Archive for March, 2012
it is old. not just old, but worn. fraying in some parts or just eroded in curiously small patches where velveteen tracks of material ran parallel, colored appropriately. the size of these patches is indeed bizarre. the mass of the creatures weighing it down should have yielded rather spacious pools of missing texture.
it is no longer vivid, though its colors were likely intended to be warm and sophisticated in their earthy timbres. maroon, olive green, a soft raw umber, and maybe some ochres. the pattern was a gaudy floral maze, and very large. rounded shapes mirrored and repeated, mocking obsessively or following others into that crease or that curve or that seam to disappear from the rude gaze of its occupants. decades ago, it may have been exciting. but a long life of hospitality has distressed the flowers to run dull and amorphous, almost homogeneous, varying grades of the same substance.
it is a compound. there was a large segment against one wall, a small one adjacent to it, and twin sister parts across the room at each corner. the larger one could house three or four. he used to sit on one of them, or on one side of the largest one. it was always the same spot but it’s been years, and she is probably the only one who remembers exactly where: where he would bend his knees to fill the wide clothed groove with his bony folded backside. sweat in it and allow his cologne to seep in from his neck to those dank murky fibers. pass gass into the bottom part, for sure, in his later years. when he lost it he maybe forgot just where he was sitting but she never did and she never will.
she still sits with his smells and breaths trapped in ratty knitted aisles, the groove of his withered body pressed into his spot, the lack of him and his strained cigarette laugh too dense to fit on it,
too dense to take a seat.
i would do as you would,
in trite and forgettable things.
i would absorb small details.
A4 sketchbook illustration
anselm kiefer is a genius. and, like most geniuses, his thought process / personal account of visual vocabularies is fascinating–perhaps even more so than his sublime paintings and sculptures.
these pages look so musky. i would much like to give them a sniff and, if not satisfied, a lick.
josie miner, kim winderman, nick oberthaler, david hamilton
says: KERPOW to the multiverse theory
and punches it in the vagina.
he doesn’t like to share, and finds it objectionable that others should reside in his space, though vast, without making themselves known or bringing over brownies to say “welcome, fellow creature.”
A4 sketchbook illustration
you don’t breathe as i do. for fear of inhaling, or a myriad of other reasons i’ll never be privy to. and how you survive without this most basic of functions, i’ll never really understand.
won’t you try it, just once?
breathe, as deep as you can. suck it into you through the openings in your course face, and see how it tastes
(you may find it dull or bland, maybe like bread, or pasta with no salts or sauces, but i’m happy with them. those familiar starchy tastes. and if your enzymes get to them while they’re still on your tongue you will find that they become sweeter by the second.)
you may then find it pleasingto allow such vaporsto infiltrate
some behaviors, and the ways you contract when waking up. even the logic behind scraping the crust from your bottom eyelid, and deciding whether or not to brush your teeth.
you can always expel it–goodness knows i’d never ask you for anything permanent
when you find it unappealing or cumbersome to be in close quarters and share that invisibility, if you’ve been feeling selfish and defensive, we don’t have to. you can keep holding your breath, and i’ll keep mine to myself.
to be born in the loveliest season of the year