my life, i am the center of a deepening darkness,
the emptiness of infinite space.

i sit surrounded by its victims:
broken bones and beating hearts,
and lungs still breathing the heavy air.
all impersonal reflections of what has been won.

i sing dopo la vittoria as the sun sets,
mourning their loss as i praise a lord,
provider now of a feast of ashes,
burned from the figures of lovers of old.

after the victory, the darkness is whole.

you know how when you are doing a really complicated puzzle and you think a certain piece fits in a certain spot but it just won't. and then hours or weeks later (if you leave puzzles out) you realize it does fit but you didn't turn it the right way? so, i got a piece to fit, and i wasn't even trying, it just happened.

and i get what my portion of responsibility was, and i fully admit my shortcomings. it does not take away from her end, but the perspective shifts. i don't want to admit that as it seems to me as though i am dismissing fault or that i find such a reaction perfectly reasonable, and i feel the opposite of those things.

but it has helped me to feel less animosity or anger or revulsion for a person towards whom i'd rather not have those feelings. granted, i will never see her again, and perhaps i will think of her even less often than i do now, which isn't all that often. it is still nice to finally be able to check that box and throw away that list that i did not know existed.

Bookish-Art

I finally have a picture of the wig i created out of Porn for my Artists' Book class last semester. My lady Propecia.

tramps like you

we were a couple of turnpike head turners,
young buck hunters, spruced up springsteens,
high fiving our high heeled wild sides. hearts slow
drip skipping as we raced the rising sun on our last lip gloss runs.
we were name takers, ball breakers, cum fakers, 'til we were done.

and gave the streets back to the newest ditzy tit sinning minis,
changed the locks on our legs, and went home.

Coconut Records with Chloe Sevigny

Any Fun - Coconut Records - Music Video

we make our own monsters.

[Fingers as Extensions]
Words intended to hurt I keenly interpret professionally wisely correctly sadly. Harmful and stooping rare slips when it is recognized previously presently nowly by in oneself. meticulously crammed behind a closet door polished mirrors vel-cro wood glued behind it bunched blanketed clothing kneaded over regretfully paradoxically necessarily good simple and complicated. Crammed and empty of definitive meaning like this. Late at night an ease envelopes the room. Objects pronounce themselves against others a glass, the draped scarf, the patterns of the rug seem to recline at will in their untellable histories. Something less greedy than fatigue, intellectual than though neatly packages the body. A cartoon framework. A cobble path of moments drawn up above our heads. Slinking down, with what does the mind reattach itself? Words as enamel, no longer form uncertainty.