January 2012
236 posts
Fassbinder, Franz, Fox, Elvira, Erwin, Armin, And... →
nemesissy:
Douglas Crimp, October, Vol. 21.
On homosexuality, Fassbinder, Barthes, and how the ‘personal’ is defined within and imposed upon a given artist’s oeuvre.
Individualism is a white capitalist aesthetic. Stop kissing your own ass.
Source: dagseoul
#whiteness #white people problems
1 tag
I’m drunk and I have soo much Derrida to read.
screaming sexy for real!
(Source: sonofapritch)
2 tags
Dear Pig Top,
(from a Pretend
Victim of Sodomy)
I Love Dick.
—————————-
Dear Pig Top,
We’re listening to
At-The-Gates.
Fuck that shit.
——————————
Dear Pig Top,
All the gay
metal boys swing
their hips when
they head-bang.
...
tumbling and haunting and jabbing
sonofapritch:
and suddenly
THE ETHICS OF
stops reading
has an aneurysm
“throwing my voice”
ah that’s the stuff
“I want to write like a poet about my asshole. I want to attribute to it the clinch of a jaw, the sharpness of teeth, a mind of its own. I can’t. It burns.”
Greg Bordowitz
“You are a living mockery of your own ideals. If not, you have set your ideals too low.”
Charles Ludlam
Threadsuns
bb-goose:
Threadsuns over the grayblack wasteness. A tree- high thought strikes the light-tone: there are still songs to sing beyond humankind.
-Paul Celan
Hexentexte (Witches' Writing)
thenightwood:
IN THE DUST OF THIS LIFE
Pale sieves a tired
Ax in the tree’s bosom.
In the foliage’s broom there is
Seed-blood-silk. Bites
in the lovenest of the building.
Sweetly fogs in its ice-bath
the Ibis’s blood. Masses
in the dust of this life.
Montpellier 1955
Unica Zurn
(This was an anagram poem in the original German, obviously there is no way to translate that, but...
1 tag
“Do you see your work in the context of a national state, or in the context of international capital, or in some other context (including imaginary or imagined ones)?”
NO
“Is identity an important issue for your work and if so in what senses?”
NO
“What do you see as the most urgent, yet insufficiently recognized, or addressed, issue or issues for poets at this...
“How hard should I be willing to work to cause the machine to move? Certainly there must be a model whereby whispering could be amplified into a question of pitch.”
from “Automatic Manifesto #7”
Nick Piompino
1 tag
“TRIGGER WARNING: imagism”
1 tag
without reference to making a point any more than to making a shape
1 tag
A terrible hand occurred suddenly on the earth: that of a single exchange that has no purpose other than taking, which has no other way that the pressure it exerts, which has to other rate as the monotony of its growth.This hand has imposed its concord is that of a despotic indulgence. It’s the green and a nine dollar crack - which seeks to overcome the screeching voice of...
2 tags
Such pimples! such hardons! such moody loves. And thus they grew like giggling fir trees.
1 tag
The Only Thing I Underlined In My Copy Of Virgil’s Eclogues When I Read Them For My Comps
The shepherd also came, the heavy swineherds came,
Menalcas came, wet through from steeping winter mist.
All ask him ‘Whence that love of yours?’ Apollo came;
‘Gallus, you’re mad!’ he cried.
1 tag
You Don’t Know Pussy
__________________
No Grapefruit For Faggot
__________________
Help, I’m A Cop
__________________
A Case Of The Hets
__________________
I Want To Get What I Don’t Know
__________________
The Body As A Series Of Useful Pockets
1 tag
when he dies I kept doing shit
in his memory & he kept not being
here. Nothing was pretty enough.
1 tag
when his body finally burst from the pressure rent boy
appeared
1 tag
Someone has written a poem
Fuck You,
I took your words
1 tag
Queer
“this is this & this they seal
everything & event with
a sound and, as it were,
take possession of it.”
2 tags
When I first started doing it
My hand knew only 4 cardinal
Points-inward, outward, & side to side-
Not realizing-utilizing the infinite amount
of possible movement in the spaces between
1 tag
People Who Accidently Blew Me
existence seems holy enough by itself
justify a further immensity of suffering
the great bone in the body
the divine service of bees
on a sagging sofa w/ corrugated
iron accents
