Without Memory

Brooklyn rising up in ocean purple fiction, crossing detail.
The Waitress smiling, hopping, hoping sangria slice.
Step branching around when spoken needles speak cannibal –
Entranced by Princess and a pea.
Flocking scribbles running wishbone assembly.
Light Hanging on drop gas.
Steeple steeple shinning, houses ghost story.
Brick and maple divinity lost glasses.
Signs, paintings, trophies spinning softly tulips.
Tiger running out minimal mash up detour.
Orange star dragon mountains –
Refined big bananas bloom pink fur phone reflection.
Wash hair enclosed chess horse zebra.
Zuzu’s Petals, missing lock sprung cat.
Stuffed school sport trees willing into existence perfect living guns and butter –
Reminds distressed turkey turning bananas.
Inflates power lit large.
Piped pitched paper bag lion remembers saying nothing and hoops the fix.
Spiral seeking one thousand parapets.
Ulysees granted sirens.
Bather hunted haunted rising setting rising out of piled out blue.
Held onto patiently – meeting wiggers becoming without memory

Wild And Free


THIS SUNDAY – OPEN STAGE @ 17 FROST

MUSIC, POETRY, & SHORT FILM (10-15 minute sets, please bring Movies on DVD )

WILLIAMSBURG, L TRAIN BEDFORD, NORTH TO 10TH, RIGHT TO FROST & UNION

17 FROST STREET

ALL SETS WILL BE RECORDED FOR FREE

REFRESHMENTS WILL BE AVAILABLE

CONTACT: INFO@17FROST.COM

Here Is a portrait of me by Loxy Fady drawn during yesterday’s art class. We thought it looked like a Wild Thing and I drew in the horns.

The Meatball Parade

Went out with the X for meatball madness. She gave me a Pentax camera which was unexpectedly sweet, but also felt like something of a consolation boobie prize: I keep hearing the x in pentax. Later, I had a disorientingly real and banal dream where I watched her sleeping with her head against my chest and I had that feeling of being home for the first time in months, and then I woke up alone… but with a camera… that sounds like five axes. I went to take a shit and read this poem by e.e. cummings:

it may not always be so;and i say
that if your lips,which i have loved,should touch
another’s, and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart, as mine in time not far away;
if on another’s face your sweet hair lay
in such a silence as i know,or such
great writhing words as,uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;

if this should be, i say if this should be–
you of my heart, send me a little word;
that i may go unto him,and take his hands,
saying, Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face, and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands.

Buy Yourself Prettier Flowers

flowers.jpg
So yesterday I went for a run in the park and with all the wind and rain, the Osage orange tree dropped a bushel of fruit and I grabbed 8 and then a sprig of wild flowers and left them for Sylvie on the kitchen counter before leaving to see Ben (formerly of the Institute) eat the stage at Galapagos. We all went out for dinner after and being broke I did the old Paris routine and actually sold some drawings. I left this note and some cash under the wild flowers for Sylvie in the morning.

Fluxed Up

fluxedupbook.jpg
Fluxed Up from MariaNYC on Vimeo.
Wonderful documentation of my USSA show by Maria Niro with some real live fluxus (well recorded and found on Ubu Web) music and poetry: Poem Whispered History of Art / Robert Fillou
Overlaid on Symphony Natura/ Henning Christiansen.
Followed by Ground Swell solo sax by Colin Stetson