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"Let us bring to daylight the impulses of midnight contemplation."

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 Sometimes you make up your mind about something without knowing why, and your decision persists by the power of inertia. Every year it gets harder to change.

new york, after the fact

 i ache for the constant thumpthump of my heels on the concrete and an industrial, impersonal exhaustion and the verb of my eye with my fingers and my camera. i miss seeing things that bend my mind and make me stop and itch and ask what the hell the point is. new light, domestic abuse, falling houses and piles of salt. i liked all the angles of the narrow-walled galleries and the expensive coffee. i liked the nightly drinks and time spent with professors. old crow and cards and walking into a room of glossy-eyed philosophers. closer.

dead things

the greenhouse @ sherman 

somerville, massachusetts

19 june 2011



 she likes making lives out of dead things.


Suburbia I've Given You Nothing And Now I'm Everything.


Suburbia was never the problem.

The ethical dilemma that faced us as demonic teenagers was

Moving forward in "punk clothes" clutching drum kits and amps tight

Through the washed out backroads of New Hampshire.


Suburbia was never the solution.

The lack of consistency, the omnipresent hypocrisy

Encountered both in school and the venues was

Fighting and arguing for our place

the hovering

the hovering

inspired by the Underworld soundtrack and, of course, Harry Potter.

Bernard Versus Deleuze, An Internet Conversation


Deleuze Versus Bernard, A Conversation.



Bernard: I'm really tired tonight, but remind me to talk to you something about Riot Gamez


Deleuze: Hmm?


A Red-Letter Day

The wanderer throws his seed in the air in the field. Birds eat of the seeds. The seeds crack in their beaks and the sound is pleasant.

(Joyful fractures from nature’s infants)

The wanderer’s face is old and rough, chipped out of marble, tough and wise, the face of an emperor. He listens to the sound of the birds eating, his hand atop his dog’s head. He listens and sorts out the noises.

(A flinty, filthy fool looks at the birds)

The wanderer’s dog keenly watches the birds with grey eyes, one paw lifted up as if to dash forward at an instant, snout in line with the flock. The dog leans forward, trembling slightly, but knows better than to dash forward. The dog hears much more than the wanderer, yet does not realize the meaning.

(Dogs seek but never find)

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