Monday, May 30, 2011

O u have to be jokin

This moon spins faster w mercury on all sides n there's mars & Venus pushing o but I want tO play o but this is not about play...this room is filling up w the images of the loves that fill a year, and I would like to address everything at once and say,
"Yalorde, mo dupe, I complain too much n don't say this true thIng: you keeP letting me meet or arrange things so I meet interesting beautiful exceptionally sharp souls w magic hysteric contagious rhythms, n smash me if I take any advice but yrs n keep my ears peeled but not cut off so I can listen tO what the he'll u r sayin and I have EvErything I need n no requests except to begin the next year w a conversatiOn that begins under the moon but ends by the ocean this was a lovely lovely year and I did not die notE to self shed skin and love the sun

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

from twitch

this is the real stuff, not the stupid stuff...none of that was stupid...



I know you say I’m a black magic wielder, some say a witch, but I’ve given up anything that may have once been opened to me when you open to me, because no enchantment could ever match you.  I light a candle with the intention of pouring myself into you, like I were half-animal pouring secrets into the river at certain times of the month, but when your heat rises to the surface and your skin starts to shudder and shed, I am shifted in shape and intention.  If I surrender to you, I fully expect you to write me with the conscience of the 20th century, but we’re grown to forget, and we’re more than a little prone to ignore the warning signs that suggest this is happening in time, and it will happen again in memory.  If I try to hold you, to surround you with chords to hold you in place to protect you like a child or to keep you available for me, I will forget your name, and when the night is as dark as this one, your name is the only thing that I have left, written on the edges of my fingernails so that I can read it by the light of the moon.  

This was a moment where the face of the moon glowed brighter than it ever had before, because the sun was reflecting on her, hoping that it would be bright enough to witness the things we did in the dark.  There was a moment, dear Marie, where your face was as bright as the moon.  The rising tides in the blood pulled us close together before the same tides swept us away into something we couldn’t control.  These are the same tides that pull the memories of the dead back, back into the recesses of the 20th century.  Our blood has origins in the same place that turned the way we would always think about the heart, its unimaginable darkness can never compete with the things that happened on the concrete and stones of the cities that gave our bloodlines a place to call home, a place from which to escape.

You, more golden than the light of the sun, and so very afraid of the daylight, you are always at the cafe in my mind, speaking of gender theory, Freud, and the best way to untangle a nose ring in the middle of a storm.  You would have found me soon enough if I didn’t find you first, and you couldn’t lose me quickly enough, because I reminded you of all the things you wanted to become.  Perhaps it was always the same for both of us, and in the end, we are always crying crying crying, because to hold you was like trying to hold the weight of the century where we were born, and it was always destined to be more weight than we could ever bear.

Monday, May 23, 2011

more twitch

so here's a little outline of what i'm working on next...
this twitch project...
there are three stories that run simultaneously...
in one, marie is in paris with a very pretentious older man named krystow, who is entirely fake, living a metaphorical life, and they are making a love affair that looks like a black and white movie, with stevedores and all the accoutrements of love (we need a big budget for complicated machines), and they are in the process of trying to learn how to live in the realm of the wolf, when there's no sun, but they can't stay there because daylight comes and the glitter is worn off when they drive the motorcycle too fast between buildings. (this is how she is seen thru his eyes)
in another, marie is in the french part of a country where there are french people, with a man named cruller, who is a rock star, and they become wolf when they are on heroin, but most of the time the heroin is too diluted, so the transformation is only by half, and the other half is so dimly lit that it can barely make a coherent sentence in the light of the sun. (this is how she is seen thru his eyes)
in the last, marie is in a somnabulent world, inner vision, where she is always also her other lover, an impossible realm of pure wolf, where she is always hallucinating, and always wolf, and always making love to herself (this is how she is seen thru her own eyes)
so...well, there's more to it, but the basic idea is that, and looking at how and who to be these roles...i started with the idea that one woman plays marie in all her versions, and different men play the menroles, but now it seems like it might be much more interesting to have 4 performers play marie, and one person (me) play the men...so that her role is made more multiplicitous (need a better and more pretentious word but that will do, oh, yes, that will do...) by multiple faces...two performers playing her for the last section could be f-f and probably better if that is so than any other combination...same actor playing both is ok too, ideal would be identical twins who have the same surreal affect but oh good luck with that...
try to avoid here making krystow stupid and ridiculous, and making cruller the same, it's not that she is too smart or interesting for them, she is as smart and interesting as she needs to be, but they should be decent enough to earn her respect, so i need to avoid the usual tropes of the cool girl with the nothing guy. they are all a little stupid at times, and they are also often brilliant...fortunately this is not about me, neither stupid nor brilliant, just terribly sleepy and wondering how i will cast this.  i am open to suggestions.
the twitch is always a reference to repetition, in themes, moments in time, and in lovers, when there is a repetition that does not perfectly rewrite the previous version (and there is no perfect re-iteration), then there is a twitch, in image-music-text...
outside court this morning, my ma and brother both talked about their own twitching limbs, and how for them it's cyclical...for me, it's become constant, and i'm running out of medicine, and ready to go for the herbs...men who drink more than 6 cups of coffee a day lower their risk of cancer, so i can't cut that back, are you nuts, what are you fucking nuts, but i don't think that adds to my twitching because, well, because i'm insane (but not borracho y loco, solo loco, un loco puto), and a hypocrite (despite having taken and failed the hypocratic oath), and much more prone to seeing rain on these sunny days, missing the chance to stay indoors under the covers on the rainy days and nights that are passed, that is to say, crying bob crying crying, or lately more just sad, and able to stare for hours at my scuffed boot and not mind time passing.  emotional telegraphy.  telepathy makes me crazy.  i like the drawing breath part of this.  the worst part is when i think i see a glimpse of how the whole thing might work, but then it disappears and all i know is what i want and that seems to be at odds with geography so much that i'm making new work and wondering how things can change long before my breath catches up to them, and hoping this means i'm wrong about where i think i am and what i think i am today.  oh, but hello gemini, and goodbye taurus, you were a nasty fucker this year.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

everything is fine

medical students handle my joints and move me in new ways, and the doctor touches the same joints and i relax because she knows how to move my knee in untold directions, but her warm hands are sure and i know she will not break it in two, she knows what she's doing, the other ones don't have any idea yet, but i can tell the promising ones because it registers in the body that these hands might be unsure but they are also strong and connected to the moment, and the moment is what holds my limb in its socket...daughter recommending purple hair and an orange suit for my next look, she really wants this and repeats it over and over in a fast food restaurant, and rain starts to pour and make the desert smell like i wish i wish i wish you could smell this, you would understand, and daughter is excited to talk about dreams and is making me laugh out loud, and crazy women and angry men all around us stare and maybe they just don't know and never will, because sometimes you get to a point beyond learning...and this phone connects everything, all the parts of my life are synced together now, except there are some names that are confused, and some where the numbers are somewhere else, too many contacts and too many similar names, and i don't think it's able to handle everything with care and attention, it's just data and not enough nostalgia, and i want to tell you about how robots should be programmed for nostalgia, the way aliens are able to live in realms of pure nostalgia, and somewhere in that i make sure that i haven't lost your name, and that it's connected and synced up so that maybe it will someday connect your face when you are done writing that...and the worst part is that all the things that i wouldn't take back, the true things, are true for now, but only true like the ice on top of the ice cream, a layer that doesn't have to matter, but we have to dig through, and i keep thinking i do want to dig through that, it's worth the fight, you're worth the fight, but there's nothing that can be said about that because it is what it is, and it's all very distant and alien and rational in all the right ways, and whenever i think about the oath to do no harm, i fall to the floor, but only when i am alone, and that doesn't happen very often, i am lucky to be around so many people these days, but when i am alone, i fall to the floor and can't stop sobbing and i didn't even see it coming but it always happens like that and it doesn't stop raining in my eyes

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

california dream

i dream you moved to california, but you moved to prison, where you have to serve 3 months in solitary confinement (this is because i was thinking this new hole in my face will make it easier if i ever have to go into solitary confinement, and our faces have been opened up recently, oh but here i could say my face opened up to your face when i saw your face, and it might be true, but it's too late to say things that are true, i don't know why), and when i visit you in prison in california, you're not happy to see me at all, because you've been thinking all day and night in your cell, and thinking that this is hard to be in solitary confinement, and i'm sure it is, and i want to be sympathetic, but you don't believe me, so i tell you only a little of what i want to tell you, and the rest of the time you want to know why i'm so angry these days.  i try to say that i'm not angry these days, but there are things that have been living on the surface lately that are getting larger, and they look like dogs that are all named space, because space is a large dog that gets larger and we are living on a dog that grows, and when it grows it pulls you in one direction and me in another, and we can't see each other any more.  and because we don't know where we are, we blame each other instead of the dog.  or i blame you.  better to say that i blame you, because you don't seem to blame me, only miss me, but you can't see me because you're in solitary confinement.  but the good news is that it's only a few more days until the 29th day has passed, and you get time away, but you won't take it, because you have to stay in california on your time away, because you decided you want to, even though you are miserable there (i like california though, but i don't like every state that begins with the letter c, and some of them i just don't want to live in, but i would visit).  so this makes me filled with blame all over again, and this is my temper acting up, because you won't leave a place where you're unhappy, and i'm not so sure why i came to visit you in jail, because you're not happy there nor happy to see me, and i just don't understand the sentence at all, it makes no sense, because you are innocent, but then i think no one thinks you are guilty, except that you're stuck in solitary confinement, and this wakes me up, and i don't know if one hour is enough sleep, so i decide that i should go out and sit under the moon, but i can't see the moon, but recognize that this is the time of night that the clouds decide to look terribly erotic, but i'm not interested in the clouds, not tonight, i'm just not.  so i sit and smoke and cry under the hidden light of the moon, and think to myself, this is the next day, and yesterday was three months, and everything is claustrophobic, because the cells are too small for these hidden desires, ones the clouds can't even reflect, and the time to get to know you felt so short, and feels shorter, because the walls to the cell have closed, and i'm left with my new wound and some memories of one of the most important things that ever happened to me, and someone who touched me where no one else could ever reach, and it will keep my face open much longer than i can bear, but i can bear, because it's made me tougher, and i know now that i'm willing to fight for something, and willing to lay down the sword when you tell me not to fight any more.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

twitchlinks

this will make more sense to me than to you, but not by very much, but really it's not a contest so just relax already.

OMG I LOVE THIS
THIS IS JUST LIKE LIFE

OLD DOG TWITCHWORK

divining eye twitch

AH! MOTH MADNESS! MOTH MADNESS???? MOTH MADNESS! AH!!!

I fucking love moth madness.

what the fucking shit

ok this is better

i spose flaming lips sure why not

baalsy
this is not really right, but it has trembling and brecht in the same video, so what the hell, and it reminds me of the time when i was going to tell a woman at a club that she was like something out of brecht's baal, but my friend thought that would have been the strangest line anyone ever gave anyone, and it would have worked, except i don't know that really.

huh...
um there's ideas about maybe taking these freefloating tropes (are all tropes free-floating, or contingently floating) on trembling in sacred traditions...as a means of touching the otherworldly spheres...demystifying possession?? is it possible to demystify it without insulting the traditions?  (oh yes, yes there is, the Orisha starts in the feet, etc.etc.etc.)

This is another buried moment in a buried time of moments that I'm trying to bury because because because just because...you know why
but don't know, twitch, when we talked, at 1111 how do you do that at 1111, my chest, the thing to shave, the right, a twitch a spasm that would not stop until i moved to another cafe, and my heart did not get better until i moved to another city.  i have not moved.


now 5/17 oh 17, oh, oh, it's the 17th!  oh wow...that's something that falls between 2 and 4...
but this...
more shaking videos...
selena gomez wow but this one here, please don't look it's a puppy having a seizure  but this one here is more about what seizures are (and also the woman beaten into a seizure at mcdonald's last month)...wait what is goin on with selena gomez and twitching wtfs  this makes more sense i used to have a big crush on samantha in bewitchedok but this is really closer to what i'm thinking of for this one this is video twitch yes this is interesting....  oh this is a good eye twitch
and this is the sound of my lip trembling, about to be marked, tagged, permanently bit
x


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q08Cpj0IMn0&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ge6PDCx7zT4
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gxC-Tz5jw94
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gqxa-DLvkP4
"i'll tell you the story of a wounded wolf" ("and the wound did heal, for she was just a girl after all, that strayed from the path in the forest, and remembered what she'd found there")
who the fuck is rosaleen?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W2bQXulx--E&feature=related

Monday, May 9, 2011

after kassandra: twitch

this is going to be hard to write, it's not hard to write, oh it's raining, oh no it's clear, omg it's hot, omg i'm so cold...i am not erotically attracted to the pushme pullme in doctor dolittle, but maybe i just never considered it seriously before, but either case, i think about the pushme pullme these days, because it is just like life, hahahahahahahahaha.....

so this kassandra...to answer any unanswered questions before they even turn into questions, because i anticipate everything, i do, oh i do, and that's why the twitches surprise me and delight me and that's why twitch, twitch, twitch, more on that in just a moment please wait, hope just walked in the door with a giant hunger for a giant coffee, and i have to send it away, because hope is schizophrenic these days, or at the very best, entirely unencumbered with the weight of empirical evidence...oh, this has not been an easy time, & my friend asked me if i was exhausted, and i had not even started telling her about 2011 (but i'm not ungrateful, and for the record, it's just between eye and eye, or rather, 4, because i remember these things, easily turning into 8, which finds its mirror twin and becomes 16, and that's more than enough to build a universe on (on which for to build a universe?), so so so, exhausted, yes i guess, yes i guess so, yes i guess i guess so, and when i am exhausted i twitch.) ((twitch))

kassandra is up this week, it's number 2 in a series of works on greek goddesses/demigods who begin with the letter "k" (or "c", because it's really ck, it''s really calvin klein, it's really obsession, or maybe desire, who makes desire, i can't stop thinking about it...).  i don't know if there's a number 3.  but i do know that this particular work is very dark, beginning with a blessing for open windows, and ending with a curse against a lover who does not recognize the repetition (repetition is the key, the escape, and the window, as well as the prayer and the bridge and the thrust and the urge), & i would like to say this is the most autobiographical thing i ever did, that it's very close to the bone and feels like exposing my nerves to the open air, but it's not close to the bone, not close to these exposed nerves, because whatever this is, i won't make work about it.  or not yet.  i cannot make anything out of this particular bone until it has receded back to the waves for how ever long it takes, so the sea can cover it with her smells and make me nostalgic for all the dogs that come from the sea, the ones i lost this year, and there are too many already lost this year (and you may certainly count me among the lost).  ((suddenly nostalgic already))  ((doggam doggam already miss the dogs of the sea and they are not that far away, not underground...oh doggammit yes one is))

in the realm of this series, which might be only two, eclypse is the story of shattering hearts that opens up to understanding and compassion; kassandra is the undertow, the angry ghosts that live on the bottom of the sea, who rise to the surface after the wound seems to have been healed...the idea that someone is making an agreement to their own self about what this next life will be, and that they will only agree to participate in this next life, next love, if these things don't repeat, or else...hahahahaha, oh but everything repeats, because we live in the sea, we're children of the water, and the sea is endless repetition and variation, so kassandra is an angry decision to go back into the water, and kassandra is angry because the salt water still makes her wounds hurt, just like in the last life, and she's mad, she's furious, she's terribly terribly angry, and she is back in the ocean again, just. like. me. ha. oh fuck.  in the ocean and complaining because it is too much like being in the ocean.  and kassandra's curse, then, might work on apollo, or agemnimion, because she's so witchy, but it's also laughable and sweet, because she is trying to control things that she has already lost control of, by agreeing to be a part of them, and maybe that's all there is to know, that being a part of something means being subject to forces that are capable of drowning you, stinging the wounds, and maybe even waking up the sleeping lovers in all the beds in the mornings of the world, oh and kassandra, even her, should know that it is not up to her to say when he will wake up, and maybe he will never wake up, stupid boy...

so...this leads to twitch, how, not sure, but need to change the subject, because there are things that i want to bury here in here somewhere, things like, the swords, the swords, when i saw those, i started to look into her eyes, and i saw things start to form, and the first one was the outline of that thing that i saw that made me want to fall in love with her a long time ago, long before either of us were even born in these eyes, and that's making me stutter, just a little, a very small stutter, to cover for the way i am starting to twitch.

and this twitching shows up in the haircracks of the sky, the ones that sometimes allow the small glimpses of spirit dogs, or the haircracks in the doghairs of the spirit dogs where you can see the loss and the longing in the dna of the same dog that you thought had slipped away, but was really only shifting planes, and this twitching makes me wonder what i look like when i'm thinking back and forth between here and there, coming and leaving, opening up windows and sealing the doors for good while making new holes in the wall, and looking maybe for the one room that's sealed from you, the one room that's safe from your influence, and looking at the room long enough to decide that there's no way i would ever willingly spend a minute in there, because that would feel like a slow and painful suicide, or thanksgiving dinner. (i hate turkey, i'm so sorry to have to tell you that here, like this, and so publicly, but i really hate turkey. and pilgrims.  and the things they're trying to do in tennessee. and uganda.  and arizona).

and and and, so the next project then, of course, twitches, stutters, spasms, and if it's not a film always already called twitch than that, then just that, twitch, i like twitch, because i am nothing less than a fairly tall twitch, and on some days nothing more.  i assure you and i adore you.


(Next up: more notes about why we twitch)

((note to self: on most days, gloomy is just self-pity, but on some days, gloomy is just right.  i wish i did not miss my twin so much, then this would be as easy as making performance art in phoenix))
{{{doggam you gam you gam you beautiful handsome twin)))

Monday, May 2, 2011

no home to fly away to

now. when i leave the house.  the first thing i see in front of me is a black bird, another one, these days they come flying across my path like they were cleaning me.  i know what this means, or have a strong sinking feeling, & it's a secret, i shouldn't say it because it's a secret, so for once i will keep it a secret.  and write it halfway so that it might be like a feather in my throat, one who's strands are visible, but the full story is inside my stomach.  there have been 4 birds so far in the past 2 days, and i see this will mean a lot of math.

i'm in an old cafe, not really old, but one i have not been in for awhile, but not old.  nothing is really very old here, not in this part of the city.  but there are old things working on my ribs, i can sometimes see them out of the corner of my eye, kind of like a lover licking the side of the neck and smiling before going further down the channels of the body, and these things smile before they go back to work on my ribs, stamping the flesh and bone with symbols and numbers, & they say it has something to do with marking the quality of the flesh, and something to do with marking the patterns of grieving for this particular moment in time.  in this cafe, which is not old, the woman behind the counter says she has not seen me for awhile, and it's nice to be remembered, and i didn't realize, that it's been a few significant turns of the moon since i've been inside here.  i don't think anything is visible, it's experience carried in the belly, but when i open my laptop there are 4 short black hairs on the keys, like the ghosts of black birds carried them from one liminal spot to this one.  and i put one in my mouth and swallow.

now, i'm remembering something else, something i can't talk about, not entirely.  i forget, i forget, when i am turning these stones over in my mouth, moving them like were old teeth, or washing them with my spit like they were all the memories i want to keep, and all the wounds that i want to heal, the wounds buried in the back of a favorite lover, i forget that i went to the canal and did something that i haven't had to do in awhile, something to do with grieving, and there was cleaning to do, and there was a daughter watching chipmunks play, while short black hairs were flying and getting bathed and getting born and getting eaten, as if they were dirt, dirt from a home barely touched, dirt from the ground where the roots barely entered the channel where they can grow deep, warm, and glowing in the belly of the earth, so the earth could know these roots like it were the hair of a favorite lover, something missed, something lost, something ripped out, something planted, something to water with my own insides, something that lay in the path at the beginning, something not done, something the birds want to clean before the bones have been sealed with symbols i can't understand.

then, sitting and wondering about fire, about the things that burn from the inside, about what hair can do when it's planted, and wondering if this grief isn't premature, or entirely too instinctual.  because the inner landscape is looking flattened and burnt these days, smoking with the residue of things that were walkingrocking on this ground, and it feels like the ocean floor.  but i also sense that there's something else underneath, that it's not close to the floor at all, but just a stop, a place to rest, one of those geological phenomena where the shelf to rest is particularly magnetic and fires the mind so it doesn't move very far into a future or a past, but can't find the right rhythm to sleep for longer than an hour or two.  but the outer landscape is filling with wind that's warming up for another season, and the smells in the air are new, and everywhere is green and purple, green and orange, green and white, chameleons and stoned archers marking the ribs of the earth with the symbols of life and fertility.  i think this is a locked room to me, but i suck my tongue to make the hair warm and wet in my belly, and the woman in the cafe tells me i have to leave, that everyone in the cafe of the world has to leave, to run and go outside, because the insides of the kitchen have caught fire, smoldered and burst into flame, and we have to go outside, because this fire burns, this fire keeps burning, this fire is capable of giving internal burns, the hot yoga of the earth's belly, all the things that i could ever want from a god who knows what lightning means, or a river goddess whose birds are not done cleaning, and reinscribing my ribs with endless strings of indecipherable code that remind me so much of the helixes in her hair.  

MANIFESTO OF CROSSED ONTOLOGIES Everybody (and by everybody I don ’ t mean everybody I think I mean one person, and I mean you, in par...