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)))
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)))
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