lacunae

my body
is useless

scraping skin
and fat
towards no real concentration

and my mind
is going

i have is gaps

memories
fly away
do not come back

who commanded
it to leave

who gives the privates
generals orders

an anarchist doesn't think
of these things

that would be agnes, the sea 2003--its darker, less complete, more ambigous, harder to keep tranquil and still.

schadejal(sp) called it a masterpeice in this weeks nyer...i think i might agree.

on the tv last night, i said to my mom how amazing ray charles was, esp. his country albums from the mid 60s, which break my heart every time i hear them--its hard to describe, he is aware of the change in idiom that country (endured?) from hillbilly music and blues to something else entirely.

and he took that change, and he moved back, to the southern roots, and forward to the countrypolitian sound and sort of side ways and did it w. a gorgeous immediacey.

now he did other things (see his rendetion of georgia) but that work on the country albums...fuck are they amazing.

he died last night, and im not sure they are on compact disc, but find them and listen to them--NOW!

i wished that, if she needed to move into classics to find a mawkish and slightly misogynist story of women as victim, she would have chose madam bovary, cause everyone needs to read flaubert.

they dont need to read war and peace.

jessa crispin at bookslut thinks that she didnt chose the translator but chose the edition b/c it was the "prettiest"

depression is real, and i can run from it and prove it doesnt exist

this thing i have this lacuanae, does not become real unless it is named.

192 national anthems in midi format

sex work in the congo seems to be about absoulte surrival, and often hinges on rape.

mormon missonaries in new york

i cannot imagine much worse, really...the people in nyc invented the fuck you.

tarkosvsky polaroids

he being mark newport

he hand knits super hero costumes and hand beads other sex and violence ephemera...he is a genius.

stephen scripps studio

juicy fruit,
in the back of her mouth
near the molars
watching her almost not chew,
with peternatural ease.

and how she eases the mound,
like its alive
away from her mouth
towards her lips, covering them
with a clean white napkin , delicate femme
passing it from from lip to hand
to garbage can



cradles juicy fruit, betwixt the back
of her tongue and the molars crack
tends to its supple nature: a breeze
some elegant preternatural ease.
You can't tell she's chewing by her jaw,
and she doesn't look at you, w. that maw
because she's about to drive
easing the mound, like its alive
towards her lips, covering them
with a clean white napkin , delicate femme
passing it from from lip to hand
to garbage can












its about the juicy fruit, and how she
holds it closely, elegantly
between the molars and the jaws
and i watch her, its because
of her ease, and how you cannot
tell what is happening, how she is bought
she looks forward, about to drive
and how the mound is alive
as it moves towards the white
napkine that she places, a bite
away, that white mcdonalds wimple
my love her is so simple
mouth to hand
to garbage can

its all about how she consumes gum
see, she doesnt spit and she doesnt really chew
its just at the back of the throat, near the molars
and you can only see that she is chewing
by some barely percpitable ephemaral force

and when she is done, she takes her tounge
and nudges the used product to the tip of her mouth
covers her mouth with a wide white napkin and then
deposits it, easier then anything.

all i love about her concerns itself with the grace
of the gum chewing.


(product and consume are both wrong, hasnt been checked)

So, i am excited about Agnes Martins new work--for the longest time nothing seemed to phase her, she still painted the same thing. She could live beside the grotesque and new fangled creations of Bruce Nauman (as she had been for almost forty years, until 2000 where she had to be moved into a nursing home), and have him over for tea but still put lines on canvases, she could move from Saskatchewan to New York to Taos and still put lines on canvases, she could be 90 and in the tate and sold for a million and have her book of writing out and still put lines on canvases. She could be a cult favourite instead of loved by everyone and still put lines on canvases. Sometimes the fields are a different colour, more bright or more dark, sometimes she uses yellow or taupe instead of lavender or mauve--and sometimes the lines are dark, sometimes they are almost Pace and sometimes they hum like power lines--but she has had a zen forbearance, like the man who spent 70 years painting bamboo. Then in her latest work, now at the Pace Wildenstein in New York--she has placed yellow tipped triangles and black trapezoids in the middle of her lines, and i'm ecstatic, its the most exciting, new and sexy thing i have heard in at least this year--and she did it in her mid 90s ... gives me hope, it does.

pitched my abu ghabi story to the walrus as an ape style essay. nothing from ed yet.

what ever happened to severe, abstract, meaningful monuments, the new wwii one at the mall is so cold, so obvious, so lacking in any subtlety, all about pounding the propghandic message of sacrifice and war and the greatest generation, that it forgets the dead and only remebers jingoistic symbols.

its like liebskiends memoiral for 9/11 w. the tower that is `1776 feet tall--so the arrogance of captialism, the phallic agression that was punished in the attacks will be restored, because we can no longer do horizontal spaces, open spaces, spaces that can be added to.

look at the flowers, flags, memoirs, the vetrans tents outside the gates, all of it cannot be done with a space that does the telling for you...it can only be done in a space that leaves gaps to plug.

there is nothing human, nothing small, nothing real in the 9/11 spave or the wwii space--even fischls copper nude, twisted in agony is more real, if we want real, and more human if we want human, then anything else.

another grand mal, scary losing my brain, computer fucked.
real live preacher recommends via email that i take serious hard core spirtual direction from the anglicans, which is something that i have been thinking about for a while, and said that i may be on the cusp of a spiritual breakthrough.

i think that the question i am asking though is the same question i am asking about particpory(sp) democracy--namely do i want to be part of this system, do i think that this system is worthwhile.

or is it so corrupt that i should burn the barn in order to see the sunrise.

drew stood me up.

someone needed to focus group this better