vendredi, novembre 24, 2006
samedi, novembre 18, 2006
cut smiles (cédric jamet)
bottom of the hole
stop in Quauhnahuac in the
guys & I wish I could about me so I dream I
strength
banged heads achin waste of
and out of the surrounding mud go somewhere you everywhere mind no
needed nor pieces feelingless need silence sound of the pain in vain
and naivety and
impersonal cunt to a long hair beard man puppet master night # 1 sit in
showing hiding her
take no time in a dark fear seconds and minutes and hours
eyes a child blond girl naked feet in the air
eternal hells sense mixes silence heals the haunted
dark fear what may be the stomach of moloch
unfocused year old hermaphrodite
to ask nothing happy with you
not don’t
goin to & what we are all passin’
no replacement nor place to go sliced soul put on
meet you in my arms or somewhere in the mud
poet with glasses he doesn’t need to see he
among wants to join the arms of
itself to the endless crowd of unwords
and mistakes all over my head and meaningless
a few weeks debating the same
old questions of the state of love and trust and the bad wait for
body shape
failures
the ugliness the sincereness I am a four thinking of love and trust
something has to be said but there are no more the
and days and years have all been buried
your midnight
nobody
nineteen fifty six is rusted
love you tomorrow as much as I loved you tonight words my trouble is
masturbation
sur papier congelé Eve cut my heart into little
scrumble and threat from the bottom of my hoarness rough gods
blow away the golden gate gasp awaken dream surrounding internal
I don’t know how you’re feelin’ your
others just words for ... should have been in Argentina had a a wagon
void of a glass of mescal some from the new
another cigarette millions of years and
longer failing and happy with you no favour treatment are innocent we
and I don’t get all that you’re sayin’ &
standing in a
know much about it so I don’t know much you spell science howlin sound
up grace and decayed grace but grace prophète sale
was thrown in but guess ... no bus pass early at
disconnected sketches
safe
dream you are innocent when you dream when you dream so I do
dear J & B I’d love to love you
race were talking about expressionism and elisabetans and as watched
of thoughts early truths only truths and when we
noise repent breathless mashed thoughts grabbing the hardest craps
mind grace fucked
dirtyness expected but grace grace grace spilled grace filled with my
nor airing vision to catch for you no
smelling of
table so that you can walk on it so its juice will be
and I’ll realize how badly I miss you dissect an unforeseen murder Hey
about you so I don’t know much
laughing above him tied up can’t fly takes his dick out quick
the truth of it
old truth they don’t exist anymore been hiding
can
divides
and I wish I knew where we are all midnight dish sick devision crazy
among the roses thought to myself magic is loss god is for too long
reason to hide far away all gone protection names the way you keep me
babel talks hoarse soul holes walls cracks deep voice insane inside
rocks
holy words hidden scratchy moans dolores queen of throat bad caughs and
alive didn’t help to solve the problem nor to see further than
through & maybe sometime I‘ll wake up somewhere & you’ll not be around
jeudi, novembre 16, 2006
clavicle tree (Deborah Kramer)
Elbows resting on the white laundromat counter, triceps pressing into the storefront window . Her her body weight shifted, like pulling an arrow back through a bow string. The left leg carried her: a steady mast supporting her right leg - right hip jutting out and ankle tight, knee bent at a 45-degree angle - an A-frame supporting her meagre ballerina carcass,. Her bottom half became a bowed windsurfing frame, anchored to the linoleum floor. A deserted left sandal sat empty, while the tippy-toes of its owning foot curled, gripping its right foot counterpart. The sturdy pose would surely lead to long-term misalignment. It's so easy to hide among the reeds of our corporal wind chime: bones hanging off a hanger of bones. From a supporting clavicle the spine kinks about, swaying from blade to blade, snaking like enjoined cogs of a greasy bike chain...that one crucial vertebrae, linking neck to back is where posture ends up: a camel hump collecting energy, pain, hidden truths - until it won't bend back into shape.
won't bend back into shape.