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Category Archives: Photography
The music of fear bolts
in my window off the edges
of the Williamsburg Bridge that hangs in the night
shouldering the F Train as it crashes past
Delancey Street, the occasional passenger framed
in yellow windows of light.
The trash can covers bang.
It is the man who lives
in the doorway downstairs, waving
the copy of ‘Ivanhoe’ I threw out today.
The music repeats and repeats
Judd sleeps, his shoulder turned
from sirens and firetrucks.
By the digital blue of the clock at 3:33
I scout my body for cancer and sins.
The red lights splash across the bed.
I am a whole band of radio stations
as the shrieks from the Pitt Street Chicken Factory
fill the room.
I contain multitudes.
Dear God, bless me, keep me safe, save me.
An ambulance answers from the street.
I go to the kitchen
turn on the light,
stare out the window at the
Williamsburg Bridge refusing to sleep
like people who will not be photographed.
I name a fear for each light on the span:
Dogs and crawling things
no money and cancer
going blind wasting time
the shower scene from Psycho
and cancer and losing papers
and then there are nights
Judd’s out on his bike–
the odds, I fear the odds.
It’s incredible odds we’re against–
a wonder we’re still alive.
Brain tumors and burst appendix
all the cells I destroyed taking drugs.
Recombinant DNA and turning
into my mother.
Men with see through black socks
‘I want to fuck you’ in red lipstick
scrawled across my wall
tanks advancing Ronald Reagen and Idaho.
Yes. I fear Idaho.
Ivanhoe, a man bellows from the street
I lift my head.
The trash cans crash.
I imagine him waving the lid at the sun that slowly lights the sky.
The garbage trucks advance
a rooster crows
then Ivanhoe, the F Train
the storefront rolltops rush.
The machinery of morning cranks itself up
steady and certain as the silver in Judd’s hair.
Upon a summer’s night
I flicked my cig and looked at you
Feels like it’s always been
Pretty in black knows what to do
I can’t hold my breath so long
Something evil in our hearts
You gave all you had to give
Pretty in black is all you were…
It’s like a valentine from your mother.. It’s bound to melt your heart..
When your kissing someone who’s too much like you it’s like kissing on the mirror, When your sleeping with someone who doesn’t get you, you’re gonna hate yourself in the morning,
It’s bound to melt your heart…
Woah, this song always gets me, I typically have to listen to it at least twice.. but I didn’t realize how nostalgic for a music festival the video would make me.. thanks Domino Records, for reminding me about that wonderland..
After the glow, the scene, the stage, the set
Talk becomes slow but there’s one thing i’ll never forget:
dreamin’ dream dream dream….
Photo by: Tobi Ann
As you recover in the hospital, post-surgery, here are some pictures and thoughts for you, from me… nebula-sister…
A milkshake is already in the mail High-C.. quick recoveries, and onwards we must go.. the lights are hurting my eyes…
Oh how time flies
With crystal clear eyes
And cold as coal
When you’re ending with diamond eyes..
Oh come child
In a crossbones style
Come and rescue me…
- Cat Power, “Cross Bone Style”
It wasn’t me, I wasn’t there, I was just watching from over here…It’ll take a lifetime to clear your name.. Under the bridges of fame, it’s always nighttime…
Yes, this is what I desire most… vintage Versace.. please..
There’s a lady whose sure all that glitters is gold, and she’s buying a stairway to heaven.
When she gets there, she knows, if the stores are all closed, with a word, she can get what she came for…
Everything still turns to gold.
And if you listen very hard, the tune will come to you at last.
When all are one and one is all, yeah, to be a rock and not to roll…
I am pretty sure I will always love this song..
Give me miles, and miles, and miles of mountains, and I’ll ask for the sea…
The heat is chasing off all your friends
And their scattered bodies part to the shore again.
And I feel nothing, not sane.
It’s a hard day for dreaming again….
I’m afraid that if you look at a thing long enough, it loses all of its meaning.
Since people are going to be living longer and getting older, they’ll just have to learn how to be babies longer.
Isn’t life a series of images that change as they repeat themselves? -Andy Warhol