Sunday 2 August 2009

today i woke up with dreams of beheading friends.
a white building with pills eclipsed the horizon.
shadows of empty figures in perfect unison,chanting, following me...sucking the gas from my tank.
my brakes went out on a grassy hill. a trigger or a light switch attached to
a spinal cord swung from the sun,thru clouds
and slapped me on the cheek.

i grabbed at its slime and questionable strength and began to climb.
issues of art magazines and peoples parents on clouds filling out subscriptions. prescriptions. passion and concern. a routine expectation laced with morning coffee and work orders.
followers for the friday
the downturn in the movement of money.
my trunk is empty, a turnkey relay of systematic automatons-like a glob of focus.
Is focus actually an emptiness.
a singularity, a culling and a bottle neck gestation. Walking on water with floating feces. same difference.
burnt swinging arms off of screen prints from germany or los angeles. atlanta. the word atlanta seems to have a film over it of closeness,of expectation and predisposition.
i see the retaining walls
the supposed sound barriers of the interstates,hiding backyards of homes but only slightly.
voices connected to bodies and bodies connected to thoughts,either manifested sexually or as friends touching the same dinner table or as an idea. as a community.
objects. with joints and likings for animals. north american health and fame. houses rotting,built by foreign hands.
painted by cheap curb side desperation. appreciation lingers and attacks pick up trucks with pick up lines. cat calls for territories.

a colorful purity to imitation of life. art and internet. internet will fully flesh out the reverberation of wires to beyond images and sounds. to more. as art is and only responds to life, as it always has...the two share a reality
in the mundane.
the my-ness,the faceless you-ness of alone time to share as friends or for recognition. for who you are.for the negative space that defines you.that you seek to define. with response. comments. feedback. money.
to real time. to



  1. yo!

    clouds away
    from my-ness
    to your
    to our
    isn't it-ness?

    have/have not

    is/is not


    hey, i dig the pic
    of the meadow w/ a
    looking at us
    in silent
    "just another human"
    "glad to have
    them rascals off my back!"
    & i'm
    glad the glue
    factory don't
    take giddy-up
    no more,
    oh yeah,
    talking about
    horses somehow remind'd
    me of Trish,
    damn, that woman
    got skillz,
    flipp'd my lids
    w/ that instant
    perfection of drawing,
    not just a simple
    but able to convey
    warmth of horse,
    intelligent eyes,
    gentle slope
    of the galloping glide...

    i done been talking to
    Victoria today, she put
    a fire under my ass
    to get my shit together,
    as i started babbling,
    "well, you've known me
    a long time & you know
    how my narrative goes,
    the fucking story never
    changes..." & such shit
    sideways ape & she sd:
    shut the fuck up & do
    something ya dumb bastard,
    which made me think about
    what i need to do,
    i know,
    i shouldn't discuss
    this w/ you,
    just words,
    better to wait
    on an actualization,
    but fuck it,
    here i am in my i-ness
    commmenting like cement
    thru concrete sox,
    if i do manage
    to get my deflated ball
    blown up & rolling,
    we'll have to getta
    cheap joint & become
    superheroes in Atlanta,
    like throwing eggs,
    we should get a few
    dozen eggs & decorate
    'em all up & go on
    our blathercave can
    be secret hideout HQ
    complete w/
    vodka waterfalls,
    our moniker will be:
    the fuckshitup twins,

    we gonna bomb
    this shitty city
    like shrooms 'o shima,
    havin' dapeep so thirsty
    they'll be drank
    the damn black rain,

    (this comment is controlled by gamma waves)



  2. oh yeah, it's been so tense lately, beers in the whitehouse etc, i guess i'll post a disclaimer as to avoid confusion:

    the black rain ain't got nothin to do with racial stereotyping, also, it's nothing like the Prince & purple rain, but Tones on Tail can bring it thunderburst w/ rain, here comes...

    the black rain i refer to is this:

    INTERVIEWER: So the fire came towards you?

    TAKAKURA: Yes, it did. The whirlpool of fire that was covering the entire street approached us from Ote-machi. So, everyone just tried so hard to keep away from the fire. It was just like a living hell. After a while, it began to rain. The fire and the smoke made us so thirsty and there was nothing to drink, no water, and the smoke even disturbed our eyes. As it began to rain, people opened their mouths and turned their faces towards the sky and try to drink the rain, but it wasn't easy to catch the rain drops in our mouths. It was a black rain with big drops.

    INTERVIEWER: How big were the rain drops?

    TAKAKURA: They were so big that we even felt pain when they dropped onto us. We opened our mouths just like this, as wide as possible in an effort to quench our thirst. Everybody did the same thing. But it just wasn't enough. Someone, someone found an empty can and held it to catch the rain.

    INTERVIEWER: I see. Did the black rain actually quench your thirst?

    TAKAKURA: No, no it didn't. Maybe I didn't catch enough rain, but I still felt very thirsty and there was nothing I could do about it. What I felt at that moment was that Hiroshima was entirely covered with only three colors. I remember red, black and brown, but, but, nothing else. Many people on the street were killed almost instantly. The fingertips of those dead bodies caught fire and the fire gradually spread over their entire bodies from their fingers. A light gray liquid dripped down their hands, scorching their fingers. I, I was so shocked to know that fingers and bodies could be burned and deformed like that. I just couldn't believe it. It was horrible. And looking at it, it was more than painful for me to think how the fingers were burned, hands and fingers that would hold babies or turn pages, they just, they just burned away. For a few years after the A-bomb was dropped, I was terribly afraid of fire. I wasn't even able to get close to fire because all my senses remembered how fearful and horrible the fire was, how hot the blaze was, and how hard it was to breathe the hot air. It was really hard to breathe. Maybe because the fire burned all the oxygen, I don't know. I could not open my eyes enough because of the smoke, which was everywhere. Not only me but everyone felt the same. And my parts were covered with holes.

  3. the warhol connection? whers that ? post some of that. graft it up!




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