The City Wasn't Planned, It was Delivered

fig. 92) dirt, not soft college boys

The stage is very cold, the door outside slaps shut again as a stage hand, with a length of chain and some pliers walks in tighter circles.

Carmen's forehead is red, it's like she's been shopping but the kids won't shut up.

"The angels don't supplicate themselves and they will not bounce," the vastness of theatre is only alluded to by the extent of its sounds bouncing around in the dark.

"Lincoln was shot but no one bounced. Corn has been served and no one bounces. Let's stop being such a dick limpers and just get on with it."

"Well, I think the way you sing is nice. Maybe if you put on a bright coat and pin your hair up," no one see's past the front row. All they ever see is feet, his are like dancers up on the top of some knobby gold upholstering. The smell of tobacco here is rank. It's thick as old tar can get.

"Others may wade slurries of rape towards an empty box like this, hoping for something that's been nailed to the floor. They might have spent a lifetime, avoiding traffic, listening for gardens growing. But I'm not inside one of them. I'm not alone with only a plate and a lever. My button's not a bean and my beans not meant for doomsday. No, I am not the fear of your scarf, your belt or your shoes being your own. I am not."

"Carmen isn't a very good as a teen is she?"

"All I'm saying, you're not very lucky either. She's small and can be broken easily, but she's young and can regrow from a single half. Carmen isn't very good, but she doesn't need to be. She's 98 percent more likely to be the genetic descendent of someone who understands how to sing, while you have a hard time knocking on wood."

Seasons never end, not anymore. It'll be cold in here until I'm dead from it," Randy's wise, even if the cancer makes the shaft of his penis itch in a way that no ointment can touch.

"There's a sight, over the bucket," as First Goldfish Handler, she can hear him from her side of the towel. Carmen won't eat fish, "I hate men more." The small jar in her hand is both empty and clear.

Randy suddenly changes mind, "Carmen's angel harpoon, that legendary device resembles a banana with a deep coin slot. It's been taped to a rusty shoe box for an age. Carmen's good, she's always been. I'm very fond of her. But I need a change."

"The old ways, the old ways," Randy's asking on the outside? "So the old ways built us heavier outhouses with deeper lines that reaching into the firma. They grappled with speed like rich balls being tickled from over and up. Those old ways built their windows from nothing and they carved their doors for hot coiffed men."

"Will you get in the car nicely, one too many times. Has it been sold down the river more than once already. You can still be brave, beautiful and bold; if somewhat dwindled. It's always our city and dressing it up is fun. Planning the contrivance of its history, the pursuit of the winners, this isn't our story. It's for them, we don't even live here anymore.

"But there's still a torch in the bay."

"There are many things, and they all make words."

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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