“Hell Is A Party (That You Were Invited To)
Muse Exchange, LI, NY 5/16/13
“Ten Reasons Condoms Are The Shit”
Muse Exchange, LI, NY 5/16/13
I have decided that
My arms are food.
They are worthless elsewise.
So for now,
My arms are corn-cobs.
Summer’s thumbs.
Boiled out of themselves
By the subtle thievery of rolling water.
A slop of string and sun-tossed yellow meat.
Lemme at that child who wont eat the cream,
lend me the fish-mouthed daughter of an islander.
Let a dumb monkey like me borrow the butter of the coupled branch.
Forgive each bud for it’s salty rims.
The blood mouthed meditation of blue light,
the bent ankles, pinned up like chicken thigh tiaras,
pink gemstones in the fat of the crown.
Kneebones bleached out like knotted bedsheets.
These white balls, the fresh lightning.
The clapping sky applauding our every pitchless anthem,
someone else’s flag kicked into a quilt,
A doily of negative space, the gracious martyr in a time of headless queens.
Its not that serious, girls.
It’s a fist of aluminum foil
Bubble-gummed into wet electrics
This dipped lip battery
It’s spit in a coke bottle
The beggar’s cable in the elephants trunk.
A bead of sweat riding the condemned man into the bad, bad shake.
Sometimes I doodle to remember what eyes look like.
Im very good with the brows, uncanny with the potato sacks and the chins
I should have been an artist
I should have been the ceiling of a monastery,
Some dying plaster, risen.
A plate of clay, abused.
A thousand bowls suspended on high
Filled to my lips with someone else’s poetry.
I should have drowned in blood
A shameless fish
In a mess of dead bishops.
All creamy with the reddest red’s we could get our hands on.
Strawberry dogs, sweaty with sugar.
I should have spent more time regretting the folks I never really loved.
It would have made for better drama.
It would have given me a reason to lament my twenties.
I could tell someone else “I want children.”
And I would, out of spite.
My grandfather died in Vegas,
Never having met me
It’s the least I could do for him.
To leave a stinking mystery behind
To bequeath some untouchable bastard
To my descendents
I will leave them four dollars
And a man they can chase till they drink the mud.
I am Sidhartha’s boat
And the punchline to the dead chuckle,
Bent into a shadow
Cast in hell.
No one give’s a fuck.
And nobody is sad about that,
either.
Cupid Aint S*&@! 2013 - Regie Cabico, myself, Sam LaRoche, J.Mase III and Mouth
NO GRAVITY - BRIAN OMNI DILLON - KISHI BASHI - 2/4/13
Monday at Housing Works Bookstore: Kishi Bashi and Brian Omni Dillon
In a very special evening at Housing Works, Kishi Bashi joined unlikely forces with slam poet Brian Omni Dillon for a collaborative performance. With a booming and captivating voice that refused the microphone, Omni Dillon opened with three poems before bringing Kishi on stage. With the backing of Kishi’s ominous, hair-raising sounds, Omni Dillon’s voice became subdued, melting symbiotically into the music for a powerful effect.
To much applause, Omni Dillon stepped down and Kishi took the stage alone. Equipped with only a violin and effects pedals, Kishi had the audience spellbound with ornate and richly layered rhythms over which his voice floated its pained and hypnotic melodies. The energy kicked up when Kishi introduced his new touring band members on percussion, banjo, and backing vocals. The set reached a crescendo with the aptly named “It All Began with a Burst”, which had the audience clapping in rapid fire. Kishi brought the evening to a close with a transfixing solo rendition of “I am the Antichrist to You.”
Although his show this Friday at Bowery Ballroom is sold out, be sure to catch him next time he is in town!
Housing Works. 2/4/13
Kishi Bashi & Me. Housing Works 2/4/13.
One of our bartenders (black) is going to Paris next week. A regular (white) posts the title to a certain jayz/kanye song on his wall. He is clearly unhappy. She walks in tonight for the first time since the post. They immediately begin jawing. And guess what song drops from the oblivious DJ mid-screaming match?
Coming soon.
*apologies for line-broke-stupid version the other day*
octopus, monkey, jaguar
the common octopus has four hearts
you are not an octopus
rather, an exceptional variety of monkey.
that is not meant to be an insult
monkeys are incredibly intelligent animals.
monkeys are also known, on occasion, to paint.
you paint.
exceedingly better than any monkey, in a historical context.
in fact, you paint better than any monkey i have yet to meet
including any i work with
or have been lectured by
and even those whose monkey-sex was the gooey-flash point
which resulted in my spilling into the mortal coil
like some poorly received haberdasher
endlessly pleased with myself.
where you - the stunning monkey - and the blood-factory cephalapod meet
is in your chest.
there is too much pump in you
the drumming thump of flush and spin and flight
the deep music of you is tuned to a pin flick.
you burst professionally
an empathetic fountainhead
the tootlhess, polyamorous jaguar
flashy in her spots
broken over the lost neighborhood cat
and the voice of her father in the twilight
built with the gifts of a predator
and consumed with nursing a gazelle
there is a nazarene prophetess in your trunk
the loving mania of an animal better at being eaten
than swallowing a drop for herself.
After going viral on Reddit’s ‘Funny’ section for being odd-looking with facial hair, the girl above gave the following graceful and fresh response:
“Hey, guys. This is Balpreet Kaur, the girl from the picture. I actually didn’t know about this until one of my friends told on facebook. If the OP wanted a picture, they could have just asked and I could have smiled :) However, I’m not embarrased or even humiliated by the attention [negative and positve] that this picture is getting because, it’s who I am. Yes, I’m a baptized Sikh woman with facial hair. Yes, I realize that my gender is often confused and I look different than most women. However, baptized Sikhs believe in the sacredness of this body - it is a gift that has been given to us by the Divine Being [which is genderless, actually] and, must keep it intact as a submission to the divine will. Just as a child doesn’t reject the gift of his/her parents, Sikhs do not reject the body that has been given to us. By crying ‘mine, mine’ and changing this body-tool, we are essentially living in ego and creating a seperateness between ourselves and the divinity within us. By transcending societal views of beauty, I believe that I can focus more on my actions. My attitude and thoughts and actions have more value in them than my body because I recognize that this body is just going to become ash in the end, so why fuss about it? When I die, no one is going to remember what I looked like, heck, my kids will forget my voice, and slowly, all physical memory will fade away. However, my impact and legacy will remain: and, by not focusing on the physical beauty, I have time to cultivate those inner virtues and hopefully, focus my life on creating change and progress for this world in any way I can. So, to me, my face isn’t important but the smile and the happiness that lie behind the face are. :-) So, if anyone sees me at OSU, please come up and say hello. I appreciate all of the comments here, both positive and less positive because I’ve gotten a better understanding of myself and others from this. Also, the yoga pants are quite comfortable and the Better Together tshirt is actually from Interfaith Youth Core, an organization that focuses on storytelling and engagement between different faiths. :) I hope this explains everything a bit more, and I apologize for causing such confusion and uttering anything that hurt anyone.”
Really disgusted by all the hate those Redditors heaped on this woman. Equally floored by her pure awesomeness in the face of that noise. You go girl, you rock!
hallelujah!
(via ynannarising)
I learn and unlearn but more knowing
having been ashore some other isle briefly,
there is a furnace in every room that inhabits
the corner and reigns out the ephemeral past’s
blasphemous dwindling!
A measle armed child unraveling the curtains
and blistering the glass and overtly shouting…
Milea Auto-Reblog