Archive for August, 2011

Classroom Etiquette


29 Aug

—–

The sickness builds like the bluff of a storm approaching

The losing hand already dealt out

But you keep on betting to see if you can pull it out

——-

Spin, twirl, shake,

Or just stay in bed

But tomorrow comes with the new cards

Off-suit, spreading

——

Take the mathematical approach

If I quit the game – there might be something to it

Gambling is only fun when you win

——–

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jYIffCzme9o&feature=related

——

Buy me from the store

I’m almost second-hand

Almost whole

——

Baby,

I would love to tell you that there is justice in the world

No losing hands

No consequence

No sorry, no used up

I can’t lie to you

But I can point you to the sky and to the train

—–

Come outside


28 Aug

——

I’ve got a friend of fascination

The politically correct audience I should be writing against

Homeboy,

(add your own addendum),

You’ve got years to grow

When you won’t seek approval in your words

When you won’t try to fuck the girl ‘cause it’s appraisal

When you’ll stand on your balcony in a hurricane in a bathrobe

Calling those awake to see the beauty of eventual destruction

Eventual obliteration

It’s all good

As it always is

Because the world you’re born into

As soon as you’re sealed into any bit of skin

Will be filled with hatred, and worse – with monotony,

Thankfully, someone will pick up

Sigh on the other line because they’re bored as they should be

Because the world we’re born into

Is bound to end at any certain taken breath

At any time we’ve finished off the bourbon

At any time we’ve discussed the merits of poetry

Written, or spit out in the tubercular manner with blood;

At any time we’re drinking because we’re blissfully forgetting

We’re acknowledging our ideals as bullshit

As friends of fascination

and happenstance

and those happy curiosities of life ticking away.

——-

——-

Props to my friends, as always, at Three21Media & Rik Cordero

——-

Hurricane A-coming


27 Aug

——

So, with the hurricane approaching…

I’m excited. But if it does swallow me whole – remember me fondly.

At least as much as that’s possible.

——

 

Second Shoot


27 Aug

Props to Ms. Robyn Young… thankfully, my ugly mug is out of focus in this photograph. You were miraculously tough throughout the shoot. I have nothing but gratefulness to offer you.

Much gratitude to Anim Arnold for stepping in to the place of a paranoid actress and helping us revise the role last minute into something that actually worked…

Photographs courtesy of Elmer Vargas

From First Shoot


26 Aug

From the First Shoot

Aside 15


24 Aug

—–

At home, while preparing for the second shoot yesterday, taking notes, I noticed that the wildly unpredictable release date for Game’s “R.E.D” album finally came. So I downloaded it, listened through it, moving through a good ten pages of editing (74 min LP and all), and I have to say that despite the high cost of production on most of the beats and Game going hard on several tracks, for me the best track on the record is this brilliantly silly ditty:

——

What Eternity?


23 Aug

——

“Not time, not happiness, not fun, not children, not a house, not a bathroom, not a clean pair of pyjamas, not the morning paper, not to wake up together, not to wake and know she’s there and that you’re not alone. No. None of that. But why, when this is all you are going to get in life of what you want; when you have found it; why not just one night in a bed with sheets?”

——

E.H.

——

——

No soul

in this photograph

you say?

I would

usually

agree

if it wasn’t her

with passion in her eyes.

The last together

before

both were lost

feels familiar

as loss

and other wonderful

purities and perversions

affects and distresses.

The tresses of her skirt

hit the floor

and she stood

exposed

to the light

to the sight of the night

completely for me

bright.

That osculation

lasted briefly

but stood in perpetuum

between the ears

through years and others

not worth a note.

And now you say

the photograph

lacks a soul.

Usually

I would agree

but she had great legs

and lovely thighs

and the in between

featured the godhead

and the rest I needed

and the waking

and the prophecy of future

spent alone.

——

Aside 14: Cheers


23 Aug

——

“I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. De Mille”

First shoot done

Whether I can act or not is still to be discovered in the dailies

But I’m happy to share some of my vision with other artists

A sincere gratitude for everyone’s efforts and patience

Sad to miss some of you

——-

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hOf0FsA0Fio

——-

Back to Basics


21 Aug

—–

I haven’t found a home in as much as I haven’t found an ashtray to fit into yet.

There’s still simplicity out there. I’m sure of it. And although I’ve changed, and the world has spun a degree or two – … her form has remained resolute, muted in the eternal – but I’ve written that all before, you’ve read it and read it again; I’ll repeat it, retread the old longing, and you’ll read it – until she’s left in the absconding ether as she was always meant, untamed.

——

——

She was born missing her left heel

but she loved to dance

I would watch her as she moved

exhaling smoke into the living room we shared

knowing that she would kill me

destroy me

as she did

as I knew

while I watched her dance

forgetting the heel and the monster inside of us

——

Daft Note for the Punks and the Same


19 Aug

——

If you ever get upset, always logically consider that things are likely not as bad as they seem. Though viewing them as such, in affecting melancholy, can sometimes be best. Oscar Wilde said that “no great artist ever sees things as they really are. If he did, he would cease to be an artist.”

——

——

A Bit of Irony


18 Aug

—–

A tellytubby’s dirge about drugs:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xCLfrL6_Xl4&feature=related

—–

97 days of adamant sobriety

Goddamn, it’s boring!

Life is as torturous as a tortoise’s

Tick tick tick

Slow

Methodically mundane

Sleep, drink, dream, fuck

Propagate the next illusion

Write a sonnet or two

Take a number

Tally up

Tab

Absolution

Repress an urge

Call a former lover, don’t

Find her in the words

Again

Against

Appraise it all

Astounding

How slow

The coffee spoons alternate

The women don’t sing anymore

They don’t speak dead languages

They don’t disrobe in the same manner

Aestheticism no longer favors…

… shit, fucking anyone that sees

Another yawn

Another yawn

Another repetition

And now it’s 98  

——

 

Fuck Rick Perry (with an “e”)


18 Aug

——

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yt5ZmHxdNWY&feature=related

——

I know that this is relatively old, but with this asshole in the presidential race I’d like to force a reminding shudder…

P.S. Also fuck Colorado congressman Doug Lamborn – if anyone ever deserved to suffer through slow-burning prostate cancer it’s you, you racist cunt! At least Perry got a vasectomy and won’t have the opportunity to spread. 

—— 

Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings


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