Angelo Plessas, from Untitled Portrait Gallery, 2009
For those who Know Best their mirror,
a Conspiracy revolves around.
Silence from behind devours a relic from the past.
Life is usually attached to lengths of magnetic fields.
You might be Emerging as something else.
I might Switch Back. All I wish is that when I start up,
my life will be OkaY
Keep, Art was Stolen By a Masked man in thong.
I thank Obama because he\’s black,
he said We love Colors.
You are feeling suicidal now please stop.
Apocalyptic, I contemplate the Universe around us.
elated quilt establishes despairingly
victorious coma becomes elatedly
thoughtful income clips deprecatively
beautiful sidewalk checks long-windedly
combative pie cracks giddily
crowded haircut buzzes dazzlingly
quaint answer enhances garishly
A TYPICAL DAY OF DALI AND GALA
DALI, materialized in a apartment. Many persons in a single body. It was the
sixth game of attention. Behaving scarcely angered, DALI punched a ninja star,
but this certainly didn't encourage DALI deciding what to do in smart way. Out of
nowhere, DALI hoped that DALI's marginal fidelity is to be perpetually positive,
because hatred is born out of fear. Unconsciously DALI emailed GALA, DALI's
neighbor/accomplice 'Free yourself from common sense', said DALI. DALI must
have seen GALA for 20 hours in Tahrir square during the Revolution some of
them were modest diabolical and empirical inspirations. GALA was a nobody.
Many persons outside a single body. Between the line of black and white. GALA
was outgoing more or less... pestering. DALI called GALA 'Somebody has to
listen to me' he said. 'These are the symptoms of the liberal-democratic affluent
society', said DALI.
GALA hypnotized by lazy DALI. 'Why and for whom does philosophy work today
?' , said GALA. GALA ...
Christine Kelly, Apple 1 is an apple. Apple 2 is the idea of an apple, 2011
One or More Occasions
If the diviner,
when he wakes up to the sound
of his own trumpet,
or presents the
in moonlight, the wrong kind of bottle
we belong in the monosyllabic new
the diviner won’t embarrass
on fear of exits (this and an absence of such
fear are both aphrodisiacs)
stone cold absence
then the diviner becomes crooked
a bendy-neck swan totem stands in for
a subjective everything
feature: permanent hat
and guess what
this is a timeslot
a clutter among others
at which we marvel occasionally
into clean and empty
sing about the full
about means around
or in proximity to
timespace designations. Hey,
take it like a spittoon.
into the bloated order of cause and effect—
cranial piping is how I arrived
at permanent hat, actually
resembling a column of smoke
coming out of the diviner’s hat
I Baroque It
“DOES sport imply sanctity?” was a sporting question, which through no extension
other than the yawny, tragic phonetiks surrounding someone’s (I bet) snowmobile accident…
…less likely than a skiing accident,
more likely than a competitive taffy pull filling the interior of a milk hood shared by two school chums
with vacuum trident
Early incidence of dual ownership can create loquaciousness so drippy that it requires a dish.
OBLITERATE WET GENEROSITY
Shan’t discuss human sexual attraction in this one, but know, just know, know what you know,
when you hear those angels trumpeting: oxygen. 100% oxygen hands slip in from behind.
$527 Cobra Quiz [win again and again]
Cobra the yogic asana.
Cobra the health insurance for poor sods.
Alexandra Gorczynski, Bathroom in the Dark, 2011
March 23rd, 2011
Early mornings were never my thing. I mean, it’s not that artists are lazy. Or out drinking late most nights. Or not out last night, a Tuesday. Hungover. I go out with the dog. It’s still basically dark. A kind of dark blue fog, super cold and grey. A couple are out early, two middle aged men bundled up and both smoking with thick leather gloves. They are sitting on a bench in front of the takeout place on the corner. It’s way too cold to be sitting outside. I hear one say to the other as I pass them, “do you want the thing or the other thing.” And I think, this is true partnership, to have thoughts coalesce around the same object. Not a shared thought, but a coming together. The muffin or the bagel. Privileging someone else’s desires for a subjectless thing. Generosity. Just as likely the better looking half of an egg and cheese sandwich. I go in the store and order one for myself. Salt and grease.
Today in 1923 Tennessee became the first state to outlaw the teaching of evolution. Today in 1933 the Reichstag passed the Enabling Act, granting Hitler total power. Fittingly, today is miserable. Still basically dark, hail. The never ending domino fall of winter storms.
March 29th, 2011
I live in America’s most bug infested city. There are bug infested mattresses all around my neighborhood this evening. It’s trash night and everyone has put the big stuff on the curb. Not just bug-ridden mattresses, also rugs, rotting Ikea cushions from a few seasons back, clothes of all kinds. I drop off my sheets at the laundry across the street and six o ...
I start by looking for images of parking lots. I’m thinking about finding the perfect image, or making one. I have to see an image of a parking lot with over-layed text that reads “Social Network.”
Then I move on to looking at images under the term crash. There are cartoon characters, crash dummies, airplanes in pieces, bodies, stills from the movie, cymbals, explosions. I open a new tab: Wikipedia – Crash. I’m redirected to collision.
A collision is an isolated event in which two or more moving bodies exert relatively strong forces on each other for a relatively short time. ¶ Collisions can be elastic, meaning they conserve energy and momentum, inelastic, meaning they conserve momentum but not energy, or totally inelastic (or plastic), meaning they conserve momentum and the two objects stick together.
It’s this last type of collision that interests me most, the totally inelastic one—when the two colliding objects merge into one and conserve momentum.
While cruising through the images I’m collecting, I think of Jean Baudrillard and then J.G. Ballard, retracing steps that I took three years ago, all in perfect recall. I make a new folder called parking-lots and drop in images with filenames like 5781586-aerial-view-of-an-empty-parking-lot, grantham-parking-lot-0951, Lot, Tel_Aviv_parking_lot, and zoo_lot2-750149.
It’s getting dark outside and my terminal is bathing this corner of the room and the front side of my knuckles in bluish light. My fingernails dimly reflect the screen. All the tiny parallel ridges reflect light in opposing directions, causing the reflection to appear matte.
I get up from my desk, look out the window, decide not to close the drapes, turn around and glance at the cat, then sit back down. My fingernails are long and hit the keys before the pads of my fingers. I ...
Image by altffour
Editor’s Note: “"Tricia u MUST join Twitter to network with Poets" *tricia joins twitter, falls in with a million Comedy Fuckers, forgets what poem even is*” — @TriciaLockwood, September 2, 2011
Patricia Lockwood is an actual poet—published in the New Yorker, even!—who has inappropriately touched the imaginations of a thousand followers with her “sexts.” Born around the time of the Anthony Weiner scandal, the genre congeals gobs of glowing poetry from networked life’s greasy stew of blunt spam copy, collaged pop culture, and constant little spells of titillation. This is a selection of Lockwood’s hottest sexts.
A ghost teasingly takes off his sheet. Underneath he is so sexy that everyone screams out loud
Do you smell like a mousetrap? I am a cruel woman and I simply adore the smell of mousetraps
A Teenage Turtle takes extreme pleasure from sticking his head in and out of his shell very slowly while a rat watches
Midnight. My wife and children are asleep. Breathlessly I begin to search for my favorite kind of porn: "Women Standing in Big Jeans"
THE BIGGEST WOMEN IN THE TIGHTEST JEANS!!! U WONT BELIEVE YOUR EYES! THESE WOMEN SIMPLY CANT GET ENOUGH STANDING AROUND IN BIG JEANS!
These jeansluts stand up really straight with their tits out, holding the jeans as far away from their bodies as possible! SO RAW
This girl wants a denim vest, a denim scrunchie, and denim Keds -- are YOU the sicko who's going to give them to her
You are miniature, and I put you in the bell of a saxophone and play a long soulful B-flat
I am Everest and I JO while a 100-year-old grampa tries to climb me. At the moment he reaches my peak I produce a thunderous rockslide...