Monday, February 11, 2013

the old colonel

"He reached up and found an odd thing on his mouth. A smile. He put
his hand up to catch it, and, if possible, examine it."

Sunday, February 10, 2013

love, a poem

my love is tornado filled with roofing tacks/i love my love with a
love that loves/i love inside her love until i love over and over
again/sometimes we have to discard the bedsheets from all the love
spilled/when i love late she loves me out the door for a while/she
complains that i love too much on the sofa/and i love all about the
house/i love her hair, her tummy, her fingers and toes/loving lovely
loves for my loving-eyed love-love/but as for me, i just want
something to love in....

nekked statuary in a motif

So i get in contact with Claus of Innsbruck(
abangnotawhimper@sprysculptre), and request a nude, one that looks the
result of myself(a rotund being) mating with a giant marshmallow, or
perhaps the michelin man, if he picked up a grocery store, tilted it
and let all the contents pour out into his gullet. This is not me,
mind, but is instead a serious artistic charicature meant to convey
meaning instead of portraying true dietary habit. The eyes hint
things that make even the most jaded pee themselves, the posture
implies a schizoid gulf between the being and reality, the horrified
genitalia frantically try to escape the host being, and the hands-the
tools of the creature-the arsenal of disorganized dreams.

Saturday, February 9, 2013

memoirs of a nude statue

Again. I was reviewing pages of my memoir("abaddon: 1996-2010"). I
noticed that the piece had the tone of a peeved drunk; in place of the
everyman's "quiet desperation", i filled the tome with pessimistic
anger. Otherwise, it was a unique piece of work. I recounted hours
of surfing porn with a certain poetic lyricism. Imagine me dozing
after, with fog-laden scenes of copulation floating through my mind,
and on the desk before me, a mama turtle piles my dreams in a bunch
with her flippers, positions her hind end over the top, and deposits
her eggs in the works-not that i would pay money to watch something
like that. There is a stunning realization in the last chapter:
"they"(this group is undefined the memoir), like a pack of jackals,
are just waiting for me to show any sign of weakness-a limp, a
sniffle, anything-so they can sling dirt over me. Sheesh.