babybaby it's a wildworld

from a cafewall...

1.women: be brave and go up and talk to men you find interesting.
2.--> no doubt written by a man too afraid to talk to an interesting woman.
3.--> women, be even more brave and light him on fire.

from the adjacent wall:
love isn't a bitch she is a beautiful woman, you just call her a bitch cause she wouldn't let you hit that.

....even further away, as i was washing my hands, i spotted:
i had an anxiety attack in this very room tonight. go have fun for me.
and later on in the day, or the next morning, i'm positive i witnessed a girl having a nervous breakdown, the kind that starts with laughing that doesn't stop.

this city.

i feel lucky

the soeur of my soul, farryl (( http://indieoma.com/commentaries/farryl-violet-the-undead ))
i think it's a little seductive, the love a woman. no, it's definitely engulfing. because women know how to love. i had a conversation with a guy friend of mine who's gay who was saying that he sometimes wishes to be loved by a woman because he feels like a woman would know how to love him. (better, or the way he knows he needs to be loved). hmmmm. are we biologically predisposed to be betters lovers? (not in the sexual but in the holistic sense)

this same friend sometimes wishes he could give birth and feels seriously devastated that he is without the capacity. i am positive that it is this very capacity that somehow forms the lover-ness of women lovers. the involuntary capability to give of oneself to another self in such a blatantly material way--giving forth matter from oneself and never being able to fully gain it back to the self but responsible for it nonetheless--is so enormous. being left. (by that you which you have given to the world)--it's so strange that a woman is made to be a zone of departure.

in that respect, the book i'm reading all about love ( http://www.amazon.com/Natural-History-Love-Diane-Ackerman/dp/0679761837/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1245268424&sr=8-1) talks a lot about how love is actually a biological imperative, since we are one of those species which tends to unintentionally put all our eggs in one basket which necessitates the insane desire to protect our young, because we don't have as many birds in the hand (or the bush) as other species might. at any rate, ackerman was speaking about how an inconceivable amount of a person's identity is formed literally as soon as they leave the womb and then for about a year. in this time irrevocable elements of an individual are formed which affect a person's subsequent love history, as it were. the idea struck a searing chord with me; something so utterly vulnerable--maybe the most vulnerable thing, with all its soft, crumpled embodiment of the Ideal--is dependent upon the arms of another not invulnerable portal. It makes my whole body want to scream "Take. Care." God.
I find this image, the enormity of this concept, to be almost overly-overwhelmingly romantic.
The Original Romance.

complete non sequitur
please check out this out by madscientist maestro John Zurek: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-QrWviZ7sLQ
this is how i responded to him but i'll say it here since i'd like to know what you think:
it's so killer-cool frankensteinianbadtrip-goo monster mash Stan Brakhagey (a teensy); it reminds me of Baz Luhrman too for about two seconds in the beginning....i can imagine him constructing a Zurekian Factory and staging happenings like Warhol did at that one nightclub/theater with this playing and live music happening simultaneously and, I don't know, super fluffy himalayan persian cats on bejeweled leashes.

t t t t t that's all. (folks.)

having friends/inspirer-ers/gurus/collaborators who have artist souls make my molecules hum with awed-nearly-dis-belief.

michelle, my belle

thank you for not taking the knowledge of my enthusiasm and going to town with it.






http://leloveimage.blogspot.com/ via le lil (http://starsintherain.blogspot.com/)

lovin you is easy cause you're beautiful

you'd like to love an unblemished vessel
(would that you were, o skin, unwritten)
you want unscorched earth b/c you
don't know how to walk without burning
i know you; i know that's how you'd like to think of me
but i can't call myself someone who loves you
and allow this untrue
nonetheless i'd like to
to give you what you seem to see.

don't you ever wanna look up and find someone
seeing you


the more you love people the more varied and beautiful they become. we are so lucky to be capable of witnessing that alchemy. the more you see things, the deeper they swim in you. and. if you let yourself live in your obsessions, take the things you love out of space and get so close you are wearing them...that is how spectacular creatures come to be.

this is not all coming from some place of impermeable naivete, because somewhere is the fear that all that i imagine-love only exists there, in that transitory, ethereal periphery.


i just lit this incense i've had for years that smells of pine trees (o Maine) and looks like someone cut a hunk out of some bark intending to burn it.
isn't it strange to love the smell of things that are bad for you
i always envision myself in the future with an--involuntarily-positioned--cigarette dangling between my fingers

"a sound slumber, and a long good night" lucretius

i put a million flashes out, they twinkle back s.l.o.w.

the kind of eyes that drive wolves mad

snipette(s)
pardon the omissions it's due to lack of collaborative permission

fumble fumble. unzipping fortitude for
constantly being hungry is an exercise
in ravenousness nest
brushing wildfire fur
...
set paper to the flame was always a favorite
childe game but oh dearie my
furrowing wolf howl
hell, feels like a fresh basket of old ladies' bonnet
bruised ripe raspberry roses
unfurling supposes
...
shiver me timbers but that's a pointed smile you're
wearin don't it hurt ya to have those creases con
stant and glittering when it's true you want a
lip smackin roll in the hay of passersby
but.
instead you're glued like honey
waiting for smokey
toney joes
...
if you smelled the base of my neck i'd be sure you'd
want to marry me
carry me over your back up
the hillside to the trundling site of your
wholesome plantation
...
it's growing, what you carry
you give birth to that hush
dazed, i lie back and let you
i lie back and let you
you lay like a faun; this could break.

but, O; you are so very lovely when you falter.

[[project pending ++ http://blogs.nyu.edu/blogs/km1500/katemonster/]]



...you'd know it about me if you asked.

cards down.get down//on the table

people don't place blame for the wreckage of falling (enamorados).

who used to sit by watchfires for people who were coming home? how long did they wait. did they wait alone.
love feeds and it burns? no one minds that flicker.

sometimes you can be in love with the invented place more than the flesh you own/the flesh that plants itself all around you--
je pense en nutella crepes, le musee rodin, et la cinematheque francaise. LESIGH.

"lovers were expected to be catburglars, masked by nighttime, their flesh illuminated by the occasional shaft of moonlight." Mmmmmm. Delicious.

What is life, what is joy without golden Aphrodite?
May I die when these things no longer move me--
hidden love affairs, sweet nothings & bed.
via:: diane ackerman "a natural history of love" [do read this]



I met a boy, he wore a seatbelt
He kissed my cheek in the back seat. (cocorosie) via:: na tal ia, http://natalalala.tumblr.com/<3




(((still) RENDERing.

gypsies tramps and thieves

i had a dream about you last night. you hugged me for a long, long time. one of those lingering ones. i don't know why you thought i needed it. or why i did or might.

i pulled down a branch today and collected some lilacs and couldn't stop pressing them to my face. the most overtaking scent.

the people i long for deeply are always wrong ones. i mean the longing can only burn out alone.

did i already say that i read somewhere that 'innocent'actually means 'i do no harm,' which is interesting b/c eeeveryone does harm, regardless of intention, and speaking of intention, this definition says nothng about one's intention.

"...i never want to be parted from you from this day on."

retour

Underground art turns into mere trendiness not because of external factors but because of the people who practice it. They create a desert around themselves, then complain there is no water.
Why don't they try drinking from the wells within their own bodies? They should instead drop a ladder deep into their own bodies and climb down it.
Let them pluck the darkness from within their own bodies and eat it.
But they always seek resolution from outside themselves.
Hijikata Tatsumi