might get in. also, there is a family of some orthodox religion in the building. they seem nice and warm. i want to alert them about the squirrel, but i'm already through the soundproof glass door toward the bus and don't know how to express myself without words.

LOOK!
daily show - stockholm syndrome
golden girls star bea dies at 86
gossip - heavy cross
informers
josh mcney
morrissey - something is squeezing my skull
carl olof berg
rocky clues from dirty dead stars
size queens - my lover is a body artist
toxic shield snuggle suit
alexander trocchi - a revolutionary proposal: invisible insurrection of a million minds
angry dogs, sex drugs and $880,000 face cream: john waters gives the takeaway a private art tour

LISTEN!
descending ivory
fischerspooner / r.e.m. - fascinating
sonic youth - sacred trickster

nocturne communique/nocturnal e-mission
the bull has his orbit, and the bullfighter has his, and between orbit and orbit is the point of risk where falls the vertex of the terrible byplay.

textual relations/e-ruptions
i didn't learn from what you said, and i didn't learn from what you did. the story that gets you in and the story that you make.

this journey -- it's like running. scale and endurance are relative. maybe you're used to seeing everything clearly, or maybe you're used to water running between you and the mirror. so my saying is a setting of pace. and this interruption (interpretation?) is itchy. like how declension doesn't have to mean inferior but variations on a theme.

up the apples and pears. the wind makes it feel more like a descent. but also kinda like a dress. blowing up and around. the blue light to the right and the red to the left. lots of white flickering and blinking in between. falling. the flags of a used car lot in the back of yr pants. a wild tail. an entangling web. but somehow not claustrophobic. it's smoke and it's the belief that the smoke is something. and by is i mean means. or even that there's something behind the smoke.

if the space doesn't exist, can the words?

LOOK!
tori amos - welcome to england
breeders - fate to fatal
leonard cohen, lorca, rock, and flamenco
cure - killing an arab
sophnet
sweptaways + jens lekman - happiness will be my revenge

LISTEN!
bat for lashes - use somebody
decibelles
it hugs back
lykke li - knocked up
robert svensson
ultravox - just for a moment

Remember the clear light, the pure clear white light from which everything in the universe comes, to which everything in the universe returns; the original nature of your own mind. The natural state of the universe unmanifest.

Let go into the clear light, trust it, merge with it. It is your own true nature, it is home.

nocturne communique/nocturnal e-mission
i know my question doesn't make sense at all since we live outside the realms of yes and no

textual relations/e-ruptions
know. i don't put faith in the healer that is not the self. i don't put it in the mouth either. mother or otherwise. holes of origin. the shame is in the expectation to adequately account. sometimes numbers are numbers and not enigmas. sometimes reactions are. like the scary thing about conceptual art is not the good concept or the bad concept that you get or you don't get, but the apparentness of it per se, which is another way of saying i wanna look, but i don't wanna think about it (touch). touch, think about it. alabaster or skin breaking?

a simple and certain joy. the heart of the regulatory machine. it's a lovely moment counting to twenty. every time you try to preserve something you also kill it. you save and kill at the same time. kill a child in the morning and kiss yr own in the afternoon.

---

the sea rushes up my knees like flame and i feel like just some misplaced joan of arc . . .

LOOK!
amazing - is it likely
anntian
des'ree - kissing you
peter downsbrough
god help the girl
last angel of history
not tom
peaches - talk to me
red by wolves
steven shaviro - grace jones, corporate cannibal
sisters make people happy
ssru
sordid lives
sweden allows same-sex marriage
yoko ono auctions art for autism

LISTEN!
cold cave
forest + trees
horrors
lemonheads + liv tyler - hey, that's no way to say goodbye
nite jewel
odawas
telepathe

nocturne communique/nocturnal e-mission
it's getting pretty dark: a writing list:
against interpretation
the design of dissent
the gun is loaded
industrial ruins: spaces, aesthetics, and materiality
no future: queer theory and the death drive
port of saints
retaking the universe: william s. burroughs in the age of globalization
scum manifesto
the thirst for annihilation: georges bataille and virulent nihilism
the wild boys

textual relations/e-ruptions
smell is meant to be the sense most triggering of memory. but maybe time more. like seasonal - the certain quality of light at a particular time of year. and more, naps. late afternoon. in williamsburg, in a bed with my mother and sister. in melbourne, where everyone else had a schedule in the house and i didn't in the bungalow. i'd listened to music all night and morning and writ lyrics and hung the wash on the line. (who can sleep with the birds in the morning anyway?) in portland in a dorm room with a boy after class. and now here.

find a particular death and make a wonderful apology. in heart, i am a teenager.

LOOK!
arne + carlos
blur - country house
cars - hello again
platform for pedagogy
pulp - common people
sisterhood is forever
smart girls @ the party

LISTEN!
antony - child of god
antony - frankenstein
micachu
my gold mask
pashly
these are powers
wavves