Thursday, December 22, 2011
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Blank Slate
Yesterday I woke up with the phrase "Tabula Rasa" in my head, like a mantra, an emotion. A state. of being.
Blank Slate.
Then I bore my soul a bit into sound.
Blank Slated.
Sounds.
http://soundcloud.com/illiteratewatersofbunk/transposed-again
Blank Slate.
Then I bore my soul a bit into sound.
Blank Slated.
Sounds.
http://soundcloud.com/illiteratewatersofbunk/transposed-again
Monday, November 14, 2011
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Monday, September 19, 2011
What it is
She was okay, for a while. Grounded by my voice.
And someold lines of my own:
Darlin it seems, the season's are just as sick and congested as we are, but that's okay, We'll brush it off, we'll shed that weight. It will all be okay.
And I am too.
And I am Trusting my Gut. Heart.
And I will.
And someold lines of my own:
Darlin it seems, the season's are just as sick and congested as we are, but that's okay, We'll brush it off, we'll shed that weight. It will all be okay.
And I am too.
And I am Trusting my Gut. Heart.
And I will.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Dishes before the Matador
Some Words on Pages of mechanical penicl taken from my notebook,
September 9, 2010
Dishes
I used to really dislike Hate even, doing the dishes as a kid. I didn't understand the thought or effort that went into my mother's cooking. I viewed our family dinners as an arena.
I have often related to the bull, perhaps more so than ever in my youth, but in accepting this, I believe I now understand the role of the Matador. By thirteen I was sort of a "fight to the death" (my own) kinda gal... By twenty-two I realize the process has always been about fighting to live. Suicide, death, birth, etc.
It's not Glamorous. Hollywood can try to be immortal but the mere act of trying, in these erotic fantasy worlds with plastic botoxed vampires fucking til the break of dawn, defeats the goal...
Right now I can see the wind is picking up and steadily tossing leaves and branches around outside, a car just drove by, my friend is asleep in his room, a plane is going by, this mechanical pencil is scratching on the paper, and i am taking deep breaths yet all of this is quietly droned out by the consistent hum of an air conditioner. As a kid, I found myself excited by the idea of te power going out or a natural disaster occuring. Back then I didn't think about the very real consequences of such things.
or Desire.
In moments of objectivity, that is, when I think I am viewing things in an objective manner, sex loses its appeal and I am left wondering if solitude is making me just as desensitized as watching too much television would. Ha.
Today. September 14, 2011
I'm weathered. But hey, I'm not scratching nearly as much when I play pool.
September 9, 2010
Dishes
I used to really dislike Hate even, doing the dishes as a kid. I didn't understand the thought or effort that went into my mother's cooking. I viewed our family dinners as an arena.
I have often related to the bull, perhaps more so than ever in my youth, but in accepting this, I believe I now understand the role of the Matador. By thirteen I was sort of a "fight to the death" (my own) kinda gal... By twenty-two I realize the process has always been about fighting to live. Suicide, death, birth, etc.
It's not Glamorous. Hollywood can try to be immortal but the mere act of trying, in these erotic fantasy worlds with plastic botoxed vampires fucking til the break of dawn, defeats the goal...
Right now I can see the wind is picking up and steadily tossing leaves and branches around outside, a car just drove by, my friend is asleep in his room, a plane is going by, this mechanical pencil is scratching on the paper, and i am taking deep breaths yet all of this is quietly droned out by the consistent hum of an air conditioner. As a kid, I found myself excited by the idea of te power going out or a natural disaster occuring. Back then I didn't think about the very real consequences of such things.
or Desire.
In moments of objectivity, that is, when I think I am viewing things in an objective manner, sex loses its appeal and I am left wondering if solitude is making me just as desensitized as watching too much television would. Ha.
Today. September 14, 2011
I'm weathered. But hey, I'm not scratching nearly as much when I play pool.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Denial is not a word
Is that Denial? Ha.
I crack myself up.
Sometimes I talk too much. Tell too much. No filter, no breath. Pour it out all over the place, really just the feet of a select few, I catch em while looking down. I know it's not cool. It thins out like steam. Hits like foamed milk. Someone's been spendin too much time around coffee. Gotta get back to internalizing sometimes.
but I crack myself up.
Humpty Dumptying all over the place.
On some quest. I'm sorry but I cannot sell the book about the boy I loved. He always said Realize, Real lies, with Real Eyes.
I'd rather get shitfaced, but not really. but then i do
Practicing Dementia.
but this week,
well,
there ya have it.
I crack myself up.
Sometimes I talk too much. Tell too much. No filter, no breath. Pour it out all over the place, really just the feet of a select few, I catch em while looking down. I know it's not cool. It thins out like steam. Hits like foamed milk. Someone's been spendin too much time around coffee. Gotta get back to internalizing sometimes.
but I crack myself up.
Humpty Dumptying all over the place.
On some quest. I'm sorry but I cannot sell the book about the boy I loved. He always said Realize, Real lies, with Real Eyes.
I'd rather get shitfaced, but not really. but then i do
Practicing Dementia.
but this week,
well,
there ya have it.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
feel this,
stay over there,
it feels like i am falling,
falling or failing,
my feet are on the ground,
it is happening slowly,
stay put,
don't you see this going anywhere.
i don't know what to say,
think about it,
i don't know who you are;
i am going somewhere,
we are all going places.
you answer me.
never mind,
never mind,
never mind,
come here,
i'll take the roundabout route
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Monday, August 15, 2011
pulling teeth without words
  oh no ! well you need to send me some mail last night i applied for a job a music venue by writing on th recipt i"m real good at doing dishes then i went to dennys and tipped a lot and had a good meal met a man named faysa and then i vomitted next to a cemtary and continued triking home then i woke up at 7 oh but i spilled water all over my floor and trix cereal for kids you know im thinking this is another joint post with your consent i really like "shit is about to get real. never come too soon, liquid language. exquisite." i was just thinking about coming because i asked you if you were and sometimes my mind goes to the gutter but i never cared for the term "coming" in regard to sex it doesn't make sense but liquid language does language can it be contained like the riddle of the glass man in the house i mean i the man who hung himself in th glass house and all that remained was a puddle |
|
kathleen is typing... |
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Saturday, August 6, 2011
All in a Day
Outside is an early Autumn mating call. The WARM air, the COLD air,
batting lashes at each other in Flirtation. I Feel
like
A BAROMETER.
moved by the pressure.
Excited
even.
After work but Before the above, still in transit:
I blow the gnat off my left arm.
Poof, the itch is gone.
I turn right, onto Thomas ave because Thomas is my father's name and Today, my habits are made of
Sentimental Logic.
Entering the Garden of Poetry, is a small Task.
a corner, off Tom, off Hamline,
I'm Laughing through the Fence. It appears to be a private park. Quite kept up and desolate,
So, I feign I am in the one of Eden, you know. Because Eden rolls, runs, off the tongue easily
after the words "Garden" and "Of"
Naturally, or Something, Besides, I got words to grow. So I guess it makes sense. My logic.
Feeling CHARGED. but I don't mean to project. but I feel the storm.
approaching.
And sometimes.
I feel like Lightning.
Today I: exhausted my mind in the good way
played chess,
lost count of the change,
found two more hubcaps, a run-over paint-brush on a bridge, a playing card- the joker.
biked all over.
Vagued my day
These pictures are simple. just some of what I see, what I ride on, pass by. Some are not from today.
Angles and what not. tracks and shit.
batting lashes at each other in Flirtation. I Feel
like
A BAROMETER.
moved by the pressure.
Excited
even.
After work but Before the above, still in transit:
I blow the gnat off my left arm.
Poof, the itch is gone.
I turn right, onto Thomas ave because Thomas is my father's name and Today, my habits are made of
Sentimental Logic.
Entering the Garden of Poetry, is a small Task.
a corner, off Tom, off Hamline,
I'm Laughing through the Fence. It appears to be a private park. Quite kept up and desolate,
So, I feign I am in the one of Eden, you know. Because Eden rolls, runs, off the tongue easily
after the words "Garden" and "Of"
Naturally, or Something, Besides, I got words to grow. So I guess it makes sense. My logic.
Feeling CHARGED. but I don't mean to project. but I feel the storm.
approaching.
And sometimes.
I feel like Lightning.
Today I: exhausted my mind in the good way
played chess,
lost count of the change,
found two more hubcaps, a run-over paint-brush on a bridge, a playing card- the joker.
biked all over.
Vagued my day
These pictures are simple. just some of what I see, what I ride on, pass by. Some are not from today.
Angles and what not. tracks and shit.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Trekkin Around, on foot, on trike.
for a brief second i was blind, my eyes vicariously living through his description. tension gone.
the best part: when the chiropractor explained just a little scrape on the knee was the cause of a little girl's end of the world screams.
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