Wednesday, 31 December 2014

Plasticine Animation Figure

I was crossing the road, and a nasty kid on the sidewalk pushed me over with a long stick, like a life guard. I fell down and was run over by a tram neatly slicing me into three parts, my head rolled away a bit. As soon as the tram was gone, my body snapped back into one piece like a bouncy rubber ball , my three parts gravitated together and stuck each other back like a plasticine animation figure, and off I went again, none the wiser, rather more dazed and confused than I had been.

Tuesday, 30 December 2014

Private Polly Post (PPP)

i write stories, books, make films, listen to glitter metal, watch dreampop videos, & used to like indie. Dislike shopping. dislike groups. go out with moderation. i take city walks by myself. drink a drink, eat a sandwich, no biggie. Sometimes it gets late, if i make acquaintances -- tell the story of life, or listen to someone else's, bye. I like to dress up, i am not shy. i dislike being drunk. it's the un-cleanest high-low messy inarticulate whaaaaa that i know. i like diamonds, but i don't have any. but i wouldn't take fakes instead, then rather nothing at all. don't mind sewing when i'm in the mood. i write on trains, in airports, in bed, and in libraries. hot and cold on cafes -- find myself eavesdropping despite myself, losing focus... I'm not sure what i am looking for in my creations. a lot of what I do has already been done. i want to bring out the new sheen from under. i find dream sequences psychologically interesting, and sometimes artistically useful. but on the whole i don't get the hype. in reality i meet many artists, more and more. too many, far too many, whom i happen not to find that interesting. too commercial. commercial, said of art, is a big word obviously. i'm mostly disappointed when i artists tell me they have big plans for the public... when the "art" part becomes the "imitation of successful other artists" part, feel like a rug's being pulled from under my feet. And of course, there's the "I am friends with such and such" part. Barf. I also cringe at bad poetry a lot. I usually know straightaway whether I like a work of art or not. Very often I don't, but I also know how bad it is to tell an artist that, so I don't. But I am not happy. Because i feel so mushy about the arts scene, and because i don't know what's to be done, i'm mostly absent. To crack the code of how to make a beautiful and ravishing work of art, i value most the deep and uninhibited conversations with inspired people. who may or may not be artists. oh my. arts scene dysphoria big time.

Saturday, 27 December 2014

It doesn't shine

it doesn't shine, so it's not there, and only stars can be seen in the dark, i am invisible, i am a prisoner, of night's dirty dragnets
and what, if I don't shine, then you can't see who i am, and if I drown in the morning, in the grey lake of your broken memory
the night will eat me, like it ate you

Wednesday, 24 December 2014

Cold coffee with vanilla ice cream

Summer, lakes, and people throwing nice smiles around like frisbees -- red and white marquees, Cold coffee with vanilla ice cream, and sparkly sandals

the distant summer

Merry Christmas!

Monday, 22 December 2014

Baroque Anatomy and Abstract Charm

Shopping online for a bikini is unaccountably difficult, because the ladies modeling them have the baroque anatomy and abstract charm so characteristic of the Uncanny Valley girls, who hail from Photoshop-land.
Shoppers on the internet want to buy an item they will wear, not gaze perplexedly at brutally starved young girls on the catwalk. Isn't it backward, that the skeletal woman is perceived as the ideal one? In these consumerist, overfed, and supremely food-wasting parts of the world that I inhabit, someone may be naturally thin, or cultivate a slim frame as a lifestyle choice, at their own leisure. But online retailers need not photoshop every woman into a disjointed humanoid to sell clothing.

Tuesday, 16 December 2014

1960s Shopping Center

Twas in a 1960s shopping center, which was desperately trying to be up to date with today's mall culture. On the rooftop -- say, on the 6th floor -- was a spa, the pool in a half moon shape, Greek amphitheater style steps rising up to sculptures of classic nudes in the corners. An unreconstructed disco bar served big beers to men in loin cloths, and in a smoking lounge adjacent, they sat wrapped in bath robes, watching the X-factor. Though advertised as a mixed nudist spa, guests were mostly straight men, who stared intensely, almost aggressively. The life guards kept reminding me to take off my panties, yet to put on some slippers because... Phwoar! Slippery. It being Christmas time, some kind of gingerbread hearts, candy floss and mulled wine mile was going on down in the streets below.

The Jenna Marbles of Heroin Addiction

is there a Jenna Marbles of heroin addiction? The internet's full of addicts three weeks clean, who speak of revelations, of plans to "rebuild their life", "spreading the word" and (gasp!) "helping others". But what of the ones clean for a longer time, like i have been, past the honeymoon and the hard work?

From now
will it just be long walks
in a dark grey valley
under a sky of squealing glass

blackened foil quivers
between parched silver membranes