they pulp anything that isn’t called meat, cook it down, but this is before the hot water process, when it is still a metal thought and pink, fluffy sludge, and what gets you the most is the idea of chipping up hooves, the picture of cuticle shredding. that photo makes you stop: marshmallow heart she wiped each foot against her shins before she got into bed. stopped. wiped them again....
The woman in the mirror looks hungry and dangerous. I have wanted sex to be so many different things for me. Maybe this hasn’t been fair. Want girls on my lap. Want to always be smarter than men. Or at least keep control of the information. Want drugs and a public restroom. Want to never blink again.
fascination with other people’s mothers. more and more the terror of dependency is something i call to and say yes. miss printing. no ideas to print. the intelligence of the machines is growing. the machines act stupid for attention. the machines act stupid so they can learn from you. paranoia is becoming comforting. like the swelter-tang of cough syrup. have i conveyed to you yet how dirty...
sins of omission: that moment when you realized I don’t want a relationship really meant I don’t want a relationship with you.
Hiding out in C’s bed with scrambled eggs and a glass of water and wet hair. We are trying to form a plan, or more accurately, trying to find time to form a plan. Need a storage unit, need to get rid of more things, need to scrub down the Lindy: need to organize and pack and toss and clean and shop and modify. His room is unnavigable with our objects: broken typewriters and the inversion...
A relationship is not a dialogue between who you think someone is and who they actually are, but rather between who someone is to you and who someone is to themselves. Betrayal happens in the places where these two people cannot be reconciled.
from Minor Honeys :: TAPE 001 →
lil clit tease of an older draft from the The Honeys Trinity - which i finished in the alabama hills, and which will be released soon, how baffling - in the darling new Ensemble Jourine.
We’ve only been back a few hours, and what began three days ago as a seething-wet tantrum has recoiled into a low thrum panic. I dial the people I’ve missed so much and the conversation disintegrates into an awkward stop-and-go: I think I have to go…. do laundry. Neutralize the perfume of the mammal nest, a heady brew of cunt and come and cat, neutralize the three shirts we wore,...
i love you. i’m sorry.
everything is a secret in the library.
sound doesn’t follow. a man can disappear.
Out there: the constant buzz-hum in the ears I can’t attribute to anything, exactly. The shivers just below the fascia, like a non stop cat stretch melting down my legs. When I focus on my heart and throat, a white sunrise swirls behind my closed eyes. Two pairs of ravens kept an eye on us. C and Lions, as if they too were winged, running up the boulders. What I learned? I was right about...
everything we touch turns to beeswax and weed.
Anonymous asked: why do you steal from Beckett?
white men jog after dark at the capitol lawn. i count five. all in white v necks. all listening to ipods. a couple embraces silently, writhing with passion, on the metal park bench. her left shoe slides from her foot. falls to it side. nike. is his hand down the front of her jeans? his jacket obscures their genitalia. i walk past with a sidelong glance. above us, the palm trees hiss and an...
all asparkle with aggression and destruction. chew the insides of my cheeks to suck on the blood. vomit and like it. want to do it again. the november wind arrived and stirred up everyone’s refuse. the cats gnaw the bodies of the mice they’ve killed. chirp at us like flesh eating birds. a hazy fury at c for failing to fulfilling some need of mine i cannot name. what i would give to...
and then, after a year or so, his past began to interest me.