Or jig at the ball, if you must

fig.12)desk, oh pirate (and in vacant french)

They're not as black as hats. Do you know what a black hat is? They're intentionally chaotic, peoples going around upsetting the privacy of others. I like thinking about them in terms of the cold war.

Same here, always the same, "ok Momma."

Momma says, "privacy's the scale of our monetized comparisons. It's the folklore of our economics, if you take it a step closer."

"First to look and then it's gone," adding with a smile.

"Fashion forward," I always say.

Her coffee roils as she pulls back its lid. "I'd like to get a peek before adding the cream. Does this impress?

"I think, as a character, she's more than just Jane. Jane is really more than just a biological female with a liberal physique. You can see that right away. At least superficially, for a woman, Jane's a wonder, adorned or no. She's way more striking than her ersatz boasting hints at. She's dreamy perfect and her timing is spot on.

"She's as vocal as a storm, don't forget."

Marty walks over to the white board and begins another list.

"She's utterly incapable of being deterred. Did I say that right?"

"Or maybe it's like she say's, I loves me a man. I mean, it's so so serious. As serious can be."

A singular super science dome over the titular, parasitic habitat of the human soul isn't just white at all. Seeing, as the gaps in its measure are not pieced together with so much twine or the stiff bits of ribbon left behind from someone's birthday party. There are no rugs or worry here to adorn the skyless field of its filter. This vile emporium, its stately lies that will their words to work. Standing or falling over, like old gypsum and dirty piss, the walls form their corners and the corners describe this space. I remember cats and the time you've wasted mining for tape. Now we open this season for real, and it's as fat as a warm drum. - If by Mortise then by Tenon too.

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The apologist and the appraiser have decided to stay put

dashed wet and grim Oh now, Reagan of steel glitter in pants with which to shake them on down. Oh now, I shit you not for these are the things. Yes in any order you should choose these are the things to please please me, Oh Yeah. - Unmarked letter signed, A to A They'll say to me that it's safe to say so much for ubiquity, for disenfranchisement, and the terrorism of privilege. They'll say to me, With all of the effects from these profoundly toxic effects, is the project of our shared humanity effectively being dismantled. Are these the idle thoughts and sad tidings of despots and the tyrant kings inside of their comfortable towers of raised muck. As I've said before, They're not so far gone as to be gone for the good of all. This is plain to be seen in a world of bent backs and gross hyperbole. I'll sit in any unused doorway. I'll be beside myself while every door is locked. I'll dream of the halls and listen as the curtains, the drinking, an...

Piles of leaves: Letters Campaign

Suddenly old but feeling perfect, my wet underwear is on the the floor. It's gathered round my ankle. Myko laughs, just as wet and full of piss as ever. The violence of our togethering already feels like more than something. I reach out, taking the back of her neck with my hand. She's stepping in as I lean over to write; Dear, Temperance, October, and Brine, You are more than a place to me. More than walls and simple chimes, but I'll write to you anyway. This you'll know as you read my words. From here beside the lark's buttered breast, from under the heavy lids and the bright side kettle where we'll hum. We'll hum together, Bunny. Dickens be damned, we're now brightly doomed. Soon enough we'll see, the forest within the trees. To you, Tigre PS. are more or only this bed, maybe the floor too. We spend the day in, ordering takeout and hiding under the sheets. I get up and pee while Katt is talking about Milton. Her mouth's open, it's as rou...

Not the Willem DeKooning Retrospective (Not Even Close)

Willem DeKooning, Excavation (1950) oil on canvas Yesterday at work I bumped into this piece by Donald Kuspit on DeKooning's retrospective over at Artnet . Then this morning I bumped into this one on L Magazine's site, by Paddy Johnson . I don't know that Paddy Johnson demystifies DeKooning as much as she takes issue with his pallet, declaring it repetitive and boorish en masse. By contrast, Donald Kuspit writes an article painting DeKooning as a sadistic brute inextricably tied to the modern tradition in general and Picasso specifically. Together they make for some interesting reading, particularly as Kuspit never addresses the show itself in favor of drawing his conclusions from individual works. While Johnson seems to wear the show like an imaginary wool shawl, noting it's uncomfortable, out of style, and the zipper is broken. But she doesn't seem to get to a place that addresses what was actually there either, only what she felt was missing or to her mind ...

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