Two boys and a little girl running down the road toward the crossing, giggling.
They stop running.
"Hey, Yawl," the bigger boy yells, "Better keep up else I run off and leave you on this side."
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Saturday, September 29, 2012
An admirable day
No frenzy. And the implacable Venus gazes far into the distance at some object or other with her marble eyes
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Essentials of Grammar
and I /must admit
that the sea in me
is still/ in love
with the sea in you
because the sea
that now sings /in me
is the same sea
that nearly swallowed you
and me too
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Strobe
I began to miss the light like it really is /getting in between two actions: apathy/fascination. People get closer and closer to the beauty of their invention and it tramples them. You can get so close you don't need to say a word. It's blurry without being sentimental like a rebellion in the hood. It's perfect without being good.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Monday, September 17, 2012
Perhaps we should lose the noun
which renders us nostalgic. Replace traces with tracing and don't call it anything
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Sharps and Flats
Be embarrassed to talk about being happy, that's ridiculous
But we need you rebel, you prolong our fascination with myth. Drenched in that fascination we get so happy we can't even talk about it without crying-- I'm the rebel. You should apologize to me, you rushed into thinking I was demeaning because the truth had no meaning to you but your contrite blue rhythm and a break in--- something stolen from you like there's music in the air but you can't hear none cause you're numb, so numb and terrible at the purple under your soul desert screaming James Brown's--Try me, Try me. Loops. That's all we like is loops. We narrow the records and arks into a few chords and we really miss our mothers, if we ignore them we become them chords/cores/coercive-arcadia. Let's not ignore them. I once met a fanatical admirer of the railroads, a real leader/rider/sociopath nigga in a slick yellow rainjacket coated in mirrors and austere optimism. I was almost but not quite, home in him. He ignores his mother whimsically. I button my heart back together with blasted green stones from him. That's all we dream in loops. The record swims on its axis like a black man from Baltimore. Jabbing his arms into a calm azure, wordless quarrel with the rebel. Never been there. I'm exactly where he would want to get to next. The record carries him on its dissociative current as he weeps and rubbs his eyes until they burn and ricochet off the imaginary always with shy arousal. He meant to say how nice it felt to be beside her that day and how silently she was like everyone he ever needed to know and it all felt dangerously close to rebirth and embarrassingly near-happiness. The wave bathes the cliff in foam and retreats
But we need you rebel, you prolong our fascination with myth. Drenched in that fascination we get so happy we can't even talk about it without crying-- I'm the rebel. You should apologize to me, you rushed into thinking I was demeaning because the truth had no meaning to you but your contrite blue rhythm and a break in--- something stolen from you like there's music in the air but you can't hear none cause you're numb, so numb and terrible at the purple under your soul desert screaming James Brown's--Try me, Try me. Loops. That's all we like is loops. We narrow the records and arks into a few chords and we really miss our mothers, if we ignore them we become them chords/cores/coercive-arcadia. Let's not ignore them. I once met a fanatical admirer of the railroads, a real leader/rider/sociopath nigga in a slick yellow rainjacket coated in mirrors and austere optimism. I was almost but not quite, home in him. He ignores his mother whimsically. I button my heart back together with blasted green stones from him. That's all we dream in loops. The record swims on its axis like a black man from Baltimore. Jabbing his arms into a calm azure, wordless quarrel with the rebel. Never been there. I'm exactly where he would want to get to next. The record carries him on its dissociative current as he weeps and rubbs his eyes until they burn and ricochet off the imaginary always with shy arousal. He meant to say how nice it felt to be beside her that day and how silently she was like everyone he ever needed to know and it all felt dangerously close to rebirth and embarrassingly near-happiness. The wave bathes the cliff in foam and retreats
Friday, September 14, 2012
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Monday, September 10, 2012
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Some triumphant
Government of the world begins in us. Its not the sincere who govern the world, but neither is it the insincere, it's those who create in themselves a real sincerity by artificial and automatic means. This sincerity is what makes them strong, and it outshines the less false sincerity of others. To be adept at deluding oneself is the first prerequisite of a statesman.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Monday, September 3, 2012
Monk on Time
Our earliest childhood memories are bound up with the sound of dynamite and pride
was like "I don't want nothin black but a cadillac"
and love
was like "You niggas are sick for that
self-hate"
and truth was like "yeah, well, whatchuknow about it."
... a sudden acute disengagement ... a brilliant corner in the night we raided, muted
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Nica's Dreams
Is is better to do nothing than to contribute to the invention of formal ways of rendering visible that which Empire already recognizes as existent?
Saturday, September 1, 2012
The heat, this calm, this quiet scene
One man says: Why don't you straighten out and act like a white man
The same man warns: But watch the black extra, a one frame shot on a John Wayne western, slide over and shaft Wayne offscreen.
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