I Found a Love, The Falcons (featuring Wilson Pickett)

an entire week dissolved. windows open, curtains shuddering. spring almost. a held breath, skirt tucked between my legs. i move & move--making no sound, currents in the air. the air stiff, clinging to the edges of my mouth. an entire week. endless stream of interviews. we’ll give you a call next monday. my phone line dead. balancing & rebalancing ( Read more... )

"He was not shooting dirty pictures. He believed sex appeal was 'human appeal.' He also believed 'the true nude gives a version of beauty, both physical and spiritual -- two great needs of humanity. Allen was a seer who thought his photos would inspire a kind of paradoxical chaste lust and reveal the potential of all naked women to become icons."

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i stood in fixed position, arms hung at right angles, feet spread three inches apart. how to spend the interim? swim in the reflected sunlight, shed skin, hair, a million stray strands clotting the carpet. my fixation frustrated all secondary parties. i was instructed, addressed by name. he said: there are six bowls in the sink, five spoons, a fork ( Read more... )

“I say nothing to no one. Nothing about what goes through my life, the anger, the wild movements of my body towards that dark, hidden word “pleasure.” I am modesty, I am silence itself. I say nothing. I express nothing. About what is important, nothing. It is there, unnamed, untouched.”

--Margurite Duras, undated journal

no, i don’t walk so much as float. up the stairs, through his door. a sideways hug honey honey. i slip my coat off with one shoulder; someone calls my name. ten thousand potted plants, a stranger’s wine warm hands. in the living room, furniture becomes a nuisance; my legs graze seven different surfaces. i sway, back and forth, in and out. when the ( Read more... )

some dust-rubbed town. south carolina, where? i exit off at 242, drive three miles in each direction & still cannot find a gas station. i merge back onto the interstate. four, five exits pass before i see a single sign. exit six: citgo, bp two miles on the right. i accelerate, turn on a yellow, park. before i can even open the door, a policeman is ( Read more... )

new year’s eve. a house carved into a hill, yard flooded with beer cans. not a “party” but a “get together.” we arrive late, after spilled drinks, ashtrays too. soot on every surface. in the living room, twenty people sit or stand or lean their heads against the wall. as far as furniture, nothing but bodies breathing. i slip my coat off-scarf, ( Read more... )

this afternoon i read this lester bangs piece about beefheart. there's a lot of deep shit in it, then, there's this:

My second encounter with Beefheart took place in late 1972 - he played Detroit, opening for The Kinks. It was an odd bill in the first place, and things weren't helped any when Ray Davies spiced up his campy patter by dedicating a ( Read more... )

a message to pretty, love