Friday, October 24, 2008

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Monday, October 13, 2008

VK and others

Am thinking about the future of Venereal Kittens--reflecting, too, on the past. Hoping to build something culturally "explosive"--yet not trying to, as if trying would be too obvious and not urge mystification, but treat it, rather, like a pawn of intentionality.

There is an exchange of poetic and artistic appreciation as of late. Thinking of those who are true inspirations and ground-breakers. The post-borpists (huh?), the Dischargists(say what?), the -ists and beyond, and just the ones that remain anonymous-ists (and rather like it!). We are all connected. To be without movement is to be without.

Please stay tuned for work from two amazing artists Samit Roy and Alexander Jorgensen. I am pleased, beyond pleased to be featuring their works in VK, and look forward to future correspondences & possible collaborations. There's so much to explore! And, so, look forward to sharing.

Friday, October 3, 2008

The Light that Twilled Two Intended Piles of Broken Glass ("Babel" poem 2)

immediately a ray of fitted filaments under pressure broken laughter clucked with vultures’ midnight in a naked light against parted door of morning with we seated watching artificial light claw the walls through eternity, where is eternity? calm never? in our belly; a place of adornment, with each soaked sigh shaken to signal bodies in the dark the heard skin by chance takes its final tension will be sung in choirs of wasted, small branches [impulses to speak through sieves and so never tire of soliloquy nor dialogue] perhaps the extensions of the cataplasm of the sun traverse across belly; a pain to produce the teeth of lion or violet that shrinks when touched--it takes the sigh from canary; a laudatory echo unto earth brilliance martyred in ardent trees inclined to decrescendos of the mother as she calms her boy to sleep chaos swollen extremity of the bristle to perhaps remove the dust fair heathers consumed or half-eaten when she was fatter of the baby, bald and sterile & fragile underneath the cream it presses spiral leather skin, ellipses between finely-woven filaments romanticizing swollen bough to replace discreet skin in given limits to the meat masks of girl imagined given dissimulation attention between her thighs looks mitral rubber valve, edges, edges [hidden] I touched, ate the glands irresponsive in memories of the overlapping woman each rivet given welcome as the planetary scene of Venus disconcerted, where the fish embeds its head in the sand, nerves the fat with sediment, pebbles, lakes consternation servant of the wing of the curtains of meeting to the vein in a purple-blue cascade the fruit of its breath in the last explosive, painting windowsill a charming mask of the flounder, its brief & forgotten of the skin as we firmly arrest things we know landslide far from our squeeze in the persecution of nakedness of these parts is highly austere in its captivity, to keep, presence of the figure in an exempted dream arrests close detritus momentarily undressed done harped of the ropes then: decorated with all sibilants forms had broken return had left as the night vigils its gyre in turns of hourglass agitation-above of who a tame breast milk to mine milks pale skin where the black color flowed off [now a new language starts in the tongue & outward of the glass eyes, teeth wooden a case of clear bravura constructed pricked particle ice, droplets of speech-- those small human sacrifices I is it who is who is who is [teats dry, salty of sheep meat; a mask of birthmarks, the pressured fat palms in beds of laughter bloated none & none & we do not swear that the primordial past is the affirmation of our existence-- sex completely quivering of & notes permissible expressions felt to flow downward/downward/downward & quelled the moments of vertigo with finger pulled against the grain of illumine is distinguished, was inhaled in order to hear the vortexes of body open up to song of the skin that you’re to grip bones now? I to weeping prevented us to press, exactly preventing us to bury these twigs they are deep inside waning embers of my eyes will be too bright its blood: green & madness; crunches the shadow of night enveloped into stillness after this scent of the secretions of fear have finally expunged exiting wounds & labium.