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"
heavinly spirits
the size of a thumb,
produced from the Creator’s body.
They are said to precede the Sun’s chariot and to number sixty
thousand.
"
He walks into the room
introduced by a rain of Angels.
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i had thought putting Knox Gelatine in my hair would be a good
experience
as It dried
I realized it was just like the Gel I used as a teenager
but i had never coated my long hair with it
no matter how often friends of mine suggested it
big crusty
nourished?
I want to be Loved!
but don’t know how to play the game right
or good at living
or square one
why old friends don’t invite me to dinner
and old lovers have found other people to play The Game of Love with
or excuses not to get together anymore
I’ve caught a lite sneeze
and can’t seem to manage anything
while I plan out fantastic journies of isolation
and push around endless piles of my life I don’t know what to do with
Hello Saggitarius.
sitting on the train
trying to read the introduction to the 1967 translation of “The Pillow Book”
iPod playing…
two boys get on the train
young
Latino maybe, dark
I only see them out of the corner of my eye and can’t hear them
but the sit abnormally far apart to be talking to one another
yet I see their hands flailing
must be queens
I try and focus on reading
but the hands are really loud
i’ve never felt such a distraction
I glance up and look at them
of course
they are talking with their hands
still: loud and brash
I smile
and Morrissey is wailing away in my ears
some rare recordings I recently found in the web
I’ve always loved his voice
but this is the first time I hear how he sometimes just brays
brash and loud
maybe everything is just chafing today
I didn’t sleep well last night
woke today to a client ringing my bell
that I thought I had cancelled
worked for three hours
then set about cleaning and organizing the house
computer
preparing for the party tomorrow
I’d intended to leave at 4 or 5
I got out of the house about 10:45
after spending hours doing inane things
among which was looking for my quartz balls
which have dissappeared
færies?
.iP
the entire time i’ve lived in this apartment
the kitchen sink’s hot water has been but a trickle
i often have to leave it running for nearly an hour before i feel the heat
enough to do dishes
but… i’ve learned to live with it.
today, after giving a friend a three hour massage
i went to do dishes
and the full force of water came out the hot
got a new neighbor next door and there has been plenty of tinkering noises
coming from over there
(i think he’s gay too, which might be a nice balance)
whatever the reason
i am very thankful
LET IT FLOW.
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This guy I’m getting to know invited me over to his place to be
photographed by some people he’d met before (been shot once by)…
they’d been photographing in their room all day… wet plate…
it was chilly on the balcony, but beautiful.
Shot for ~30 seconds on the balcony over 23rd St,
developed and prepared in the closet with a curtain over it
by Kristen Hatgi (the hand) and Mark Sink.
they have a show at Robin Rice, 325 w11th st (btw Greenwich &
Washington Sts) until Dec 20th.
( more direct shot of the plate only in stream )
I feel like I don’t know how to live
Libra always throws me into depression/confusion
is it just Autumn?
.iP
“i think it’s dry”
he said
rubbing his eye
flaky with sleep
“you’ve got to cry more”
i said
“to wash your eyes
from all that you see in the world”
he laughed.
”
the saddest part
of a broken heart
isn’t the ending
so much as the start
”
– Feist
often
people’s aspirations aren’t evenly matched with their apptitudes
that doesn’t keep them from achieving
.iP
saying the name of a dæmon
proves that it exists as something that isn’t you
unless that name is the same name as yours
no one truely forgets their name…
but what of orphans?
their true names often occluded…
and those who trick themselves into believing with court of law
it is often believed control can be attained with posession of one’s true name
ah, more so if you make the other forget it and give him another
maybe some dæmon has
have
always there
driving every move
clearly visible
in the blind-spot of the self
(written three days ago)
the moon is reflected light
reflected from inside me
some distant star
so far away as to be unreachable
yet always there
and I seem to know
what it would feel like
to be the moon
staring down at me
being me
feeling myself watched
by me as the moon
which is only visible
by the light that shines from within me
that come from unsayable distances
most everything true
and important
is unsayable
I want to give myself overvto the moon
to let that self have all my self
arbitrarily
anything could be the one source
bur death creeps in to quickly then
and we musnt let that
life only happens with the tension of separation
to feel the pull
the yearning
to receive the gift
and to give abundantly
to drink of it
and nourish
to say the name of the posessor
that Wichita make anything
alive
to spit it out
cancels the posession
leaves one free
and empty
for another hand
mortmain
to move us
ten thousand years in waiting
ten million
the light of the sun
someone else’s forgotten smile upon the earth
the plants
the animals
the weathers
long gone out
pressed down through time
under countless layers
of other days
stories
dreams
wakings and forgettings
into impenetrable darkness
which has been dredged up
pressed through taps
set aflame
consumed and transformed
to animate the lights upon your face now
that makes these pixels dance
reflects off this page
from a lamp in a room
up into your eyes
reminding you of endless things
you’ll always ever been
.iP
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