amanda could deflower a zombie

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[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.] 32 plays

So-so’s love story (a villanelle) mp3

I came home for So-so and her centipedes.
She’s been axing her body, selling her scraps.
She used to give them to me.

I heard she got lonely,
started singing, two in the morning, only e-flat.
I came home for So-so and her centipedes.

I found her out near the barn, on her knees,
cleaning blood off the fox-trap.
She used to give them to me.

I pinned a target to a big, old tree.
So-so cried, wouldn’t touch the gun-rack.
I came home for So-so and her centipedes,

but she’d already run from stability.
She plucks out insect legs, leaves incurable gaps.
She used to give them to me.

She ran out of money,
started staring at maps.
I came home for So-so and her centipedes.
She used to give them to me.

on “so-so’s mountain”

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.] 55 plays

Satan

I wear your spine around me as a ribcage. And I, I nail your hands to my waist so you can hold me together. I was waiting for you to go.

Satan got in the way and she doesn’t know me anymore.
Satan got in the way and she don’t know me anymore.

Here’s the beautiful face of a man I couldn’t trust. I couldn’t trust any of them. She took the stories back then, asked you to forget her name.

Satan got in the way and she doesn’t know me anymore.
Satan got in the way and she don’t know me anymore.
She don’t know me anymore.

Prostitution Song

A humming girl, humming girl
1. her
2. no.

A girl made of suede
and tulips.

Beautiful bird, sing a dying song
3. the world
4. world-less.

Got you some milk teeth,
you’re gone Ms. Kevorkian.

I loved you,
I

was leaving all the days behind
falling for my former self.

“Come murder the woods with me.”

5. 1’s
6. a prostitution song.

I wrote to you from the moon,
and I wrote to you from the river.

Rok Lok Records Summer Mix 2012 listen/download

with: Make It Plain, The Only Ghost in Town, Giant Peach, Outside the Museum, Brick Mower, Snow What, Monogamy, Stars Are Insane, Sandy City, Hanna Elson, Dude Japan, Deep Pockets, Fellow Project, Mike Naideau, Damezumari, and Yes Sensei

I have a track on here called Gauze

zen

   We yell down the hallways of our modest house. I keep a workshop with scrapsy violet walls. I fix shit around the house, then he’s proud.
   I look at him in a sphinx-like intensity. Guest room rug breathing and laughing. I like whatever’s secret. I’ll whisper that he’s still alive. I’m reaching in his brain while he trails the skin with his filthy fingers.
   But we’ll take sleeping pills together. We’ll have conversation all night long and forget in the morning, everything.

   She wrote to him, “I’d argue, why would I want to keep so many people around? If any interaction is problematic I’d just as well trash it, if that’s all right by you.”

   I used to watch the way he walked, took lessons on how to be a perfect man. Now I watch Mother Earth walk into my brain with her stick high heels. All the wood clicks and purrs. Before a boy jumps off one of the Ocean bridges and before things like cancer, she’d play a small guitar and self-actualize. Now I want to squeeze all the female out of myself, like a blood orange. I know I taste good, I’m sure of it.
   I weighed this interaction before, I lived with it threaded through my history. I learned a lot, then crawled into its insides and asked every question I could imagine. But that’s all in the past. I came to a place where nothing would attach itself to me, and I would not call for anything.
   I could be a white stone in a garden among all the other white stones. I could feel it all.

“Yeah, I don’t mind cocky.”

That was the hour I was born. That was the room I was born in, with its orange glow and its fiery harmony of a thousand strange relationships. Some finger-painted the juices of apathy, and sometimes vulgar antipathy, right there over the beautiful wallpaper. It’s important for me to analyze and classify the lust that multiplied in the framework like termites. I need to know the differences between sexual conquest and submissive tendencies. I need to collect all the stories behind humiliation, reckless and depraved longings, and the genuine ardor in the kind of love that’s pure and biological. That was the room I was born in, and these things grew inside me like untamed weeds.

People cluster together like little forests on the brink of extinction. ”A burning!” My therapist exclaimed that once, blatantly proud he could pull off the metaphor. I told him I tried it already. I told him I painted brick walls with a thousand faces all the same: Siva and Kama. I told him about disheveling the precarious buildings crowding my city. I told him rebirth had been a mistake.

Explain to me: everything you thought. Pull me from the basement floor, kiss my feet before I’m gone. Measure how tall I am, then measure how far I took you from everything you had before.

(Source: pandaelsons)

On Removing Hooks From The Flesh

   I translated music under his window. All my thresholds were broken. He’d taken me there and instructed me how.
   Then he painted violins. He covered the door with strings. He sang into a microphone his sweet voice, I’m gonna drain myself.
   Yeah, he’d already been refined.

   Down the long carpet he walked, trailing a rope. It sectioned like a charm bracelet. To it, he’d tied snapped branches from the woods. They reminded him of when he was six, afraid of Bloody Mary, a lying little boy suspicious of everyone.
The white trees spotted through
the woods down the hill
from the school

are in his first collection
of beautiful memories.

   I sang that part. I came without his body. I covered the drain-hole. Nobody’d see the way his face began to disintegrate. That was mine.
   I walked a street drugged and singing softly to myself. “Miss Mary Mack mack mack All Dressed In Black black black.” I tied him to the dark. I dragged him in good mud.
   Another man in the room then, some strange things he drew. I told him we had to get the Secret Girl out of there. Her dumb rabbit ears, her antennae-mouthed fill of the place. She scraped the stage to better understand. She made me feel all cockeyed, she made me think my body’d started sinking, slow like molasses into her folds and the manic brain-parts cut up and fed to any creature she could find.
   I found her first.
   We wore pink high heels on the snowed-in spaceship out off some interstate I can’t remember. We prayed to how the seasons changed, which began to feel messy. We tripped over our nervous feet several times. Then, without our bodies, we took it in stride. We took black&white film from the transformation, passed it off as a new psychedelic chem-reaction.

   Anyway, that man could disappear into the turning earth. Turn away from me. I’ll run that way.

   Snow-covered mountain towered with green dresses and clothesline around the ankle. My love walks down the back trails. The tracks aren’t for those hunters who’ll follow an animal home and kill it there. No, I’d never get that low. They kill it, eat it, call me a pussy. That’s me, I’ll keep it that way.

   Now I don’t keep fish-hooks in my cheek keeping me leashed to person X. I can remove them, still generous with the pain and the vocals. Cigarettes still haven’t turned my throat to shit. I don’t know how lucky I am.

“Darling, I want to tell you everything.” But I won’t. “I want to show you the places I ache.” I never could. I’d spend years playing you the classics of my life, but I want you to know me only as I am.

“Growing up this way, I had choices. I could tell someone how much it hurt, or I could show them.”

This is a List of

Electrician, Driver, Hiker, Fisherman,
Maths & Sciences student, aggressiveness,
unshaven, loud-mouthed, Logical
Philosopher, Atheist, carries a knife,
has a gun, Mohawk, argumentative,
arrogant, noticeably undress women
with her eyes, Pervert, Don’t cook,
genius, scars

Males Grazing

[…] Maybe it’s deep, but I’m not even touching on how many dimensions Perspective has. The subtexts of relationships, the genders pushing and pulling, the girls always dressed like Catholic school sluts. The majority of subtexts are interpreted through the male gaze.

Here, there—graffiti hasn’t thoroughly been cleaned. Urgency in the letter-shapes—mountains, valleys, planets, a crucifix. But something so sad, so desperate in the image and the meaning.

They talk about their nervous habits, give each other pop-science therapy.

I’d glue powdery moth wings to their chests, get them to sit still.

How To Cope With Obsessive Thinking

Boy’s black hands
held a devil in me.

I don’t have enough teeth.

I’ll wear bear fur up my body,
and he’ll carry a rifle behind me.

He had a bad head, wanted
impressive measurements.

I count in pitches, baby.

***

I stroke his skin with motor oil,

the only way I’ll smother him.

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.] 64 plays

Crowned (Panda) mp3

How many walls do you build? I won’t tell you.

Sway in a haze, then lie down on a leather fainting couch. Men and women approach, rub oils into my white belly, lift the hookah snake to my lips and they smoke me. I peel off my peach silk-n-lace lingerie piece by piece. A beautiful amputee feeds me the blotter paper. I’ll let them all touch me, delicately.

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.] 179 plays

jez did another song with my words! i really really love this one

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