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September 21 2017

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Palmeira Imperial 

September 20 2017

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September 17 2017

Stupid loaves on goodwin in a prairie of hopping pines. I love you, im an idiot incursed. I love you, fickle bump. Bar bar bar, barbative plead. Berghain dinner, crush my teeth with resin. Fuck you york.

What if he likes it?
Im here
What if i go away
Im here
What if my cumulative experiences dont bring me to him?
Im here
There are dozens of people
Im always here

Youre selfish - pretend that youre not so cold
On the ides of pride, she hands up the side of her bride
Mike admit to his date
June was a blink ago, im flinching
Reacting
Blue nails match my profile, im always blue
When i parked my car here, i knew i didnt want to be here. Liquidity conjures my availability
Im confounding honesty with dependence.
I keep asking, and he keeps telling me
Dont expect a Stradivarius

September 16 2017

Behind her radiator
the leather purse is caring
for the old denominations:
liverspots of giant pennies,
fifty pences thick as lenses.

A Pentecostal home outside Armagh:
antimacassars, oxygen masks,
Martha glancing towards the screen
as if checking delay and departure.

An Orange march in Antrim
will see me late arriving:
and standing out at Aldegrove
an English girl might well believe
that time is how you spend your love.

Undriven cattle graze the long acre.
Pheasants fidget and flit between townlands.
The coins were warm as new eggs
in the nest of her priestly-cool hands.

The Last Saturday in Ulster by Nick Laird

September 15 2017

Race, power, money – the art of Jean-Michel Basquiat

There is a graphomaniac quality to almost all of Basquiat’s work. He liked to scribble, to amend, to footnote, to second-guess and to correct himself. Words jumped out at him, from the back of cereal boxes or subway ads, and he stayed alert to their subversive properties, their double and hidden meaning. His notebooks, recently published in an exquisite facsimile by Princeton, are full of stray phrases, odd combinations. When he began painting, working up to it by way of hand-coloured collaged postcards, it was objects he went for first, drawing and writing on refrigerators, clothes, cabinets and doors, regardless of whether they belonged to him or not…

…A Basquiat alphabet: alchemy, an evil cat, black soap, corpus, cotton, crime, crimée, crown, famous, hotel, king, left paw, liberty, loin, milk, negro, nothing to be gained here, Olympics, Parker, police, PRKR, sangre, soap, sugar, teeth.

These were words he used often, names he returned to turning language into a spell to repel ghosts. The evident use of codes and symbols inspires a sort of interpretation-mania on the part of curators. But surely part of the point of the crossed-out lines and erasing hurricanes of colour is that Basquiat is attesting to the mutability of language, the way it twists and turns according to the power status of the speaker. Crimée is not the same as criminal, negro alters in different mouths, cotton might stand literally for slavery but also for fixed hierarchies of meaning and the way people get caged inside them.

Im crying every night. It isnt seen. The pleiades sparkle on the vesicles. Come, come! Take the day off of work. Come, come.

September 14 2017

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omg-images:

His Holiness Pope Caspar

September 13 2017

Jenny Holzer

If you’re giving out affection and he doesn’t give it back, when do you expect that pattern to change?

I want his life, I may not want him

If someone says they’re unavailable in a certain capacity, you should probably believe them

you have a need for acceptance that you don’t seem to have worked out yet

I’m allowing myself to live in a way that feels numb and unfulfilling. It won’t be easy to change that, but the mode seems obvious

Having a certain kind of body hug me in a certain kind of way might be the medication i need for my loneliness (we’ll see)

Your romantic pinings could be a part of a peter pan complex, might wanna shut that shit off

you need to leave your city, you need to make some real career decisions. you’re gonna have to pick some growing pains you’re willing to suffer because you can’t do this forever and not hate yourself

September 12 2017

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melissem:

Lieke Romeijn (flickr)

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