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Showing posts from August, 2016

Leo Sayer can't talk to Stan Brakhage anymore

Foliated and compressed drawn from beneath the water on the wet side of the weather. Bias has its own freedom, its own place that always matters more than this here blood. Open the line of this street down its middle. We'll wait this long night through the eye of a needle. The end. Whoa Oh a Whoa Aye... I'll love you twice as much tomorrow, The clasp at the other end breaks. Mad as the moon on the moors, King Ovid-Pants agrees with me and my fingers fumble. The pendant slips its chain, sliding down between your breasts. It's like discovering amphetamines and Stan Brakhage on the same day. The day we marched up and down the length of my way way underground room. A bottle of Jack Daniels between us. We're not married to the ideas but we like the speed of it, The projector ticks and slaps as we admire the stately scale of the narrow wall from the deck my ratty ass bed.
We'll still have it all, My nerves are shot. They've been harvested from the spoons and a bonel…

Giuseppe's fondness for the canaries of dirt

"They've come around, they've been around all night. They're here thinking of doing it over and over again, just like its some funny repetitive dance along on the round sofa. Gah, I can hear 'em thinking about it. I don't need to see it. There's no value to it. We can't use the pictures in our heads like this. The damn music's too loud."
Success is a line in here. It's not from somewhere else and it won't succeed without a market to happen to it. There's too much wax and too much wax as the song goes.  What we need is to keep making these markets happen. They need to be everywhere just like candlesticks and crosses in the night. Giuseppe knows us, we're his reckless canaries in this poorly lit hole. He knows us as the cats that know the mysterious language of all the other birds in their holes. I've told him before that they're easy. "They're like open books in a burning library, don't get confused and don…