February 2012
32 posts
3 tags
Untitled Note
where hearts click in metal connections where hands shift over plastic buttons the washing up waits for insects buzzing and this mind is already
dreaming
on loan.
3 tags
The Glass Shield
is a barrier but see-through with life thin like a ribbon. the insects inside are small parts of the brain. the inner tube of the ear canal is waiting for the break that sleep brings through the glass - already dreaming.
4 tags
the library
the sounds rattle in the library. a trolley is dragged. the air hums. the feeling is cold. a row of desks. a row of books. a row of shelves. my feet shuffle imagining all the work written in those words. we keep so tidy those messy hours.
9 tags
Drinking Water
there is an idea that mum and me might write a paper together a paper about water and gender, and water and people. The way we use it, abuse it. water societies, floating in rivers. i wonder if water is feminine. or if we could argue that, perhaps. it could be creative we could introduce song. we could claim that water moves around solid objects.
5 tags
Strict Olfactories
to not bend or distrupt we commit ourselves to the project of smelling similar. to straighten one out. to disicpline to the task ahead of living lonely without a smell. pour one into the other and ebb and flow in their intensity - one cannot choose.
4 tags
melt into me
as I melt into them -
ghostly transformations
that speak volumes.
5 tags
Having, being
a singular point on the edge
of this void. so it’s like
a dark room. a multiplicity
of singularities. in other
words, being.
starched to a succrose.
Polycarbonated. Maybe
the chemistry metaphors
should be left…
3 tags
elvedon:
the ground moans beneath us
as the moon (slightly embarrassed)— turns away at the sight of our raw entanglement
it is quiet, the way he sleeps
4 tags
7 tags
graham-geiger:
But I like your necklace
I heard the ocean
in that old shell necklace
you were wearing.
The crashing waves
so loud, that I could
have sworn I was drowning,
but you just
slid your arm
down my shoulder,
and I realized there
was an island in your smile.
3 tags
amare-amaranthine:
we clasped the sky tightly in our tiny childhood hands only to open them years later to find they slipped away like sands.
‘that’s where deserts are made on the hopes and dreams that fade. the anxious and crumpled messes, of the young souls we thought were brave’
5 tags
Lonely is a common thing When walking up the empty street Although the dark is less intrusive. The sounds are louder And the insects talk To one another. and feet Are silent. Hands and lips are too. Today I searched for something different. I was reaching …
5 tags
Beaver
attitude little beaver deforests everything around her with her big teeth have you seen that ad with the beaver? i haven’t watched tv in a while. so… they start having like a girl-off… its meant to be really funny. but its really offensive.
3 tags
Sadness
I turn to some great sadness to tell me who I am. It doesn’t matter which sadness, only that it is epic and romantic, a great struggle to move mountains, to rescue humanity, in the face of adversity, to resist, to succumb to desire. Some bravery in the face of the inevitable loneliness.
5 tags
You are a canvas I am painting. You extend beyond the colours in my kit of paints. You, I tell myself, Are within the limits Of my imagination.
7 tags
Reading
I catch myself enjoying you, Having forgotten to distance myself Startled. I close the book. chase the thread back To a position where you are fixed. Uninvolved. I detangle you From the threads To make you something knowable, yet unknown. In that emptiness of too much reading that has cleared me of everything i know.
6 tags
My World #2
these walls hold many memories with the roof stretched over them. my hands move in the dark, over the negative spaces. my thoughts imprinted in silence; awakening when the dog calls.
7 tags
My World
in this house the echo is loud under the floor boards and on the roof the birds scratch. the radio fills the empty spaces. water rushes down and out, its energy converging under the house. the dark waits beyond the windows, staring back when i look out. the light reflects on the glass where i am washed in water colours.
1 tag
Women and the Arab Spring →
1 tag
What drives our interest?
Sometimes I connect with a book not because it is particularly clever, or the language is particularly beautiful, but because it expresses its ideas in the same way I would. Even though the language might be clunky and misshapen, it shows me the world the way I see it. Arguably, it is the very strangeness of the language, pointing to its own imperfection, that allows it to express something...
“These novels, while participating in the formation of a cultural reality, are...”
– Kincaid, Erotic Innocence, p. 67
“Victims of crime as old as eighteen or nineteen can be thought of as children,...”
– Kincaid, Erotic Innocence, p. 18-9
“We see children as, among other things, sweet, innocent, vacant, smooth-skinned,...”
– Kincaid, Erotic Innocence, p. 14
“Our culture has enthusiastically sexualised the child while denying just as...”
– Kincaid, Erotic Innocence, p. 13-4
“Reality comes to us in the form of stories. When we fish for truth, for a...”
– Kincaid, James - Erotic Innocence: the culture of child molesting, Duke University Press, 2000, p. 3
4 tags
Looking Liking Moves
and loving what you like. in myself, the slip is past, dissolved in water at the touch. i stay beside you, like the skin to love, to keep, to loose the atoms lost in breath, by loving bones and voice to echo love, to float like edges, up and down, sold by the surface purchase of a kiss.
January 2012
14 posts
: Dead Weight →
operahousegirl:
When the weight of you grows too heavy
I slip you off my shoulders where
your palms greet the earth.
Kicking ribs, I check your mouth for my Coca-Cola
and finger your ears for a coin-return; my pockets are empty.
Turned your body like a grapefruit
and sliced down the middle
probing for lungs and
3 tags
when i get the courage...
the words slip soundlessly finding their own tune. each one filled with tension, bursting ready, twisting, talking, waiting to be plucked or pulled, strung together. they want to be felt, to be touched, like water slipping through fingers. embracing the soft skin edged around this text unformed and unforming in the recesses of the brain. the shadows long in the afternoon and it is...