Livin' Thing - ELO & Godstar - Psychic TV

style notes.

☽♕∵♀∴♂∵♕☾

~&~

xx

page evolving like smooshing through genres
i keep thinking the yellow wall ppr lol butt
you, somehow,
stoned,
     love,
dun wanna live//die lol
butt
     you,
          somehow.

DELETION

empty it clear some room with rubber for overlay smoky hints of the lines once there & again removed tears in the page see through grain your sketches were once there now a crude delta & I'm not remembering them so well burned as they are more a dream of the present than a fact of the past

Youth --Louise Glück

My sister and I at two ends of the sofa,

reading (I suppose) English novels.

The television on; various schoolbooks open,

or places marked with sheets of lined paper.

Euclid, Pythagoras.  As though we had looked into

the origin of thought and preferred novels.

Sad sounds of our growing up—

twilight of cellos.  No trace

of a flute, a piccolo.  And it seemed at the time

almost impossible to conceive of any of it

as evolving or malleable.

Sad sounds.  Anecdotes

that were really still lives.

The pages of the novels turning;

the two dogs snoring quietly.

And from the kitchen,

sounds of our mother,

smell of rosemary, of lamb roasting.

A world in process

of shifting, of being made or dissolved,

and yet we didn’t live that way;

all of us lived our lives

as the simultaneous ritualized enactment

of a great principle, something

felt but not understood.

And the remarks we made were like lines in a play,

spoken with conviction but not from choice.

A principle, a terrifying familial will

that implied opposition to change, to variation,

a refusal even to ask questions—

Now that world begins

to shift and eddy around us, only now

when it no longer exists.

It has become the present: unending and without form.

animals//salesdreams

MEAT BARRAGE - Cassfield Incarnation 2014

randomly selected Khayyam.

7
Our greatest treasure?
Wine! Our palace? The wine house.
Our true friends? Thirst and drunkenness.
We don't worry, as we know that our soul, our heart,
our cups and our old clothes have nothing to fear
from mud and dust, from water or fire!

8
Be happy that you have few friends.
Don't feel obliged to show them endless sympathy.
Before you shake hands, before you consider
someone a friend, ask yourself whether you
are not shaking a hand that
may one day beat you.

AT THE GATES OF TITANS

shit what am i doing
     i should attach myself to you
    & pump what i do in you
    say what i do & spew it through
     you.


run to the fucking devil
     idk abt me tho
     smash this life together
     & funnel it in me.

Long
oil
slick under the sun.

Anonymous windshields,
nothing's near, you
gotta drive &
everyone's on their own time,
licensed,
empiring up,
self-cloister as not to see anyone.

W/th'thrifted

Best to keep the stale smell on them long as possible; do not wash.
an upward glance

like a mother

     a soft green scarf

trails

on the shallow descending steps of daily living

smelling old green attic,
smelling salvation cloth
     where tommy james waver-wilts
     in fluorescents above shoppers

the drab color of
familiarity,
of family.