Friday, September 7, 2012

Not straying.


Jimmy Edgar, Too Shy
"It’s 2012 in Manhattan, the island of cell phones and no clocks. Of dead Blackberry batteries, New Museums, old money—trust funds, angel dust funds, acid rains, and dead brains. Ritalin kids are generic adults living on vampire schedules. The Lost Boys soundtrack is always playing at the Dream Hotel and everyone’s forgotten their iPhone chargers: Yo, what time is it? 
Oh hiii babe! [kiss] What time is it, you say? Well. It’s a time when time’s stopped. 
And I’m spinning like a top."
Cat Marnell, Amphetamine Logic

--

How terrifying easy it could all be.

Counting backwards.

Monolake, Discontinuity
Long days, spent navigating languages I don't quite understand.

Saturday, July 14, 2012

Bare.


  Alaska, Arcosphere

Radio silence, and a sudden moment of blinding clarity amidst chaos. Finally.

Thursday, March 29, 2012

6AM



Mount Kimbie, Would Know


The sound of birds rising, morning breaking open across the streets of the city. Concrete gleams, streets breathe as I walk through quietly, carrying something delicate with me.

Sunday, January 29, 2012

Blackout.



TRG and Dub U, Losing Marbles


These words just fall out my stupid mouth; your eyes between the bars recede.

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Liabilities.




Miniature Bridges, Your Mouth
Marty McConnell

What we do in the dark has no hands. No
crossover effect, no good-bye kiss after the alarm.
What we carry in, we carry out, end of story. This
doesn’t even want to be love. Except in minutes
when your face has the shape of my palm and I think
lungful. Let want out with the cat. Returns
and returns, something dutiful. Persistent.
Hold your breath, let it build, let go. This is practice.
I’m losing weight, a bad sign, I’m happy. Serious,
you say. Contained, I think. The cat comes back
with a dead bird to the doorstep, an offering. Bloodless
this should be easy. A two-step to cowboys. You’re beautiful
but that’s not the point.

x

I know my way back perfectly well. Like the back
of my hand, as it were. But look, the labyrinth walls
are high hedge and green. This also could be joy.

xx

I literally don’t know your middle name. Does that
matter? What systems we arrange for intimacy, small
disclosures like miniature bridges, your mouth. Not
what I’d anticipated. Softer. To begin with,
I should tell the truth more. I could miss you,
and that’s a liability.

xxx

I am not often off-kilter. But you’re so silent, even
naked, and almost absent. I hush too, why
are we here? Go. Want to throw things, you, the clock,
break windows until something bleeds and you finally
scream. I tell you too much; we are not
those people. Or nothing–maybe I say
utilitarian fuck. How would that be. I want you
to want to fall in love with me and that’s
unhealthy. Wrong. Leave your shoes by the door
and pretend it’s about the movie. It’s love
in the movies it’s Casablanca and Toy Story
and water no ice come here. Pockets need
to be untucked, drawers thrown open,
nobody’s safe. There, I’ve said it:
someone I was could have loved you.