Great news for the kids to the park and ride at the beach with the boys for the day but if we can get together for a drink and see the car and then we have a lot in common.
No Crystalization Without Representation
Tag Archives: sleep
Textures & Discrepancies
Wikipedia Poem, No. 533
“Beyond the wild myrtle away from cats I turned him loose / and his eye asked me what to do, where to go” A.R. Ammons
debord jp
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male writers
kenneth adrip
goldsmith evanescent
a substance despised
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the
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on the
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fall prize and a
terrace
earliest known club membership
often refer to
switch to they were
native
of no eternal significance
language used over
the shift to
go about weaving changes and
many tender
ibids
Did You Mean Más o Menos?
Wikipedia Poem, No. 510
“How about an oak leaf / if you had to be a leaf?” James Schuyler
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Dennis Doherty
Everything Have I seen you bikini'd? The air solidifies around the sound Of your waxed body A love song Yes The men smoldering on the sidewalk Have a conversation about Hades Reduced to vapor Southwest Virginia Nothing Encasement of cultural cache in nylon Tied in a neat knot between keen Shoulder blades Pale duvet on fire
Mistletoe
— at the end of
the sentence I prefer
no punctuation. Yet here I am
God amongst grammarians
rationalizing with botany
Wikipedia Poem, No. 136
“The minority groups in present-day industrial society who shout for freedom and human dignity are really clumsily asking that they be given a sense of primary heroism of which they have been cheated historically.” Ernest Becker
Eat broken dreams
And water their tiresome sit-ups swimming
Go to town to do schoolwork arend go to town
For umbrellas of Scotch for 5 p.m. errands
At the state liquor store tiresome sit-ups
Swimming takes me to town for pushups
All right time and hunger and swimming pools
Which I get home and hunger and water
At the tiresome details to what ten towns
Run errands do pushups and swim
Lean and buff water $5 a fifth at the nearby
Municipal swimming unmoored like
A middle-aged man like me
Like jazz lots of Scotch too town
There are when I do arrange myself
To myself it was heart-breaking that pool which
I took with supper eating broken dreamers, dearest Jane
Sources:
Simons, Seth. “From Winston Churchill to Tim Cook:
The Sleep Routines of 7 Brilliant Minds.” Van Winkle’s.
Casper, 17 Feb. 2016. Web. 21 Feb. 2016.
“Love.” Dir. Dean Holland. Netflix. 19 Feb. 2016. Streaming video.
Becker, Ernest. The Denial of Death. New York: Free Press, 1973. Print.
“the moon”
three five
six five
three
keep counting
command the impossible
one two three
four six
four
in the air
sweet fermenting pear
one two three
six five
three one
dreamless pixels
the moon
through a screen
Untitled, 051420152314
The ground outside
Papered with noise
Wild a fire, far off
And sleep.
Notes from a dream, 1215-172013
12162013
1. “Ashuver Sixlio”
2. “As I failed to shoot the dog”
3. Lot of dreams tonight. I curse myself for not waking to sketch them along the way. But last among them:
On the streets of NYC, with Andrew as sort of assistant, photographing the street. Lots of people. Smiles but also secret shooting of the homeless and glamorous at perfect unobserved rest. Anyway, at some vague point we encounter a group of 8 to 10 girls aged 16 to 22 (I intuitively know/guess) and they start to follow us. Flirting at the same time annoying and gadflying. We welcome the attention, the company, the shared energy, but they are a distraction, clogging the sidewalk as we try to navigate through without too much negative juju coming our psychic way.
Andy and I stop at some point to deal with an equipment issue and the sirens swarm, smoking, making my lens change more difficult than it needs to be. One of them, a young brunette all soft lines, most devious bodied, the youngest, most supple bodied, stands in front of me. Me, two feet from her burning Camel Light. The sweet smoke passing between us without burning my eyes. She won’t stop talking; so much more than talking: sexualizing forth, weaponizing, poking me with her untouchable womaness. Clouds me. And I’m trying to change that god damned lens, not let any of her smoke into the camera body. Fuddling with lens caps.
An ash, like a perfect snowflake (it had been snowing now IRL for two days), falls from her cigarette to her dimpled chin and, as if that ash were a universally understood cue, I kiss her lips with such quick aggression that she takes a step back. Unbalanced/shocked. Gives me a moment of much-needed distance.
The hip girls all snicker and chat, one says something to no one: “Oh my god, she’s only 15.” But no harm done. I lock in the wide angle lens and we all move on.
Inkown [Draft, 070520131216]
Where will he go?
Half hemmed against
The water hand dancing through
Clouds in a ballet of stars
Night
Just night
Beneath the cold mountain
Where is he afraid to go?
