Plathological

sunny, sunny

“I yawned,” he says, “and now I’m crying all over your nose.”

Istanbul with shadows, 1984? Please, we’re dark and referencial enough already. Walking a blue-shirted boy to the bus depot in the afternoon heat because you’re an awesome girlfriend with a discreet, rhomboid ribcage who buys smokes by the carton and can finally say goodbye in public line-ups. All this to say, it’s well known what you’ve been able to work yourself up to these past years, edged by the type of dirty that can only come with being surrounded by unused plates sporadically floored all over the apartment. These days still filled with thinking about the symbols used in livestock branding--half circle, rocking, and circumstances when other shapes would be used, carrying an animal through its lifespan.

OFFERING

Ever since I broke the bread into tiny, beak-sized pieces and threw it out my window to a very slow milling progression of peck and feed, the pigeons have been leaving presents for me, every god damn day. I’m not even kidding you: every morning I wake to another singular, lonely pigeon feather on my windowsill. Today I got one from the very special all brown pigeon, and you won’t ever have an idea of how much that excited me. Though, granted, I’m actually not sure if these are gifts, or warnings: if you don’t throw the bakery out your window soon, heaven help us, you’ll be feverishly praying to the Avian God. Cooooo. Cooooo. Fuck, you little bastards.

shotgun sight

You won’t want to go outside until it cools off, there's no breeze to feel or lift the flaps of boxes; though I do worry, needlessly—about eyelashes daggering into dilated irises faced towards you and away from the only light source in the room, what happens to your soul when you stuff yourself with just one more naan at the Indian buffet, drunk boys with soft, slight discolorations to their skin, shrinks who compare their surnames to precious stones, minus the extra letter tagged on at the end. "There you are," he says, "busy working away." Sprightly, British, I hand him the Berlin Wall on a platter and he says, "Tony Garnett. Like the stone, but with another T at the end." Shakes my hand, his foot slid halfway into the examination room.

I’m going back to school in the fall. I did the walk of shame yesterday, carrying my bright pink Academic Concession form rolled like some parody of a smoldering albatross diploma in my loose grip all over the campus walkways: Fine Arts Academic Advising, Record Services, Health Services. Why are shrinks always so cheery? Grins crawling like termites falling prey to your seated position, the kindness of your body and duststorm of organs--air over heated sand, itself heating. It’s both unnerving and endearing, the coiled balls of their feet. Seeing how their training goes right from their heads and into the creaks of their bones. How they put the long wind of your sentences into neat little categories will never cease to amaze me: “Support System,” “Cope," "Good for you--well done."

fault lines

Dreamt last night that my peephole was restored. As it stands, it’s all that it ever was: a hole through wood and the empty space between two panels. In my dream, bubbled glass, the widened foreheads of visitors walking around the hall remembering the small things, things the bare soles of their feet couldn’t feel, the possibility of the wood’s coldness beneath the rug. Put on, put on? Like caked pen tips used on the slant?

Welcome to Victoria

I was, as they say, "nearly incapacitated" with woman pain today. Small, frequent meals. Elevating my legs while on my back made it worse. Bitching about it on the internet makes no difference to me. I made a point of bleeding into and onto a pair of white, cotton, short sleep shorts with a much too loose drawstring, but I'm not sure what that proved. My two-drink humor is filtering into my sober states, and that probably should be cause for some off-beat concern as there are times when it really seems like I'm serious, i.e.: ART--the bloodbath has been dealt with, hasn't it?

more random

--did some tandem reading last night from the GG canon.
--made more curry.
--got some writing done.
--we keep cutting our hair? yes. I need updated photos? yes.
--these will do for now.
--love the reader, be at subliminal glow. OK.
--ok, deep breaths, carbonated drinks.

my tilting desk world

For a person who wakes as I do, brain overheated after a nap, body circuits grown too young with bad, mid-day timing, three dryer sheets tangled in the ass cheeks, phrases like “Essential Bikini” signify essential. Spent part of last evening downloading Madonna while reading about serial killers in Japan.

who knew the comic world was so in touch with my existence?

Happy Bloomsday! Eat some figs, a kidney--SHAKE AN ASHPLANT.

And look through all metaphorical levels of The Keyhole.

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engravings by matisse

leaning off

Untied like being totally unfulfilled I’m a few feet too far to get onto the fire escape or receive any sort of lip, not facing anywhere near where the light hits it: long leafed hysteria.

1)vers libre golden years 2) come hither(?)

The problem is, people don't know how to Get Personal anymore. It's like reclaiming an affinity with Ezra Pound, all over again.

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"My bed is very--imposing. It's very . . . monolithic. It's very--perspective, Tenth Grade Art."

curved

First time I had a headache last more than a day, first time I saw the brown pigeon on a plinth, fly belly-up sinusoidal glide over my window.

reverse decadence

I look a bit severe, research with only a final end in mind, or a half moon sliced straight down its center as out of our keenness for martial arts we have one half, the other finding out where the pigeons go when they’re not in my courtyard, watching them group as frantic, coughing engines around scattered clumps of seeds in town. You’re breaking bread, its pores overwhelming yours with steaming diameters. My truant bangs a bit severe, look out at you: no further questions just last hope rummage sale half way up my forehead, my moles starting to swell with proven ability to look professional at certain times and hello, I’ve come from an open and shut purse, then the sudden stopped as a way of walking. None of this is what I've been taught. Other than that, hey, I'm knocking on wood because there's no way in hell I'm telling you one ounce of what I'm thinking these days. Only: I think the peanut butter expired last week and I've become very insular, secretive, which is bad for the writing but I've never trusted you (the reader) less. Am sick of pouring my guts out and being stared at, getting nothing in return and not knowing where the information goes. I've been part of what has been called a too natural a process for too long. I hate the reader because he has no self control or true sense of completion, just letting it sit in him before it even sinks in.

I found that mask in a parking lot at night

really strange windows

so anyway, the shower went well

technology irritates

My scanner is being such a pixelated bitch. I want to stab it. With my steak knife. Anyway: more (tomorrow). I need a shower like nothing else.

we hate the world

pink razors

lend me your throat

my bed + dusk =

carcarcar (CAR CAR, car)=

graemegoth666:

Graeme + Photos + Goth =

I got a new sette (photo by Graeme)

couple shot in my bathroom

Last night: 2-6 of Vanil Stoli, Graeme shaving with my daisy pink razor

ES-EH-DEE

Oh, for the days when I'd drink an entire mickey and puke. So, SAD. &, only tipsy Yeah: SAD.

"I am the one they call life, and you have called death"

I’ll be mathematically expired, the clock on the building, hidden by the building. I wrote that two years ago and I’m still not sure what it means, save for remembering its context: arising from the Gnostic binaries (I am the utterance of my name//Be on your guard. Be on your guard//I shall be silent among those who are silent). We sleep beside each other and both dream about having sex with one another. This is goblet after goblet of gin and juice-- makes mutual dreaming an utmost propriety, makes it ok, comes on just, as only drunken sleep can. Not a source of water-a possible option.

couple-couple