August 2008
48 posts
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rubber v. glue
see, i’m smart as ravens. but beer is dumb as fat fingers. you mix beer and stress and bitterness and someone always ends up laid out on cold concrete or worse, something they can’t come back from. you just learn these lessons over and over and over and over and over till maybe they stick. nothing ever sticks though. nothing ever persists but that unrelenting thrashing. that...
“Media vita in morte sumus”
– latin phrase meaning roughly “in the midst of our lives we die”
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the mounds have been swept aside
the strange awkardness of having not seen you since before the fall. and you turn up with arms full of words and trinkets and longer hair and an understanding somehow worked free from all the fighting i watched and failed to know. you bring me a cage and and old wooden seat. you bring me a memory of sore teeth and rolling hills of green green grass and some happiness the past has passed.
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“because i love the pussy.”
– trash on why he would be lesbian if he were a woman.
hello 37.
thirty-seven found me in a run down minivan hurtling through the night towards the ghetto. drunk and next to my oldest friend in the world and i just want to take this second to warn thirty seven i aim to break my foot off in its ass.
so there.
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...
desire for her warm heart afraid to say the words
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“Resolve is never stronger than in the morning after the night it was never...”
– Johnny from Mike Leigh’s Naked (1993)
s to the h to the..
i see canada’s most rigid and uptight male—who also doubles as our prime minister—on the tv saying dood and having that geekish response to being outside his box. and i think about how he got in the box in the first place. how he’s the prototypical anti-male, and anti-animal. swathed in cloth of law, and procedure and public relations and christian values and his asshole...
three
three days to the birthday i almost never had. three days till thirty seven. its hard not to confuse things. milestones can be rough.
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“you wanna take a picture of hell?”
– homeless guy in a montreal alley to my nephew right before posing with his box.
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less is mooo.
remember to push less buttons. every time your fat little finger presses that button you have more work. is it any good? will it ever be? keep it? toss it? this color? that? archive it. store it. sort it. tag it. post it. watermark it. share it. forget it. remember it. lose it. recreate it. once you hit a certain level of technical comfort its less of a crapshoot. remember.
...
you don’t want to hate. or be full of bile. or darkness. or rage. you steer away from those things that trip you up and set you off. you stay away from unexpected good news and puzzling over the unsolvable. to many whys and an upset stomach. too many.
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“The girls don’t care that you ache to be free you see, the girls just want a...”
– eef barzelay lyric from Girls Don’t Care
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tired on the inside
sometimes the tension whithers. comes undone. and behind your ribs you feel rough and spent. it takes an sea of energy. drum tight drum tension. to build a world gone wrecked. a world left for dead. some days you can’t sleep for all the want.
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ad infinitum
you push yourself. put yourself up against what you think you can’t know. can’t get. can’t feel or understand. you find someway through the awkward. through the lull and sweet. you wait for the collapse you expect then unfold into beauty. or death.
the wheels on the bus go round and round
men in fine suits run down lights. the women wear long coats and stand catalogue style on train ramps. this city’s womb is bloated with grasses incarnadine. the drunk and homeless sleep it off. we round corners full and heavy. the girl searching knows something. i can see it in her eyes. shes kissing god. sticky and wet. all this life. all this filthy life.
just say no
you cannot be afraid. you cannot be afraid. you cannot be afraid.
“and therein the hook sets deeper.”
– ruzz on beauty and shame.
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the end of noise. the start of the fall.
you gradually softened beaten hands. slow. ever slow. that day you broke through and we realized we’d never heard you from our own patter. everything went quiet as the dead. nothing moved. nothing lived. our lungs emptied in. then you ask us why we’ve no air to speak. then you ask us why no spirit to meet.
quell. muffle. bite
remember the experience. the sensation. nevermind the words, or situations, or politics. its the sense. the change. bite down hard on that shit and find your way through. find your way to the new. doesn’t matter how it turns. doesn’t matter what comes. what’s left. its the change. bite down.
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you come close. you.
you’re always so close. inside almost. its hot and wet and whatever makes it makes sense stopped beating miles back. you come and stir then vanish. i fold over. in. up. burn. you come and wake then fly away. i pushed you down. i pushed you down. can’t you stay. can’t you just please.
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“i have semen on my shirt.”
– incoming txt message. she must have meant… sailors. of course thats what she meant what else.. uh.
sunday night lull
works done. skys pulled gold. pulled pink. no rains for us tonight. i wait and wait for the next big storm. even now, with an eye on you and an eye on soft blue sky. even now. sunday night wash. sunday night lull. quiet and alone. gotta scrub the insides of your arms and work the black earth off. gotta find your way to clean again. no calls. no msgs. no books. or booze. an open door with a light...
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“you must realize once more, Nephew, that in this world of hardship we must grasp...”
– Joesph Boyden - Three Day Road pg. 162
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the walls are covered now. reminders. lorca knew nothing of it yet he wrote of the dark magnolia of your belly. The Holy Lord God, L. Cohen had no inkling yet he wrote silence blossoms like tumors on our lips. it can be done even without. all thats been taken away will be restored. your motion. your escape route, your lung. your love. your absence. your hope. she will come and in her outstreched...
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“its very… different from ur old work. Ur old work is so full and alive,...”
– incoming text msg on the recent changes in my work. complimentary? doesn’t feel like it. doesn’t matter though.
“i’m trying to use the xboxs death as a philosophical opportunity to...”
– ruzz speaks in a facebook msg [ps. don’t dial 911 just yet, i’m not really thinking of offing myself, but i’m not entirely against offing you.]
sigue sigue sputnum
he coughs and hacks and takes deep long throat clears then all you hear is the thwipt sound of something being spit into something. over and over. in the morning. in the night. in the bathroom & kitchen. thwupt. i put my fans on he becomes a man growling. i put my fans on and put another blanket to warm me through the night. i talked to the super about him. she says he’s mute. no words...
“i am also disturbed by labels. but sometimes life, and beautiful asses come with...”
– ruzz on flickr
transmitting from our nation's capital
filled with static and the cacaphony of distance and space he speaks out of breath almost. he is happy. sleeping in his car and having run ins with natives and getting lost in alongquin park. he’s so young. i remember babies on grass and tents and the impossibility of age. he’s older now than i was in that memory. ceasless texting ceases while i hear him out. he loves everything....
“A photograph is a secret about a secret. The more it tells you, the less you...”
– –diane arbus [who it should be noted i generally think is grossly overthought of]
you sew my lips. i break your heart.
everyone wants to look away. to hide their eyes. i’m sick with secrets and making sure the light falls just. so. i am sick with the edited, consumable world. don’t push me to make it all right. don’t push me to make it all perfect. i will only let you down.
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“ya ya, i’m scared as hell. but i’m not scared of being scared.”
– photographer anders petersen in an audio interview.
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you get fireworks, you get life.
they hoot and holler and whistle. summer fireworks bring quiet persons into racious groups. i watch the lights explode. i hear the whine and whiz. i see the patterns. the colors. i don’t feel the need to hoot, or holler. or whistle. i don’t feel racious or part of the group. i don’t understand them. they are other than me and these stupid mundane moments explain how other they...
“I seek confidence in destitution. The desire to be surprised by
the...”
– http://zonezero.com/EXPOSICIONES/fotografos/anders/and15.html
somewhere over the rainbow
waiting waiting always waiting for something. this thing. that thing. some thing. always. never quite sure what it is, or what it will mean when i’m not waiting for it anymore. or how it will feel. or if it will make all the waiting make sense. or make it all a horrible joke. like somewhere i didn’t pick up something important and it just turned from a trickle to a torrent because it...
lens culture: Life Before Death →
a photo essay with pictures shortly before, then shortly after death.
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“I am so hot who wouldnt wanna Fuck me”
– incoming text msg with supporting picture attached. as judge, i am willing to hear futher arguments in the name of jurisprudence.
sit in my mind and enjoy.
love you like you’re not all used up and spent. thats how i should. but this is just filler till we know better what we want. where we want it, and how to get it.
just wait.