September 2008
46 posts
b i n d
muscle pulls muscle bound sweet tight and impossibly alive. wet organics gone unhanded and unkind. you might want to scream but it’s better if you bite your lip and hold it. put it deep in there somewhere. down deep where you keep the fundamental wrongs wronged you. life makes strange headfellows. just be still. the bind will pass, sure. everything taught and uncountably hard will deliquesce...
w h a t e v e r
it can be almost any sort of thing. the good, bad, sweet and sour. mostly sour some days and you can end up pulled out of shape. pushed from form and light to process. it’s all okay. its all okay. whatever it is, it’s okay. just don’t let it rub you raw. don’t fight what you can’t fight. find the right way to frame it. whatever it is doesn’t matter how it...
b l a n c o
sometimes the well just plain runs dry. ain’t a thing in the world can be done about it. you can’t wish the water into existence. you just gotta pull up and find yourself some new way of getting what you need. and while you do—things are going to get a bit rough and dry.
“keep your own counsel”
– unknown
sometimes you gotta stop with the lying to yourself and suck hard on the teet of reality. like it or no.
s w e e t
ah bitter sweet pull me from here. whatever don’t let go swear you’ll leave behind. whatever wont come warm again is dead and can only slow you. deliver me away quiet from this lonesome spot. take me in long majors and cover my eyes till we’re so deep and dark there’d be nothin a man would care to see. cover my eyes till the light dims. pull me from here and pretend we...
g i v i n g u p
he. gives up. un-won. just so sudden it broke. now everything is fine. now everything is come undone. quiet, a song sung soft against the curve of her hip. thrum thrum. a chord struck through fat and flesh. a chord bust through sand-white bone. and you can just tell its been too much. you see if only you look. can less than nothing be given. it can. he gives up. un-won.
“It is only by going down into the abyss that we recover the treasures of life....”
– Joseph Campbell
“dood. i gotta be young some more.”
– jeff.
“you are pretty much made of rad.”
– carla of Carmina Foto
“Yeah, we might die from medication
But we sure killed all the pain”
– Bright Eyes, from the song ‘Lua’
“i fail so fucking hard.”
– ruzzism number 1,049.
s h a k e
you shake and shake and shake till you can’t hold yourself any longer. night creeps on, and past and by. night breath cold air caress. you shake and shake feeling all of it. you never thought you would. you bring the dark inside and hold hold hold till it can’t be held no more.
r u n
shoot and shoot and shoot and. drinks and life and people and kisses and smokey air and firing a hasselblad—the sweetest shutter pop ever. club sandwiches and girls and girls and pool and every thing. just everything. no sleep. no rest. no food. no breath. run.
“like, my body just can’t handle other peoples germs… serious.”
– kendra on her constant illness.
here goes nothing
“the darkness defines where the light is..”
– hawksley workman killing me softly in “oh you delicate heart”
f o r e
there’s this quiet. before my mistakes wake or come home. i take it. cup it in fat palms. against my skin. it can’t be held. it dies in my hands. it dies against my skin. there’s this quiet. before my mistakes wake, or come home. there’s this quiet and it dies against my skin.
“people ain’t no good.”
– nick cave singing … people ain’t no good.
b r o t h e r
tonight i went full and hard and gave everything i had. i stood up for the idea of love if not love itself. i stood strong and fast in kensington pub full and sheathed in 6 or 7 stella and stepped far from this hiding place i know too well and asked someone to reach for me. asked someone to come to me and meet me half way. then i walked, alone and drunk through all the deep fall night of bowness....
“right?!? i think they were actually offended because her tit isn’t a...”
– ruzz on flickr speculating on possible reasons for my monderation on fickr.
“had less hassle getting an abortion after that mongoloid kid down the street...”
– jo ghetto.
“feel free to suck it Terrence, really.”
– my reply to flickr after getting put on moderated status.
b u r n
i’m ready to tear it all down. again. start fresh. feel free and new and relook with changed eyes and focused heart. ready again. you burn something everytime you begin again.
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e c h o s
wake up. wake up. rains rush all a river. a thousand-thousand drops come litanous thrum. bone-white bones wash pure, hollow. thighs blossom incarnadine. delicate heartbreak. a deep-song beat solemn upon god’s fattened belly. wake up. love, wake up.
“i feel bad for people who don’t drink… ‘cause when they get up...”
– Sinatra in mid show patter live at the sands, september 1966 with Count Basie and his Orchestra.
d i s t i l
you wait on the ready for the cold to distil the push from the pull. the good from hell. you wait like you can’t ever wait no more. a late night hallway kiss or shuffle of socks hitting the floor, or snow cracking under foot. these things, all, white pure and half worth digesting. and you wait, tongue dry and old, full and willing. bitter, sweet, come upon me.
“Maybe self-improvement isn’t the answer…. Maybe self-destruction is...”
– Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club
w o r d s
you can hear them spoke from yer own mouth. sure and certain meaning everything. they rattle old loose teeth and break over bumpy lips day and night and you know none of it. you can’t mind the word, the lord’s or the fathers. or most days yer own. you feel yer own mouth speakin and listen close wonderin what might next be coming.
p u l l
pulled pulled pull can you be really be torn apart by the moment of choice the momentum of life? can it seperate the skin and the fat, the hope and the ideal? we move through crowded aisles of want and need. breakneck speeds and understanding be damned. it will all be okay when..
w h o r e
there’s a rotten kicking whore sewed up tight in my side. you pay her and she kicks me for everything wrong i ever done. what i did to you was unforgiveable and still i find a way to go on. still i find my way. so you pay that whore stitched up tight, you pay her in tears and longpull sighs and she rolls up her leg, rolls up her night and waits up her energy. then, when you feel like you...
linklove: puncture →
I’ve been butting hard against 250 pixels and wanting to stay the course i’ve stayed the tongue, or fingers. whatever. no more. when will the first 4000 word post birth. only the good lord can say, but stay tuned.
“i’d give more if i could.”
– ruzz.
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b r e a t h l e s s
i lay. i lay. i lay you down. dirt wanted clean. grime wanted scrubbed. boxes wanted emptied. skin wanted heat. heart wanted everything. nobody got none of it. not here, not now. restless legs and old cold grey today. cold cold grey in the way. keep it up, keep it up comeon. empty invitations and everything shaking from september winds. watch your step, brother.
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long quote
Was I bored? No, I wasn’t fuckin’ bored. I’m never bored. That’s the trouble with everybody - you’re all so bored. You’ve had nature explained to you and you’re bored with it, you’ve had the living body explained to you and you’re bored with it, you’ve had the universe explained to you and you’re bored with it, so now you want cheap...
s m o t h e r
you try to break loose and find you can’t. never ending vines like sickly sweet strings or sweet lies wrap the blades of your shoulders, hold tight. promises too often made, too often made up, sit fat on your belly and grind down. you try to break loose and you can’t. you pull for deep air and find only pain and blackness, like death, or forgiving. you try for another, and find only...
“jeff’s here in the bosom of the simkulets.”
– judekyle easing my mind that my nephew is well cared for far away on the atlantic coast.
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{Memento} 2000-02-19
train shuffles and lurches. a vanilla scented, grey washed, blur of motion. i imagine you are behind me and we are cojoined by deliberately playing at unknown for the other passengers.
“if you’re willing to admit you’re stupid, I will help. If not you...”
– ruzz to an unnamed caller looking for an internet lookup they should’ve done themselves.
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Link: a short review of Cohen's book of longing →
my review of Leonard Cohen’s Book of Longing for GoodReads.com
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high contrast truths q&a
flickr user asks:
How do you achieve the high contrast.
ruzz:
its through some fantastic high contrast machine. you feed in low contrast lies and it spits out high contrast truths.
it really really does.
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reproduction = death.
art dies when the womb comes alive. men come fathers stop writing, painting, fucking. leastwise sometimes it’s so. enough to maybe keep a pen in hand and a cock at bay. think of sarah mclaughlin and the slow painful death of her last couple. think of the newish holly mcnarland. a girl built on a snarl fell in love and squeezed out a couple now she’s writing chin-bobbers. call it...