nocturne communique/nocturnal e-mission
IAYM / i sold my heart to the junkman

textual relations/e-ruptions
break the ice by breaking a glass.

unzip yr fly in the park and invade the air with cut grass. smells of musk and smoke sifted through heat and skateboards in a stairwell.

i've always been in love with grids (at the same that i'm overwhelmed by the rectilinear) and now i'm gonna start owning it. finding and exposing my golden section. "the idea is the machine that makes the art."

summer leave. what's the connection between the organism and the action? a point of distension. i'm leaving trails of blood wherever i go. and maybe i'm following yr bloody footprints. the buildup of sediment and sentiment. black sludge. skin peels slowly. you don't gotta know how to force it. just how to make it easy from the proper point of entry. williams was wrong about the red wheelbarrow. what he meant was a blue t-shirt and translucent skin underneath.

a bottle of water. you must be thirsty. apparition, vocal chords, breath. it's dark and we're in a cave and that's why it's dark. and shadows tells us nothing about anything. it's the jugular. cage is the prophet. sit back and listen to yr blood boil. build the building that holds yr heart. cosmic retribution, attrition, pronunciation. you're drawing with yr tongue out and i'm drawing yr tongue. the shape and water. drawing it with water, incidentally. just letting the lines drip like sleep. like pollock minus the sylus. if you were fluent in torture, you would let me strike you gently.

looking at:
sarah baley
dynasty handbag - bags
heartsrevolution - the rose and her prince
man-made star to unlock cosmic secrets
naked lunch @ 50
top 50 text acronyms parents should know
web style guide

listening to:
cocoanut groove
dandy warhols - cool as kim deal
kim deal - i believe in miracles (you sexy thing)
viktor sjöberg

Coming at an end, the lovers
Are exhausted like two swimmers.  Where
Did it end?  There is no telling.  No love is
Like an ocean with the dizzy procession of the waves' boundaries
From which two can emerge exhausted, nor long goodbye
Like death.
Coming at an end.  Rather, I would say, like a length
Of coiled rope
Which does not disguise in the final twists of its lengths
Its endings.
But, you will say, we loved
And some parts of us loved
And the rest of us will remain
Two persons.  Yes,
Poetry ends like a rope.
--jack spicer, a book of music

nocturne communique/nocturnal e-mission
patti smith's pen(wo)manship

textual relations/e-ruptions
beast sting
a hole burns in yr hand and i stick my finger in it and it leaves a black streak summer spreads on an orange blanket
a bullet in the medicine cabinet
cum on a concrete patio or a wooden floor.

a flame makes sense
the flame is yes
the flame is no
shy hunter
record stores are closing in stockholm
shy hunter
i'm tearing you asunder.

a precious specimen
in dark martens
picked off the trash heap
and preserved in amber.

the laundry smell of street
on the outskirts of a kiss
so many bits of paper
ease of conversation on a page.

perfumed graduate
i'm gonna wrap duct tape round yr head
till yr eyes turn blue.

looking at:
firekites - autumn story
sannah kvist
new humans
yana payusova

listening to:
bat for lashes - wilderness
cave bears
dynamics
golden silvers
jens lekman - the summer never ends
liechtenstein
little big adventure
magnolia electric co. - it's made me cry
men
3 teens kill 4

nocturne communique/nocturnal e-mission
maybe it isn't so bad when the worst embarrassment you've had was in mistaking built to spill for pavement in front of yr professor.

there was a fed-ex slip for a janet weiss on my door. yes, i'm wishful thinking.

textual relations/e-ruptions
photographs and photographers don't capture a thing, don't capture anything. a frame is skeleton for empty light and nothing more. you think you can catch something. like fishing. but the trigger finger and the hook are death marches as much as anything else. the nation is an empty bed and the ocean is insurrection.

oh my adolescent heart. oh my sullied mind.

the ghosts are plenteous. all the messed-up arteries of yr yearnings, all the hysteria of yr repetition. red-haired boy with strawberry-stained mouth, you got my blood wizzing, you got my lips whistling.

in dreams (april)
we are on this simulated ride but then no it is all of a sudden not simulated anymore. there is pavement beneath our feet and we are rolling down a hill over and under and on bridges. it is like north beach and you want a cannoli. in the dream i am high and dreaming and the effect is no doubt intoxicating. we are walking to the cannoli store. i am wearing yr blue sweatshirt it is up a hill and along a fence. a thread gets caught and starts unraveling. boys are approaching behind me and i'm trying to untangle myself before they get there. it's not working and i'm just getting embarrassed in front of them. then you come along and like a mother remove the thread from the fence, even though you are angry i've ruined yr sweatshirt. we get separated and when we meet again at a different store i see you've decided on an espresso rather than a cannoli.

LOOK!
georges bataille electronic library
michael bilsborough
cranberries - linger
gang of four - at home he's a tourist
gauguin cut off van gogh's ear
jeff goldblum explains the difference between rappers and mcs
ihockney: artist david uses his apple phone to paint mini masterpieces
invisibility cloak edges closer
nine inch nails- head like a hole
sopopular
zombie computers on the rise

LISTEN!
bodies of water
cause co-motion! - you lose
dirty projectors + david byrne - ambulance man
le c. et c.
lewis + clarke - chelsea hotel no 2
mo-dettes
pauline murray
wehavelove

sisters. this is where my mind is. summer is ready when you are.

this must have been either right before or right after i saw them in melbourne (in the same outfits, obviously). and i was seventeen and i was standing next to my bestfriend and his mother cuz we weren't old enough to be there by ourselves.