interesting gum wrapper
sinks in the water, unlit. My prophet who was never
my prophet, gone. Getting used to it. Reading the smoke between
leaves and the varied greens of the leaves themselves.
I was a city kid—I don’t know more than
the current of kids and rambling mutts loose between cars.
I decided to come here and that
matters somehow. I know the bullet. I’m the bullet
and the bullet’s daughter. Of course
it would be you, you said.
When I leapt onto the table, you followed. When I kissed you on the stairs you kicked I blocked your foot with my foot bent my neck to kiss down your neck curved your hand. Kiss. Kick. Curve, catch, I pulled you over the banister, you rang out, no money and no shame.
Later: waiting for you to see me under a red and blue window, refusing to look at you.
I touched every place where you could feel my pulse with the finger oil of legal tender. What I wear when I want you to come to me without having to ask.
Because you’re a simple man, you tie my body to the terrain, to your mother, to the high-waisted slang of your youth, to your wife, to our country—to your country. You tie my body to every glimmer-hard chance denied you and you carry us all as kindling, as the lord’s people, clinging to your back.
A woman who is a tower.
A formidable collar.
My other video and my other book, in private.
Know that I don’t blame you.
Practicing alone, in winter. I slipped, cut my hands in snow.
Before you knew me.”
— Jay Santa Cruz, “Prince of Cups”
Angel Dust (1994) Dir. Sogo Ishii
my sink keeps on throwing up and I’m never alone anymore, today in Kroger I spoke to the plastic colors on the boxes and they told me to touch my own skin, whisper of my past possessions and abuses, the people I’ve been and hungers that used to move me
I’m not good at being with him, not good at the silverware and vacuums, only good at fried food. only good at bad sex, but there was someone hiding in a fur coat and tea bags. in my best dreams, possessions of lust and life make my body ring with glory, regardless of the lumps in the flesh, regardless of distorted symmetry and lines
— Exhibitionist love story (via nerdgirlextraordinaire)
dead cat - teen suicide
Greg Rivera - The Pleasure of Thought (1997)
Nickolas Muray - Frida Kahlo