The disordered incontinence of a certain puddin like substance

fig.95.02) printers proof

Fox loud, fox loud, come home at once and often more. Come home and sit here upon my knee. Come, make me an answer and make it quick. Come home to me and sit at this table. I am here and here to quote, Latins, Proverbs and the Lay of Sympathicus too. We can speak well of them and talk about their style. We can sandwich in the rain. Then I'll warm my hands. Then I clear the drawer to make you an offer before bread, an offer of cheddar soup and good strong beer. Will you sit here on my knee? I'll make you an offer that's bitter and dark. Will you sit on this knee?
Come home and we can dance because my table is flat. We can smash it and we can thump it and we can really tie one on. Come home with me and we can show them how it's done. I'll make you an offer of, rhymes with spoon. Then afterwards I'll make you that offer again. You can tell me that my hair looks wild and I'll say you frown too soon. Come home with me and sit here on my knee. We'll have beer and beer and then we'll drink the tea.

I was thinking about the car we used to share. I was wondering about the road and who was on it. So it was that I was thinking about you. Lazy under the stars and dreaming of posters. Dreaming of short motes often with dust curling in the mottled sun. Dreaming of Arnold of old of Donald out in the cold. So it is when my thoughts are hurried towards the rim of nearest dim.

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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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