26.2.10

family and the half bricks 074







25.2.10

Awakenings...

23.2.10

Awakenings...

Four











Kefalonia











Awakenings...

22.2.10

...



Beautiful..The..Axe..That..Flies..At..Me..

21.2.10

sky pharmacy

disadvantaged volume

w/w]...phosis









I completed you once too often, I have been told. So now I am a bit smaller. Administrating, I might add I am pierced in both nipples but this is still unrecorded as you have informed me. Can this tract be that very record? Or am I consenting under my own name to something for which I will later become nameless? I don't really label my preferences, but I'd like clarity on at least this point, please.

Katherine

20.2.10

W]...phosis

19.2.10

.

don't come knocking



Photobucket



.

18.2.10

Chumbawamba




"The Boy Bands Have Won, and All the Copyists and the Tribute Bands and the TV Talent Show Producers Have Won, If We Allow Our Culture to Be Shaped by Mimicry, Whether from Lack of Ideas or From Exaggerated Respect. You Should Never Try to Freeze Culture. What You Can Do Is Recycle That Culture. Take Your Older Brother's Hand-Me-Down Jacket and Re-Style It, Re-Fashion It to the Point Where It Becomes Your Own. But Don't Just Regurgitate Creative History, or Hold Art and Music and Literature as Fixed, Untouchable and Kept Under Glass. The People Who Try to 'Guard' Any Particular Form of Music Are, Like the Copyists and Manufactured Bands, Doing It the Worst Disservice, Because the Only Thing That You Can Do to Music That Will Damage It Is Not Change It, Not Make It Your Own. Because Then It Dies, Then It's Over, Then It's Done, and the Boy Bands Have Won."



17.2.10

|____

..

16.2.10

...

15.2.10

Honor Blackman






Silence in every line


Dignity in the sublime folds



14.2.10

To those creatures of Misophiland and, if we must, to those still further out... Rightly in our estimation, our best work is perceived to be concerned primarily with the morale of the representations we have established in the teeth, one might say, of a kind of pervasive cultural hubris. We find ourselves at-odds with this stasis. For us, it is destructive in its methods and malign in its ever-changing methodologies, which are, at any rate, based upon errors no-one but the self-interested could logically rationalise or disregard. We have, that is to say, occupied ourselves with meeting challenges to our own histo-materialist accounts - of mind, society et al; whereupon we aim to capture the hitherto allusive, hitherto subjective - and thus imponderable, unavailable and anti-social - character of personal experience itself. Our many contributions to this field of inquiry have, for us, blissfully manifested an acceptable and productive form of moral expertise. This new comfort of ours is eminently fatal, we are pleased to say. Judgment matters. Those careless of their own ignorance will of course disagree; but there it is. We await their malcontentions.

13.2.10

..

13 F

12.2.10

Toenail slew



Grainy cartooned face that grieved as the tape pulled from the VCR, he's got no one to scare that pants off of him. Deserted and pushed through the mangy black teethed crowd as it's violent blood pussing worm holes pushing underneath him and pulling him under the that cold mud. That Old man did wonder about that Ferris wheel, that it's burning witches and feral foot print "Oh answer me" spotted lepers in the main grounds, chilled casket sing alone with deceitful head turns with eye lashes plucked see no one marching, no one hoarding to the elements. All hail simpleton, over glasses of water, rings of water at the edge of the smudged hand print that dirt snorted rhythm inside the vapor trail that bridged him in to that barricaded town. That town was flooded and over 'fun'ded with merry go rounds and plastic candy, that man face weathered and mudslide over the projection lens. Let it go with it's iceberg floating mentality that bird that hit the wind, that man that stood and didn't fall as the pillars collapsed. No fifthly hands retired they live long fruitful lives. The zest of butterfat filled humankind, harpsichord stuck in your throat, bungee binge how the hammer hit the nail in the head, it bled and bled fluid words that he couldn't comprehend.

11.2.10

Alfredo and Joana




I found this note nailed to her door.
Written in charcoal on beige paper.
It said...


"I gave him my heart and he broke it so I took his and placed it beneath the floorboards"




10.2.10

...





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