flesh of the touch

go ahead and touch me.

and with that she turned him right on.

carcass

i wonder what PETA had to say about this...?

suzanne, a hypochondriac who works at the cigarette counter.

for all her faux medical woes, she speaks some truth when it comes to boys.

a crowd of one

this occurs when there are many voices in my head telling me to walk left, but i walk right, and then i become lost, and i wish that these voices would find me, or at least tell me the way back so that i might retrace my steps.

but alas,

they are silent.

happy birthday, mr. president

1962.

she was married briefly to playwright arthur miller, which, according to our english lecturer, would not have been much more than a fleeting comment about the quality of the jam at the breakfast table and perhaps a lot of 'doings.' other than that, quite a dry spate for miller, who would not have squeezed much intellectual conversation out of the very pretty, but 'very dumb' miss monroe. needless to say, the union was short-lived.

deskyse

one of these days i am going to set the sky on fire.

all i need is a magnifying glass

or a match.

or to rub my hands together really fast and hope for a spark.

then burn the sky so that it breaks apart and falls into the sea.

little blue shards of burning glass melting into the sea.

without the sky what will we see? there will be no reference.

i'd wonder what there'd be if you peeled away the sky?

and the sky, i saw, was charcoal.

my gucci original

poem for gucci

dear gucci handbag
oh how i love you, dear little original
your suede lining,
with brass shining
indentured stamp
your lady's a tramp
my genuine leather, serial-numbered bargain

gucci handbag, you're the perfect size
to stow away my secrets.
you're showy and you know it.
made it italy, you show it.
a proper lucky find.

gucci print,
you're as good as mint.
and i love you, gucci original.

hope you liked my ode to gucci. just between you and me, i bought her for 40 bucks at hiddingh the other day. and she's a thoroughbred.

twiddlethumb

i am just a little blue jay in a red dress, on a sad night.

who are you waiting for, blue jay? don't you know he's not coming? don't you know?

it's raining, blue jay. go home.

victim's moth

the moth is the ugly little cousin of the butterfly. she was never quite as colourful as he and, being shy, only likes to come out at night.

she is vulnerable and intuitive. she is drawn to bright lights, mesmerized by articial luminosity of a lamp or porch-light. her faith guides her flight path.the moon is her mother. she is a symbol for transformation and metamorphosis.

it was a real smokin' time

the habit of smoking comes in several forms. if you ever feel the urge to light up, take a second to think about why.


The Sneak

i smoke daily but can't seem to kick the habit. i'm a little ashamed of my smoking and tend not to do so in public. my habit consists of a quick sneak out to the balcony or a puff or two on the way to work, but i'm not proud.

The French

i smoke because it is what we've been doing in Europe ever since the beginning of film noir and before.

The Chain

i support a two-pack-a-day habit even though i know that each cigarette reduces my lifespan by 11minutes.

The Effortlessly Cool

i like to think of myself as sophisticated, casually dragging on a vogue menthol in some $2.50per-round avant-garde cafe in the inner city, or perhaps brandishing Malboros at a live music venue where everyone is cool and hip. i smoke to imrpove my image and self-concept

The Rebel

fuck everyone who says smoking kills. i do it because i am mature enough to make my own decisions, even if it is to inhale toxic chemical residue into my young lungs, risking a range of adverse health effects in later life. fuck yeah.



The Social Peruser

i enjoy the leisure of smoking in a group where all of my friends are doing it too. it makes me feel included and accepted in the circle. other than in social situations i don't really smoke at all.


The Skinny

i smoke because i'd rather die of lung cancer than risk getting fat and unphysical like my mother and her mother before her.


The Serial Quitter

i've tried to quit more than 6 times and have tried every method on the market, but the temptation gets me every time and i'm still as addicted as ever.

give me a fulcrum and i shall move the world

and here i was thinking that was a frank zappa quote or something from a good Oliver Stone.

But it was Archimedes all along.

whiplash

some 5 percent of adults are resistant to any form of hypnosis. if you suffer from mental illness, have problems with authority or are a control-freak, are intoxicated or an epileptic it is not advised that you enter a hypnotic state.

as i found out on friday i lack the concentration and ability to follow instructions that is required in order to be hypnotized. it seems that i am unhypnotizable.


i just hate being told what to do.

city so fair

a few of my favourites from my trip to Paris, December 2009,

A city that shivers under my tread, whose pastel sunsets glint on the ancient skyline, whose underground bustle shudders beneath my feet, whose beauty and elegance is carved into every stone of its architecture, where philosophy and existence is argued about in sidewalk cafes.

you can't love a wild thing

Half of my heart is a shotgun wedding to a bride with a paper ring
And half of my heart is the part of a man who's never really loved anything

i'll bet it was thunder

a little resilient...
















but weak at the knees,

trying to hold my breath and fight not to drown


and not too pleased by fairweather.

take care of yourself (i'd rather you didn't)

sophie calle's 2007 conceptual piece entitled take care of yourself is a jilted response to a dear john letter she had received via email from her former lover. the interpretations of this letter by 107 different professional women makes this a vulnerable yet defining feminist piece. how can we really render comprehension of heartbreak? it's sometimes only okay to laugh, and that's all you can do when he leaves you.




clown reads break-up letter in an exaggerated humour performance.

no-man's land

i have been in a creative no-man's land for far too long now. i think it's time i did something constructive with myself other than simply sustain my most basic needs (eat, sleep, coffee, no sleep, work, eat, work).

i think it is time i severed this blockade that is compressing my right-brain function, get out of this slump and concoct something freshly ground.


where to begin?

a man who has been struck by lightning....twice.
a haunted hotel.
a piano bar.
the sea-side.
a church
letters from a lover.sheet music.
the train.

chain-link learning

learning things.

like how to take criticism with grace.

like how to ignore stupid people and only bother with the good ones.

like how to have a brain and a pretty face.

that sunday is a good day to ride on a harley cruiser.

(that if i ever did my parents would probably kill me).

that i should stop going off on tangents.

like how to avoid being discouraged by people who are themselves discouraged, and how to have courage .

that academic snobbery is not something i should feel intimidated by; rather, to learn from the long-winded gaffawing and incessant bemoaning and tell myself, how sad, and that i shall not be like that.

i like the sound of spring crickets clicketing-clacking like castanets outside my window.

it is nice to know that i can be whoever the fuck i want and nobody can make suggestions otherwise.

good day.

let's all talk about the weather

the minute it's a lovely day people start talking about it.

it's like they have nothing left to talk about but how sunny and pleasant it is outside. this sort of idle conversation occurs whenever there's a smell of summer on the air, or when it's sweltering-hot and nobody can think of much else other than how incredibly hot they feel, like when their brows start to melt and their clothing sticks to their burning backs, or when their forelocks begin to dampen and everything is just sizzling.

similarly, when it rains everyone is miserable. the weather is a god when it comes to human moods.

run along and get an education

there are only so many video stores in this town.

there can't possibly be enough vacancies in all three

so run along now and get learning,

no education comes for a dollar or free.

overweight art and a slob

you don't need very much to write an essay on why duchamp's fountain was one of the most influential art pieces of the 20th century. (it was an upside-down urinal, by the way). all you need to make conceptual art is an idea and very little skill.





art has become lazy. they have an excuse. it's called 'minimalism.'






you don't even need a brain for most things nowadays.

x

habit.

My life is becoming a habit.

a love without the lies

fisted words, now trembling

just so you know, just so you know

i've never felt this way before.
















i am now alive.

temper cash

he put the knife to my throat

and told me he'd butter it if i weren't careful

just like the time he actually did it

when he hadn't got his money

and someone hadda cheated him of it.

that's when he actually did it. and he felt no remorse for it, neither.

the midnight disease

it feels quite frustrating to be stuck in a creative stalmate for some months.
lack of creativity may even be an excuse for the apparent lack of mental capacity to produce anything in writing that is actually worth reading. my stories are limited. i have no stories to tell right now. i can only write in this godforsaken blog, hoping everyday that a story will come to me and that i can write it down in time, before it hops right back out of my mind and joins the millions of other stories that are just floating about in the vast creative space that exists in the human bionic force field.

what the fucking am i talking about? maybe i should just go lie down.

then again, plath stuck her head in an oven. this idea isn't looking too bad right now.

minus the slut but it was implied

FYI

I am better off.

it was the drugs that made me

killing for the art of it.

do you believe in volcanoes?

i'd finally chosen which face to wear,















of which my favourite was the one which made me kinda look like I didn't care







like i didn't fucking care.

ifyoudon'tlikeitboohoo

this town just ain't right without you in it

I'm afraid that I'm not sure of a love there is no cure for
I think I love you isn't that what life is made of - the partridge family

when you live in a small town romance is different. it's long-lasting. it is meant to be destined, pre-supposed. your parents had their sights set for this union since birth.

it's the comfortable cushiony love story, right?it all works out and they fall in love; they're madly in it, too...until the girl goes off to college or the boy decides he'd rather not settle down just yet and rows a boat to cuba. small town love affairs are what make the modern american romance novel.

but what happens after?

you find yourself going to the same old grimy bar for that same old grimy drink. you know the same bunch of faces, although they've aged some bit. they remember her, when she was with you, and how you'd be there together. but now there's only one round and it's for you. and you stay awake into the small hours thinking about her. this town just ain't the same when she's not there.

salts.

i've never, ever thought that goodbyes were meant to be good. there's not much good about them, to be quite honest.

here are some things that it is about time i did:

clean my room
file my papers
bungee
read all my setworks on time
write some goddamn excuse of a script for my portfolio
drive a golf cart
tell the art department they're a bunch of post-modernist snobs
smack someone in the face
ask that guy on upper campus why in the hell he pulls around an office chair on a rope.
cut my hair. or at least trim it.
cut down my caffeine intake
stop failing my drivers licences all the time
visit NYC.


Think left and think right and think low and think high. Oh, the things you can think up if only you try!”

Dr. Seuss

yours for keeps

Caption: 1922 at the Whitehouse Easter Egg Roll

you remember, when we were kids and you found that shiny round marble lying discarded on the playground. that glistening celestial find in the comfy lawn, picked up by fair hands and gazed at with blooming curiosity. in all its splendour this token was yours and yours just because you found it. it was your pride. you glanced over your shoulder and called to me.

look what i've found!

i ran to you to look. i looked hard. it was mighty pretty, i'd say. i went and admired it.

but then you smiled at me (mostly smiled) and handed it to me without a flinch.

here. it's yours.

i hesitated a while. it was so shiny. i took it but quietly.

for keeps? i whispered.

you bet, you said.