August 2009
19 posts
“i am not made of oil paints in real life.”
– yyellowbird on flickr. so true. so very very true.
fuck you. and you. and you. and you. and most of all.. you.
“who needs love when there’s southern comfort..”
– amanda palmer
w i n d
a deep hollow wind blows darkness and errant leaves you watch it pass counting the hairs of your fat arm while it brings the night of fall upon you. it winds though old-broke buildings, upon ashphalt and august grasses, telling secrets of pooling red and burnt yellow leaves, wooden rails watching rushing water and rocks upon which to break yourself if you must. we will sit idle as your lovelife...
“she’s a predator posing as a house pet..”
– fight club (1999)
the thing about being essentially unknown from an artist perspective is you can pretty much do anything you please and no one cares.
renew ruzz.org. check. one year anniversery for this blog.. coming up.
f i l m
you look but everything is dark and wet. a film brazen against a one eye’d glance. i watch you sit in darkened rooms just oranged by ugly street light, pouring over the dark and light of other eyes, other hearts and other fingers, large or small, holding your mouth like you’ve somehow missed what was meant. your notstril flares and burns holes through hips, elbows and the softest...
over-whelmed.
c i p he r
you give more than ever. get less than ever. you’re a wire-pulling cohen earning an honest-days-pay but you don’t really need the money. dilettante. Marla says it’s the refining process. she couches things beautifully. there are marks, scars and veins where then there was fine tight flesh. an emptiness follows like a shadow. you cannot touch it. fill it. live without it....
“The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong in the broken places....”
– Hemingway - A farewell to Arms