| oohahhoohaahooh |
[27 Jun 2008|06:58pm] |
|
|
|
|
[13 Apr 2007|02:41pm] |
theres a conversation i have been having from mid air, right after i ran off the cliff carrying the wileEcoyote bomb..
i stuck there in the sky, muttering to something, maybe the bomb
not yet exploded, not yet fallen..
for a year.
it goes like this:
I HAD TO I HAD TO I HAD TO
whatdidyouwhatdidyouwhatdidyou
|
|
| never ever wassail |
[27 Dec 2006|05:31pm] |
I THOUGHT
it would be so cool to hang out with cookie monster.
he like knew his way around.
wore the chip hep? on his shoulder with bravado, vibrado.
his pompadore was SO SOFT. his pants were distressed, like me.
sometimes he would let me put my hand in the crook of his arm, sometimes hed let me wrap around.and we would breathe together. and for once, hiding in the dark in front of thousands, i wouldnt sneeze. because i was soooo cooonncentraatted.
his eyes would do that slowly closing thing.
i would sing my childhood to myself.
and we would fall asleep.
~~~~
untill!
COOOKIE!! COOOKIE!! COOKIE!!
BINGE
PUUUUUUUUUUUURGE
all over my shirt.
Everyone is fucking crazy.
|
|
| guy wire |
[06 Nov 2006|12:22am] |
i drip out hummingbirds, but they fly out of sight before anyone can see their ruby colored throats. i think i cant say it fast enough. now ive turned to trying to say something _disgusting_, something so gross that everyone will have to lay down and rest after hearing it because their stomachs turned upside down in a wave of shuddering soo blime eee. but my mouth falls out every time I try. or flies.
|
|
| demi urge |
[25 Aug 2006|01:19pm] |
She walks in with her suitable sequins out. And they flash in our eyes, blinding us for just long enough for her to steal our pocket books, glance over our fears and place them back inside us.
And then she laughs. With her head back like they did all the time in the fifties. Telling us all with an explosive sound that life is too wonderful and happiness is just so intoxicating isn’t it? (This is a lovely cunning, because when she wrights her head we all believe her and thank her for re-teaching us that shiny things shine.)
And then she lets out the real showstopper: substance. A sly reference and then an uncorking of referred wisdom, and suddenly the glinting bubbles of interest around her replenish again and again, and we are all irrevocably sold. The whole room aglow with tamed sexuality, each one of us letting out a grab, acting like one of those abyssinan kittens on a harness. Isnt it exotic, but darling it cant bite you with its muzzle squeezed shut. I paid through the nose but life is for living.
Unfortunately, at this point I usually smell a rat, or wish to find one, behind her cupboard, scurrying through her soiled silk linens. From the first moment of this well choreographed tango I look deep into her mouth, out of jealousy at first but more out of a deep desire to see the wires working behind the stage. To see somewhere in her human skull the hallway where the stage managers are barking orders and the vaudevillians are sneaking peeks of whiskey and showgirls behind door seven. Con men, ready for the next great show-off.
What makes me sad as I nod back to her about the prices of things in the thousands, is that I have gotten better at spotting the weeping garbage heap cleaned up and hawking somewhere behind their eyes, that every time I do look for sadness scurrying somewhere between the phrases, I find it. Embarrassed, like a visitor who finds a one legged great uncle cloistered and indisposed somewhere in the mayors mahogany house.
You would think that this search and find would leave me really pleased with myself. But it doesn’t. I lose a friend every time I find them out; I never hear beautiful laughs anymore. The people whose conversations you overhear are probably just talking loud so you can overhear them anyway. I don’t even piece together their usually gleefull and obnoxious stories anymore.
I have gyped myself out of a ride on their bathtub gin streetcar, and I mourn a little that my mind cannot sparkle because of her anymore. It confuses, remembers and steps aside. Barely missing another glistening, blistering catastrophe.
|
|
| Control yourself |
[22 Aug 2006|06:14pm] |
Oh my oh my I JUST CANT!
(scrub bub)
|
|
| gross but true |
[03 Aug 2006|05:13pm] |
american history is a diuretic,
ok but the present and future..?
|
|
|
[05 Jun 2006|04:44pm] |
"in the immediacy of that long-forgotten moment the future nests so eloquently that we, looking back, may rediscover it."
|
|
| beasts |
[22 May 2006|04:08pm] |
 
|
|
| dont bother whispering |
[15 Nov 2005|01:21pm] |
i can still hear you. (kitten neck)
|
|
| hello |
[28 Oct 2005|01:23pm] |
http://www.edwardburtynsky.com/
optimism spins in dials around the people you knew and and will meet. the inevitable will be this pile of dials and wire, that after time wont be used by anyone anymore. but there is no questioning the value of words that spun between you like GossameR piano chords and also carwrecks. building and unbuilding you, rerouting your streets. stretching the sweater of it around you both. keeping you warm. giving you the memory of warm. for when you start to spin the dial again with someone else.
|
|
| topher grace |
[12 Oct 2005|11:40am] |
|
our city dips up and down into season reasonable temperatures, it also undulates reasonable forgetfulness of its recent hysteria. people getting out of cars into breezes all wear the same face. we will be alright. we are allowed to now become naive again. the expanding and contracting concrete has an underneath, as it moves it reveals the moveable topograpgic curves under its flat blacktop skin, it shows that it has vascular tunnels that do pump blood as well as sewage. a city is a sum total of life and the life within the city can experience the same corperal shock and release. for those of us that did not suffer permanent damage or tragedy it is buying sandwhiches and then sleeping, and then forgetting. almost completely. after a car-y nightmare houston can roll over in its big fat bed and slap the autumn snooze.
again a continent is "the other woman." why i am placed in jealous cat fights across time zones with asian hemispheres i dont know. just lucky i guess.
cheers for forty something warehouse artist pirates yapping into the night.
|
|
| space tourist mits |
[11 Oct 2005|11:46am] |
|
|
| how long do i have to stand here |
[13 Sep 2005|02:47pm] |
|
|
| this overwhelms so much i can hardly post |
[19 Aug 2005|04:46pm] |
|
|
| My bonnet is full of bees |
[04 Aug 2005|02:50pm] |
|
|
| shoes and roaches |
[14 Jul 2005|01:39pm] |
|
walking down the street in a houston that will never exist, twilight and party festoons. hey, there are bikers. but im just walking. one, the young one yet to find an old lady, who is pleasing but also plump grabs me with both arms and hangs me upside down. You will be my wife now. I dont mind. The open road, and here I am with white high heels.
Another shoe dream, at some mall with everyone I know, I slide away to a very crowded shoe store and there are piles of good last season stuff and people everywhere. I put on a pair of reddish brownish t straps. and get confused by their very confusing heel back straps. another lady grabs my foot and puts the shoe on right. shortly after it slides on my foot, a giant parachute is expanded out of the shoes and i am again upside down, floating. in a mall.
and i have lost all trust in mother nature. you flying brown beasts.
|
|
|
[01 Jul 2005|12:38pm] |
hot days
with toads
and inside kitties rolling around outside. in orangely perfection. i touch her.
the ground is cracked.
trying very hard not to believe that the foundation is cracked the foundation is cracked. not a healthy sentiment.
want to give storms and water on face to the sky, to the region. and dry up myself. let the atmosphere blubber.
cant shake that things were probably better before. wooden tables and troubles with typewriter ribbons. no, say the elds, it was just trouble. BAH NECKTIES. what an affect. but you looked so ready for something important. we look three guestures to ready for a nap. formal worries and fonts, conceptual pageants only.
fish swim in and out of their tanks and i ready for attending elementary school in pearls. bus driver.
|
|
![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
twoturnips's journal