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I. Red A snarling dog hitting the end of his chain. Bullfrogs, the groan of a frozen lake splitting open. The ache of blood that can’t drain, the shard of wisdom tooth left in. Circles rubbed in carpet, earlobes in winter, the scratch of saltine cracker in a spoonful of chili, wine after you swallow, the shock you almost feel when you lick a battery. A above middle C at the base of your spine, the ghost of my heat on polyester after I leave your bed. II. Blue The moment between stubbing your toe and the pain. Broken glass, breath escaping between a flutist’s fingers. Marbles, hardboiled egg, ice packed in a horse’s hoof, a necklace just put on. Guinea pig vibrations, pottery wobbling on the wheel. Eucalyptus, Woolite, sour cream, Chap Stick, propane, what makes your warm back not turn away from my cold hands. III. Indigo White grapes, thermometers, the grit inside a clam, sucking a Cool Pop from its plastic. The ingredient you don’t taste until you leave it out. The breeze of a passing car, of wet flannel whipping on the line. Burlap, yucca leaves, the teeth on a computer chip, kneeling on glass beads. Sage, Neatsfoot oil, woad, a cracked fluorescent light bulb. Migrating geese, a spent cartridge falling on cement, aluminum foil torn from the roll, the noise I make when I think and the silence you give when I speak. IV. Orange The pressure that will almost straighten a paperclip but never return it to its shape. Carwashes, gravy in hospital corridors, a microwave the day after burnt popcorn. A flicked lighter, a dog scratching a screen door, one scissor blade against the other. The difference between the flesh of a jalapeno and the seeds. The heat from computers and Christmas tree lights. The part of a Band-Aid that stays behind. Why I always come before you do. V. Green Aloe on a burn, oatmeal on chicken pox, creases of skin on knuckles, quills on a sleeping hedgehog. Wind chimes, dripping faucets, Slinkies, a goldfish leaping from its bowl. Cool as a wooden conference table, a laminated library book. Alfalfa pellets, cedar chips, concrete, film canisters. Where you go when you hear or smell something I can’t.

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untitled poem 1, namdeo dhasal

I have seen him I have rejected him often My corpse that wanders From town to town Wait in this evening’s glow and stand still A drunk is dialing God’s number Don’t show me such pity That degrades May be our relationship is all spent Shrug your shoulders and get rid of it So that you could Axe this water a couple of times.

translated from the marathi by Dilip Chitre

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Some people kiss as if they were eating watermelon

11/05/1912 – 18/1/1955

Saadat Hasan Manto

  (via variationsforthehealingofmishka)

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“Lie with your head in the rain-gorged meadow, and bury your face in the reek of the earth. There, there is peace and sympathy and quietness. But lie on the glacid ocean; though the sky is like a turquoise and the water like another – yet there is no peace. Only a frantic silence, and a feeling of awestruck fear of the portentous and inscrutable element.” – Mervyn Peake, ‘Mr Slaughterboard’ from Peake’s Progress: Selected Writings and Drawings (Penguin Books; 2000).

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how the bloody hell r u?

Well, I live in India now :]

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CE QUE JE CROIS / WHAT I BELIEVE, XIII

“Nous savons qu'entre un homme et une femme beaucoup d'êtres passent, qui viennent d'autres mondes, apportés par le vent, qui font rhizome autour des racines, et ne se laissent pas comprendre en termes de production, mais seulement de devenir. L'Univers ne fonctionne pas par filiation. Nous disons donc seulement que les animaux sont des meutes, et que les meutes se forment, se développent et se transforment par contagion.” Gilles Deleuze & Félix Guattari: Mille Plateaux (Capitalisme & Schizophrénie 2)

“We know that many beings pass between a man and a woman; they come from different worlds, are borne on the wind, form rhizomes around roots; they cannot be understood in terms of production, only in terms of becoming. The Universe doesn’t function by filiation. All we are saying is that animals are packs, and that packs form, develop, and are transformed by contagion.” Gilles Deleuze & Félix Guattari: A Thousand Plateaus (Capitalism & Schizophrenia 2)

“Wir wissen, daß es zwischen Mann und Frau viele Geschöpfe gibt, die aus anderen Welten kommen, die vom Wind herbeigetragen werden, die um Wurzeln herum Rhizome bilden und sich nicht in Termen der Produktion begreifen lassen, sondern nur in Termen des Werdens. Das Universum wird nicht durch Abstammung zusammengehalten. Wir sagen also nur, daß Tiere Meuten sind und daß Meuten sich durch Ansteckung bilden, entwickeln und umwandeln.” Gilles Deleuze & Félix Guattari: Tausend Plateaus (Kapitalismus & Schizophrenie 2)

photo: selfportrait (2012)

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“Hearing a crow with no mouth Cry in the deep Darkness of the night, I feel a longing for My father before he was born.”  – Ikkyu, Crow With No Mouth

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Maurice Louca - Benhayyi Al-Baghbaghan (Salute the Parrot) Full Album

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Crystal Noreiga for Wondeland Magazine Styling by Clifford Jago Photography by Maxwell Clements and Henry Gorse

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Any situation in which some individuals prevent others from engaging in the process of inquiry is one of violence. The means used are not important; to alienate human beings from their own decision-making is to change them into objects.

Paulo Freire, Pedagogy of the Oppressed (PDF)

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Felipe Osornio .... performing this summer in Chicago, can’t wait to see it.

#Felipe Osornio #Chicago Performance

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Our his & hers Björn Borg

#björn borg #couple #cuddle #underwear #sleeping

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"According to such thinkers as Manuel Castells, Marshall McLuhan and Paul Virilio, globalization consists of the eclipse of the localized experience of time and place brought about by the properties of high information flow, what Virilio refers to as ‘an audiovisual derealization as a result of...

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There is no one metaphysical pool of universal human thought. Speakers of different languages see the Cosmos differently, evaluate it differently, sometimes not by much, sometimes widely. Thinking is relative to the language learned. There are no primitive languages. Research is needed to discover...

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Portrait of a Yukaghir shaman, Siberia, 1902. Photo by Waldemar Jochelson.

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Urban surrealist UX design My new 3-5 year plan