1. I was not good at drawing faces. I was just joking most of the time. I was not decisive in changing rooms or anywhere. I was so late because I was looking for flowers. I was just going through a tunnel whenever my mother called. I was not able to make toast without the radio. I was not able to tell if compliments were backhanded. I was not as tired as I said.
    Jonathan Safran Foer, from “Here We Aren’t, So Quickly”

  2. You got to fill it to the brim

                and I said what
                and the cop repeated

    You go to fill it to the brim!

                There’s the cloud of women
                in track shoes
                consisting the sidewalk
                            I just waited

                There’s the moving men
                in their truck,
                heads in the clouds
                           I saw

    You got to fill it to the brim

                and I did;
                I want the most from my dollar

                And there’s the moving man
                grabbing the running woman
                because he’s entitled to the full cup.

    You got to fill it to the brim.
    You got to fill it to the brim.
    You got to fill it to the brim.
    You got to fill it to the brim.

  3. When I was little I used to repeat the same repetitive task at least three times perfectly in a row sometimes holding my breath until the ritual was done and the joints in my fingers would get angular and carve dunes in my desert room and I’d navigate a rhythm that might resolve itself in lock-step with the duration of non-specific task #22439 but like one knee bounce-housing with the other or a drummer stumbling with a human loop there was always half or quarter or third or whatever denomination because I was never good at math off and the task would oscillate with the rhythm and suddenly my desert room was a lock-box on the beach or sometimes a jungle or an emergency room and I’d scream and jerk my elbows and plead the God I sill believed in at the time and maybe still do I don’t know to just let me do the thing so I could go to sleep. 

    And now I’m here fourteen years later and I haven’t showered or eaten or dressed or gone to the library because I’ve been negotiating with non-specific tasks #s 51327 and 86924 for the past two and a half hours and people are concerned and asking if I want to talk about it but that’s just task #4 and now I hear feet on the stairs. 

  4. Slipped in
    a mud puddle
         at your face
    what would happen?

    looked, and prayed
    with bread
         in the mirror
    hands folded
    over bubbly brown

    to see the chair
    after the lathe,
         anyone can mark
    the pencil
    on the wood.

  5. Instagram and Art Theory

    This quote from Berger is wonderful: 

    "Glamour cannot exist without personal social envy being a common and widespread emotion. The industrial society which has moved towards democracy and then stopped half way is the ideal society for generating such an emotion. The pursuit of individual happiness has been acknowledged as a universal right. Yet the existing social conditions make the individual feel powerless. He lives in the contradiction between what he is and what he would like to be. Either he then becomes fully conscious of the contradiction and its causes, and so joins the political struggle for a full democracy which entails, amongst other things, the overthrow of capitalism; or else he lives, continually subject to an envy which, compounded with his sense of powerlessness, dissolves into recurrent day-dreams."

  6. Maybe I’m no one’s problem
    but I am someone’s joke
    The difference between assuming
    and an assumption assumed
    I can’t move the bowl
    without spilling the soup
    I know you see the shell
    but I’m embarrassed by my yolk

    How do you get from A to B
    without pointing to the letters?
    Each cake needs to be labelled
    Every movement needs a purpose
    I’m sitting in a crevice, literally
    two places, transmission, a furnace
    But you got your laugh, slap on my back
    I should just grease my fetters.

  7. at Old City Hall (Richmond, Virginia)

    at Old City Hall (Richmond, Virginia)

  8. Where is your verdigris?
    In this sulking hour,
    my hands are greener.

  9. That denim jacket
    with no sleeves,
    which you love
    for how
    it leaves your waist
    and says
    at just the right moment
    and which
    I can see
    finds your umbering shoulders
    able and solvent,
    would be
    too little bundling
    for a winter in
    but now its
    still summer
    and we’ve only put our feet
    in the river.

  10. Being a little artist today I guess #selfportrait

    Being a little artist today I guess #selfportrait

  11. at The Village Cafe

    at The Village Cafe

  12. In Conwy, from a map to be unplugged,
    never tatter, and I read on the walls
    Welsh chatter, or so the Minutemen hear it.

    The Fürst sleeps above Vaduz, no more
    peasants to fear, and prophesizes
    ein tausendjähriges customer service department.

    And you’re on an anonymous metro
    creating life out of silicon and angst,
    in the mist of a machine that’s lost its garden.

    In the glow of veins, the murky shadow
    of a chalkboard unravelling a genome
    from parchment and papyrus.

    The archipelago burns and stutters and coughs
    Incandescently, chokes on the trough—
               Only, the islands are the in-betweens.

    Alcoholic hair, you have a funny walk.
    But everyone should be so lucky
    to stumble regular and not see who saw.

    And the boy behind you: does he follow
    for care or pay or knowledge?
    This question determines the weight of his box.

    An anonymous metro in an anonymous city:
    from above, a minimalist gentry
    looks upon its tasteful design and smiles.

    And still I sweep my porch and go to work,
    because whether there’s a heaven or not,
    the albatross is still wherever we are plural.

    Maybe someday my anonymous comrades
    will follow Temnothorax longispinosus in their absurd pageant
    and we’ll all walk funny for a little while.

Guillotine maker on the Seine, 14 July 1989

Support your local guillotine maker heh

    Guillotine maker on the Seine, 14 July 1989

    Support your local guillotine maker heh

    Reblogged from: bunniesandbeheadings
  14. stacksbreadup:

    So real

    I’m dying.

Robespierre from Figures of the 1789 French Revolution (1930-1934), by Mikhail Sokolov 

    Robespierre from Figures of the 1789 French Revolution (1930-1934), by Mikhail Sokolov 

    Reblogged from: bunniesandbeheadings

the human race is a pretty old place

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