salt

Citrus

Finished reading The United States of McSweeney's - Ten years of Accidental classics edited by Nick Hornby & Eli Horowitz... really amazing, powerful, diverse collection of short stories. Highly recommended. And if you haven't heard of McSweeney's, you should get reading:
http://www.mcsweeneys.net/

I. love. this:

'"You're so formal, Jack. You trying to impress me or something? Why you trying to impress me, now? You want to marry my daughter? Is that it? My Nancy? You want to take my Nancy away from her papa? You want to run away with her to someplace better? Like that song from my youth? If. it's. the. last. thing. you ev-er do? You want to be an absconder, Jack? With my daughter? So you bring me grapefruits? Citrus for a daughter? What kind of substitute is that? It's pearls for swine, grapefruits for Nancy. Irrespectively. It's swine for steak and beef for venison. You like venison? I love venison. But I also love deer, Jack. I love to watch deer frolic in the woods. Do you see what I mean? The world's complicated. It's okay, though. I am impressed with your grapefruits. You have a good heart. You're golden. I like you. Just calm down. We're standing in a kitchen. It's air-conditioned. Slouch a little. Have a beer."'

from Hot Pink by Adam Levin

'nuff said

olive

 i have been drawing upside-down. i like it; it's foreign and uncomfortable, creating unexpected shapes.

also:

oh oh oh! hunnah roe!

i feel small

the cold air stings my damp hands, reflecting the chill i feel with your breath on my cheek.
instead these are clean sheets that i hang; symmetrical on plastic coated line. my stitches are movement, feedback dancers or acrobats. thank you.
my grip is tight and unnerving, regardless of ghosted daydreams.
the two and a half of you share a distinct link... though i didn't see it for myself - only after it had been relayed thrice with awful definition.
this new rope is hard to follow; sickness and schedule conflicts... but it's still there. i'm just finding it hard to adjust - the proximity of geometric shapes seems, now, like a prediction, a projection, minus the upward inflection.
i feel small again.

weight

here are some scans of journal pages. i get impatient when i don't have access to the scanner and blog the words without the visual... so maybe you will have already read a couple of these. i like handwritten things best: (not chronological)

love maddie

copper

another.

a certain sort of apathy came back.

stagnate

doing some small scale comics. a zine is crawling in my spine; here is my first page. (click to enlarge - not so blurry)

now i feel like i'm hurting you.
this sucks

i-o-n-o-s-p-h-e-r-e

t

the aurora borealis seen high in the earth's ionosphere
Aurora, n. a luminous meteoric phenomenon of electrical character seen in and towards the Polar regions, with a tremulous motion, and streamers of light -pl. aurorae.

The first half of a letter:

Maybe you'll read it here before you get it. I don't know. Does it matter? Hand written things are always nicer, so don't read this:

The train stops moving - temporary. The gravel expands, blurs, contracts on the outside of our transparent barrier; moving against all learned experiences.
And it's here; the only time that I can physically feel the pressure of gravity forcing me into these ridiculous seats - contemporary blue print - a reminder that we were designed to be connected to the earth, always.
My feet, cold, but spirit, hot, imagining the powers that would result from permanent contact to the ground.

Gemma Smith Boulder 2008
Amazing! Amazing! (Thanks Arj!!)

Bought my first art work from a gallery (today) from 7 Evils in One (see previous post for flyer). So excited! Michael Fikaris: please and thankyou!

crushed glass

went to a writing group at shape warehouse. here is what i did.


1. five minutes to write with 'spanish' as our subject
thick smell, breathing takes labour. a burnt crust delicacy coats the silver hot surface of a freshly purchased pan.
i watched, sharp intakes of breath - almost constant. the dark blue-red blood squeezes from the gaps in her teeth, almost black.
the caretaker wheels green bins full of memory and plucked chicken carcasses - seven years ago he would create-light an enclosed inferno, chased by his father, shouting in a tongue i wouldn't understand if it weren't for the subtitles.


2. write for as long as you can whilst sustaining one musical note out loud with 'jumping' as our subject:
this is all. i can't break your spine, i'll break this spine.

(we did another one of those with 'cheating' as our subject)

3. swap books with someone, flip to a random page and select a random line/paragraph, use this to begin or end (mine from jorja's book, 'a fox called sorrow' by isobelle carmody: 'that is not what the fox ordered,')
'that is not what the fox ordered,' i read aloud from the side fence. our brick fence, painted white, now intruded upon by thick yellow strokes of wet lettering. the chemical smell of paint made my head light and vision sway. already dehydrated, i hadn't eaten since yesterday's breakfast. i hitched the bag higher on my shoulder and knew i wouldn't go back.

the concrete reminded me of primary school, so i wrote this:
big-breakfast days; lining up, trying to not look alone.
the corrugated iron roof- rolling basketballs on-off, on-off. the weight jars my ears, my face.
lining up, trying not to look alone - a corner left out of sight.
i was so lonely. hiding from girls who unflinchingly, relentlessly alienated a mouth that wouldn't keep closed.


also, you should go see this. some friends are in it. on til the 24th and conveniently located next to the state library.

tweed stitch lips before this feeling flips

this feels good. rhyming heals, slowly i find time to sit for myself. received a beautiful letter yesterday. it has been in my backpack, keeping me warm; hiromi sends parcels of safety.
maybe you could write to me too.

false alarm; a basic tease.
i'll sit and i'll sneeze.
reading all but what you mean
into your writings - obscene.
just to please,
via the eigth crudely masked wheeze.
i dread
the inevitable, unavoidable
weight of self-concious lead.
so this caution - hardly false,
merely the sweet quick of
envelope pulse.




'trust' - hal hartley
thankyou indra, ah miss you already.

park sounds; first rhymes!

the hum of cars vibrates under my feet,
in beat to the slap scuff rhythm of
runners' half second connection to the street.
ignoring the automatic need to define,
we suspended above
rushing water on an impossible incline.
collective - we two;
an all encompassing hope
that please, just maybe,
this is the beginning of a new rope.

(baby mice)

i am in this!

cat skins

This time some words. 

Proximity of colour and shapes, directional flow and unprecedented connections. 

Scatter. Feel. Vomit. Be. Spill. Snap. Harder.

 'When Addis Berner Bear came to the city it was winter. It was so big and confusing, so loud and fast, that he forgot everything that he had left behind. But he forgot why he had come, too.'
-Joel Stewart, Addis Berner Bear Forgets

---

'But on your tiny planet, all you had to do was move your chair a few feet. And you would watch the twilight whenever you wanted to....
"One day I saw the sun set forty-four times!" And a little later you added, "You know, when you're feeling very sad, sunsets are wonderful..."
"On the day of the forty-four times, were you feeling very sad?"
But the little prince didn't answer.'
-Antoine de Saint-Exupery, The Little Prince

---

“Never love a wild thing… You can’t give your heart to a wild thing: the more you do, the stronger they get. Until they’re strong enough to run into the woods. Or fly into a tree. Then a taller tree. Then the sky. That’s how you’ll end up… If you let yourself love a wild thing. You’ll end up looking at the sky.”
-Truman Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany's

compress

a fool's fool alright.

i stay at home -

i'm stuck at home,

digging the lead out of my skin.