sleep/wake

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.


from Roethke's villanelle The Waking 


I wake to sleep some words have such a profound resonation in me I read them over and over until they're burnt into my eyelids and my breath and the space between the words and my eyelids melt into one amorphous multi-lettered vision opening/closing, sleeping/waking, this shaking keeps me steady


I learn by going where I have to go 

WANT

oh god

why did you leave us

we need you so badly

mcqueen, x, x, x

AG takes good pictures

kerouac, 

by 

ginsberg 

the pack, the us, the not-you

in our world its red headscarf week

from the Ginsberg biography Dharma Lion

Throughout his years at Columbia, Allen would argue with his teachers, turn in papers on topics that were considered inappropriate even for a school with a relatively liberal reputation, associate with people whom faculty members disapproved of, and become involved in a series of events that would scandalize the school. In all of this, he was rarely apologetic.
sounds 'bout right 

too good, thanks thom

(new radiohead album released yesterday, takes away the mean reds and reminds me of the bigger things that are happening going to happen more important than petty bullshit cropping up left right and center)

thought fills cities, allen ginsberg forever!

Since I'm doing my thesis thingey on Mr. Ginsberg, his poems are all over my brain. So, um, web crawlers, blawg stalkers, just get into it, k?

This one is called A Prophecy
by Mr. Allen Ginsberg

A Prophecy

O Future bards
chant from skull to heart to ass
as long as language lasts
Vocalize all chords
zap all consciousness
I sing out of mind jail
in New York State
without electricity
rain on the mountain
thought fills cities
I'll leave my body
in a thin motel
my self escapes
through unborn ears
Not my language
but a voice
chanting in patterns
survives on earth
not history's bones
but vocal tones
Dear breaths and eyes
shine in the skies
where rockets rise
to take me home

mi boi jonsi

I don't know how I feel about the ribbonned shirt-capes, but the projected visuals behind them are just so very beautiful


Jónsi: Live at The Wiltern from Jónsi on Vimeo.


also new song here: ">x


CUTE

best sorry-for-being-an-asshole gift I ever got

It still didn't work out. 

I kept the typewriter.

(duh)

Hunter S. Thompson says

Walk tall, kick ass, learn to speak Arabic, love music and never forget you come from a long line of truth seekers, lovers and warriors 

and don't you forget it babies 

winter afternoon dreaming

A very close friend of mine once paid me the sweetest compliment I've ever received
You remind me of a Klimt painting 

the aesthete/nerd/ego in me exploded in happiness as I saw myself through her eyes: 

dreaming, naked, golden and alone

but now I dare to think she saw something different

(its better here)

NEW YEARS EVE

it's almost the new year, and I have so so so much to be thankful for.

friends, thanks for being in my life now and tomorrow, this year and next.

I hope 2011 brings you all your wildest hearts desires, joy, happiness, love, gratitude, sunshine, good sex, good food, and an open heart.

xoxoxo
-A

Dylan Thomas, on writing. From an interview published in his collection Quite Early One Morning

Poetry is the rhythmic, inevitable narrative, movement from an overclothed blindness to a naked vision that depends in its intensity on the strength of the labour put into the creation of the poetry. My poetry is, or should be, useful to me for one reason: it is the record of my individual struggle from darkness towards some measure of light, and what of the individual struggle is still to come benefits by the sight and knowledge of the faults and fewer merits in that concrete record. My poetry is, or should be, useful to others for its individual recording of that same struggle with which they are necessarily acquainted. 

'tis too starved a subject for my sword

When Lucien regaled Burroughs with a tale of how he had recently instigated a fight between Kammerer and a gay artist- an altercation that ultimately wound up with Lucien’s biting both the painter and Kammerer- Burroughs dismissed the incident with a single line. "In the words of the immortal Bard,’ Burroughs said, pulling from memory a quotation from Troilus and Cressida, "‘tis too starved a subject for my sword"


on the meeting of minds/madness, on indifference and pre-heroin Burroughs, on the youngness of poor old tragic Lucien Carr, on Ginsberg recounting Lucien Carr conversation with William S. Burroughs, from Schumacher's Ginsberg biography Dharma Lion

mind work

this helps the writing: x

and the writing helps the living.

and the living helps the writing.

and I am happy in my patterns and webs and ourobouros and rhythms

the soft revolution

Zizek on Foucault and Deleuze: "Fist fucking is the sexual invention of the twentieth century"

Lol!

intersections, new ways of speaking the truth, jigga's new book, old poet

Jay-Z, on art + language: 

Art elevates and refines and transforms experience. And sometimes it just fucks with you for the fun of it. This is another place where the art of rap and the art of the hustler meet. Poets and hustlers play with language, because for them simple clarity can mean failure. They bend language, improvise, and invent new ways of speaking the truth

Wallace Stevens, on art + language: 

It Must Be Abstract 

It Must Change 

It Must Give Pleasure 

(old boys young boys same patterns) 

check out Jay-Z's new book here: x

Its 2am and I should be editing papers but I be bloggin

I got the need 

                   must must must must must return to new york soon

papa knows