"The mountains broke all things open. In the dream of myself, there is only future, no past."

I grew up in Marblehead, which is just outside Boston. An eastern township, all clapboard housing, flag over the porch. To get there from the city, you take one of the hot trains underground to Wonderland, a greyhound racetrack that in childhood made me think of sweet white bread inside rainbow packaging, how we'd spread it with butter, sugar and ( Read more... )

Delirious summer. I rode to the seaside: I crashed my bike. Bright blood on white gravel, the landscape was lurid, the accident lustrous. Split open, I carried my wound like a trophy of nonchalance. I watched a sliver of silver jet cross the sun-scorched sky. Drifting with a single song on heavy rotation - with drone, or dirge, in mind - I lapped a ( Read more... )

"This is how sexuality in art functions, never reflecting reality but rather its evocations, its mentalities."
- David Balzer on John Currin, for Canadian ArtOn Saturday night, my lover pinned my other lover to a wall by his throat ( Read more... )

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Swimming out further beyond the white birds of our longing. Wrestling the animal of necessity down. Adored on the face of the ocean, light filling every orifice at once. Black mirror; ocean of noise. A wild dimension filled only with blue light. Fire on the shoreline, something catching in the centre of something else. Hair thick with salt & ( Read more... )

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Very busy sensing there's nothing down the train tracks except remembering there are only five remaining speakers of Mohave. There might be a loose and rusted spike, a smashed bottle of Bud is likely if I walk long enough into picturing a basketball team of old men and women in a gym in Oklahoma bouncing an orange ball against a team made up of how ( Read more... )

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The Knife, A Tooth For An Eye

This is so good, it drives me nuts.