Friday, February 13, 2015

the deer also known as a hart

my love is a burden

i am your prey.

i am your  predator : : : : : artemesia, goddess of the hunt.

we are all always prey and predator.  

that is true.

+++++ there is no such thing as the top of the food chain because in the end, the earth will eat us all, and the universe will eat the earth and i don’t know who will eat the universe, just that our matter will keep getting eaten and transformed into new forms ad infinitum.  

+++++ the material world seems to indicate that 1) everything has already been created.  2) everything lives forever in some form or other.

hart hunting

so.  deer, i miss you.

you are running, and i might catch a glimpse of you out the window some time.  you are beautiful and fleet and i’ve given up my quest to capture you.

Wednesday, February 11, 2015

I Can't Go Home After Work, Dude. Am I Right, Lara?

This dude seemed happy to pose for me.
Last Tuesday, the streets here in downtown Manhattan were too icy to bike to work, so walked about two miles from the river to the East Village. Only 30 degrees around 9 pm. Not cold for this winter. Warm! Warm enough to have a conversation while walking with my hand out, holding my phone.

I'd been out all day, since before the sun, and I wasn't heading home. Heading home, would make me feel like work had won the day.

I wasn't going to let it.

Heading uptown, I ended up in the basement of Three of Cups, where a one-off Keith Richards appreciation night, called Keef and Shit: a night to celebrate the undisputed kind of cool was kicking off around 10 pm. The thing was going until 4:00 am. This was a Tuesday night. The fact that NYC, way past Guiliani time, planned to stay up way late on a school night made me very happy.

This Keef thing was also being hosted by Cynthia Ross, a cool girl rock musician who used to date another cool kid, Stiv Bators of the Dead Boys.

Because I'm super dorky and I'm at this thing alone, I sit at a bar and take notes, just like I used to do in NYC when I'd go out alone in 1989.

Here's what I wrote by votive:
Notes by low weak candle

My transcription:

Bowie's "Waiting for the Man." Long-haired dude in an oversized pimp hat. Hendrix's "All Along the Watchtower." Small boisterous group sings along to this. I want someone to take my order for pizza. Stones' "Star Star"--"Way back to New York City / Where I do belong" Now those dudes are singing exuberantly to "Star Star." Rod Stewart now. I just asked the gravelly voiced girl bartender for a pizza. She told me to order upstairs. Alice Cooper's "Hey Stoopid." Omg, Faster Pussycat. Now finally, the Stones. There are cheers. "When the Whip Comes Down." "Just My Imagination"--Keith's great backing vocals here. This song is so good.

So now you know if you ever see me sitting and writing in a notebook, what I'm writing is pretty stupid. But it was really stupidly fun to sit there and I wasn't tired AT ALL. AND (see above) I got a photo of the dude in the pimp hat, channeling Keith on my way out. Plus, Keith on the wall below:

I'll be doing a stay-out-late post every week, if this one wasn't too dull. Let me know!

Monday, February 9, 2015

YOU CAN HATE ME now ::::: this document is called “smart things I say that I should be paid for but won’ t be”

listen up boys

this document is called “smart things I say that I should be paid for but won’t be”


the folder is entitled pragmatically          :::::
but not totally accurately :::::
“journalism 2015”
some smart people
just ignore


about  anything


depends on

really ugly

white capitalist dudes :::::

the best people do that.
i want to be the best.
i am not the best.


god & jesus help me.


(((((they, god & jezus,  don’t seem to like helping ladies.  especially the super fertile ladies like me with all the kids.)))))



so many things I should be doing.  Folding clothes into my kids’ drawers for school tomorrow. griddling some hamburgers for dinner.  Heating up yesterday’s mashed potatoes for dinner.
grading poor :::::

hungry & hungry & very hungry papers written by poor hungry students.


i know.
i seriously know.
it’s hard to know.


what we should pay attention to.
i like beck, beyonce, & kanye.
i mean, there are some things I like.
there are things I like about d’angleo, hildegard, machaut, marina abramovich.
kanye  had a point.
none of which.

i can’t be owned

even if I want
here and now.
(((((yeezus is my shepherd/not my shepherd & i shall/shall not want)))))
cn b dvrcd frm sck cptlstic stm.
if you can read that baby


i don’t hate you as much

a  system with no vowels, no mothers, no wymn.


but fuck.
what’s the fkn difference?
you need to go deeper.
beck resorted to a singer songwriter schtick &
he resorted.
he did.
he forsook harmonic & rhythmic interest
& he got money for it
mormons call that preistcraft
julie told me I would get bored of yeezus
& I did
\/ venice (LA) sunsets.
never disagree that LA doesn’t control the world.
i’m sorry that
i don’t hate it
it reminds me of my (white) childhood
like sstrada & shit (((((ponch)))))


carole king or james whats-his-name. the brill building heroin (white) guy. 
W (((((hite)))))
white guys pissing scared.
i’m not going to parse.
white guys R skeered.
i heard yesterday
that I am not good at parsing.
i’m sorry that you
 ((((( I )))))
have to do better, baby.
thought for a second there was
u & i ,
i’m sorry.
i probably never will be.
should I keep
be sorry like always?
i          know
you say yeah
like always baby
like five babies, baby


i was lying in bed.


there’s so much more :::::
baby yeez