it’s coming to something
I don’t know what
a Grotesque Animal
like, nothing helped me keep up with you
so I struggled forward until I saw you
philosophising notions of desire.
and, with nothing, you courted me
and, by-and-by, you caught up with me
willingly, I dove into your fire.
but nothing like the dream of you
no love helped me agree with you
it made me sick to have your face near mine.
and nothing held me close to you
I couldn’t give my soul to you
a clumsy kind of nothing left at all
… like need, or whatever, that feeds itself
with its own meaning, or it’s own means.
like drowning in fire, or fire drowning in itself.
on being in class
my degree is flipping rad. but I am RAGING at the number of SMARTARSE, FUCKWIT KIDS who seem to think that their three-year-bachelor-degree and their major in like-English-or-Ancient-Greek has given them some amazing ability for insight that makes their uninformed, unread opinions on the publishing industry somehow RELEVANT to class discussion. DO YOUR READING, MOWERS. or SHUT UP.
this room is named as mine, but filled with shapes I hardly know. and less mine than other people. I carve it like a frontier and I crave it like a soul. I craft something of my own with strange pieces I have valued. but an idea is only as complex or as detailed or as certain as the mind of its architect. so mine manifests in valleys of clothes and boxes and coat-hangers. but the books are shelved neatly. win.
I totally spent most of tonight in front of a mirror taking (and deleting) nude photographs of myself in order to better illustrate a point I was making (to myself) about censorship in art. and because I’m mad narcissistic. props, Narcissus.
tropical Iceland - Fiery Furnaces
according to Google analytics, Iceland is home to my second-largest following. which is rad. because Iceland is like a better version of Australia: cold, socially and environmentally progressive, and with better animals.
so. um. Iceland, this one’s for you.