Meaningfully vulgar, foul contingency and open arms them to be cohesive, to bind us together. Juicy Lucy, should I believe her, taste her orange. Her disorder, her glory and sudden messages, techniques of domination, her lap, tenderness and warmth. Standing powerlessly not moving an inch, only my eyelids do their reflex shutter movement on my lenses as I capture the moment to my archive of every moment in my life. The wet grass that I am standing on has given up on winter and black earth. Dividing practices come without forcing. There is something I cannot stand and it is a lie of affection. How much do we live in world of abstractions. Is all abstract in the end? Sensing and reasoning, to have sensed and reasoned. Certain amount of rage which follows, burns, boils over and torments.
Deflower the girl. Deflowering earth. Deflowering her. One considered ruined. Difference experienced. Deflowering truth.
The need to come out. Phrase for someone admitting and showing. Coming out, revealing maintaining dignity and when you lose it, fearing shame, thoughts and talk. Brutality. Maintaining, what does it mean, how, a posture. What needs to be maintained and which parts could be discarded as useless. A well-tended body. Keeping up, staying in posture, situation in life against for what would be a better decision, difficult. Is it following tradition, listening to somebody else’s opinion than one’s own, on one’s life, rules, dictations, directions on how to. What is losing dignity? Deliberately, carelessly, why put yourself to disgrace, what will come of it, of not wanting to care about the consequences. to be killed in the most brutal way possible, publicly. I knew you could. I knew the Idea of failing and starting something new or ending up having disastrous after life or having just what one happens to get. Fear of losing face, fear of showing you my face is gone. What is the worst scenario that might happen? To be killed?
Snowflakes form this way of water drops at temperatures several degrees below water’s normal freezing point depressions as ponds and lakes zero zero Celsius centigrade and below below water all, is ice infinitesimally small drops all the corruption in my hand
It is bass in his voice reifying the opposition, difference of quality in low and something large. Foamy chocolate heart of an image, still fingers hateful night, and so on. But yes, it is romantic. Searching for sources of awe even in contempt. I have a constant feeling of guilt for I don’t know what, for that and that. Quiet masochism. Dirty and cheap in between. But it is not me. I’m the receiver of his favor, of he paying attention, making me solid out of these pieces he found and what is me.
Moon as a triple reflection on a window demonstrated by a street lamp. I go slowly by floating like asleep, as sleep itself, sleeping. Sink my hands into foam, into my hands and his voice, rub it on my face to feel his w.
”Oh, I ain’t a Communist necessarily, but I’ve been in the red all my life.” ”Work and pray, live on hay/ You’ll get pie in the sky when you die” The Preacher and The Slave, 1911 The Red Song Book 1932The Socialist Rebel Song Book 1934Negro Songs of Protest 1936
Political message put into the arena of entertainment, books I can imagine in my hand, small, worn out with yellowish smelly pages, the ongoing rebellion, ongoing inspiration of coal miners, their wives, copper miners, their wives, textile workers, their husbands, inspired by Woody Guthrie, This Land Is your Land, 1944. ”I am out to sing songs that will prove to you that this is your world..that make you take pride in yourself and your work” Woody Guthrie’s mission statement which he read on the radio 1944 in his weekly show on New York’s WNEW.
This is a kind of Poem, this is a kind of scribbles, I end up seeing the same thing, a pattern, but I cannot put my finger on it
Failed to quicken the pulse, Ella May Wiggins who was shot dead during the Gastonia textile strike 1929, hero of the left. Message belonged to whoever stuck a flag on it. And increasingly the flag was red. Leftist intellectuals were in love, most of all, with the idea of a common man. Sometimes he drank, he fought, even shot his woman down. There was nothing ennobling about it. Music of rumors, dreams, ghost stories and whispers in the night.
Dust can’t kill me, beneath the cover of bad grammar, misspellings, Okie vernacular, which would come in handy in darker times.
It had not rained in four years bitter but exhilarating like biting into a lemon. To know about Confucius, did he know more about hypocrisy than he did about nature of American society.
Something fishy for robbing her off her lightness mixed with serrated glass day and night it was when she discovered heroin in 1940s, and commenced slow dying, scourging hypocrisy
from sea to ocean from sea to shining sea aw-shucks, ionization of a affectionately common man.
Full of bad luck and violent ends. Violent beginnings, startling start, I took these words from this book I found added them here next to my words. I gave words back to you. You do what you can with them.
What has happened before, what happens now to a worker? Is he/she called a worker anymore, the proletarian, or is it employee, staff, laborer. We have short history of couple of industrial revolutions during which many other kinds of revolutions have taken place. Couple of which have been Feminist. Suffrage movement, sexual revolution, inventions of contraception, women’s right to study, abortion, divorce, go to work and have a career. Women’s rights to their bodies are still under questioning, which makes me wonder why. Why female body is the main object of terror and a possession of man? We are still fighting for human rights to happen on many levels. But all in all, women’s rights have taken big steps forwards globally during couple of decades, lots is still to be done. It astonishes me how heavy the battle is.
transmogrifying the night, transmo, gry, what was the word can’t wait to get home, to hear sylph, SYLPH! lok, open
Lolita and gaze listen to know the very presentation of a day, a drawing of this day of hers, adorable with crayons on whatever paper with tea on it., thinking about why there is a feeling of pathetia and sorrow in it, feeling of senescence, feeling of it not being allowed, the togetherness, all, eternal my skin, eternal my faith, my effort to stay here saying, moving your lips in the night the inner psalm, hymn read tirelessly believing in my mind, the passing light of a train and the sounds. Pass the word to it, how I felt the words. Pass. glut of occurrences happen. Plethora of cuisine, cleansing by publicity, we as a collective, collectives, groups, dynamics between them, us, what is there in between as there always are the betweens that clash into invertebrate monolith of press, oftener than with short descriptions of what had happened, the medium of books, the medium of clashing, medium of touching and didn’t I say anyrrrh and pyrrhh pass the word, tell that She went nuts.
a week-old ventriloquist, week-old presentation, pseudocommunal image, or cross section or slanting and does his dummt take off, dumm, take off, can’t take it, don’t get it
dateline flood line – they whispered, hi friend floating on a fallen tree in a river, fast, in a rapid stream, joyously, with incredible approximation inundating hippos, and us.
Unfinished business with civil rights strategy for America’s instant humans and Volstead Prohibition Act.
Procedures of brainwashing quantities of information, enjoyed reading MAD when the lady typist arrived on the business cuspidor was doomed. “SENSasian lunches combine (in bed) best flavorvof of China”. Synesthesia of embryonic groth doomed by str sterility, celebrity warhead, missa, missile, tit resentment. Can’t wait, can’t see, but can imagine if that counts
a day which passed by like eyes on one’s back in this order by me, Mercedes Starbus.
DEATH HAS EYES? IS DYING SOMEONE WITH HEART DISEASE? TO DIE IS HAPPENING WITHOUT LOOKING EVERYDAY.
Pulsating vein, political. Regulating capitalism by democratic institutions, complex configurations of power relations, growing hair, emphasis, aspirations in finding sense what hypocrites say, it’s bad anyway, flight of stairs. Death has eyes, as it can walk.
I must be afraid, I must. I’m taught in fright. Phobias that we have keep us in place, intact, in panic, oh your god and things that cannot be discussed over cup of coffee nor ever Yes, I have fears. They are always with me. To use them against me; they have worked long before you. They are as touchable as someone with eyes, someone’s eyes in me or on. It is a constant state of insecurity that is part of me. It is an organ. next to me, watching me, touching me, insecurity of living, fragility and the fear is of dashed, broken loose, lose and lost in the end useless it does not keep me safe
Ideas involved in walking back and forth leaning against the car window, not wearing much is that how you pictured it, death, for me. We will see, won’t we, who sells one’s body, who sells one’s soul, who sells organs who sells qualities and who has them being looked at always like that, like a thing, like something to want and melt That is insecurity, you never know and don’t want to be looked at like that, who would.
something worth while, what is? Integrity, sincerity, or was it in history books someone who was brutally murdered.
sovereignty in a cloud
Fighting giving meaning in us, for us to structure the world and make it may be simpler, maybe better. Fights making us and making us do good and bad. To write about good and evil: it is clear to me that I stand on the side of good. Why is that so clear? Does my origin, ideas, gender, age, skin color, profession(s), art, deeds, tell how good a person I am? What deeds, characteristics tell my quality of goodness or evilness? That is what I think now, because I’m not so sure. What is good and just, it is that I have chosen to realise and do as I see fit and they serve me, my idea of good for me. Do I take the rest of the world into consideration in my goodness? To choose and accomplish, it is a question of self and losing self, not to make only what your self desires, not only letting your need to want to want. Decide what is good. Tastes good, makes you feel good. Is my body that decides since I must eat, sleep, drink and follow? It decides much for me as do my feelings. My feelings and sentiments, gut telling me which paths to follow. Telling me something about good, what might be good to do.
Processing translations draped in living room curtains
having them as a dress around me, being of some size, I’m not myself then, now or never, what is myself, because I change
swinging
looking up to the ceiling smiling like an idiot, Beautiful! beautiful gown. Like someone else’s.
women talking, producing queer practices bringing up little ones to be not queer, sane and healthy breathingly look a bub, as long as they are extraordinary adults like no one else.
Dear Headind, there is always the future, hope, something new. Oh, look a cup.
Perfection.
Trigonometrics and how to proceed. I get stuck here. To get advance, advantage, knowledge, fingerprints, smudges, sandcakes, sand under soles and it is wrecking. OFF OFF, i shout. What, are you mad!
Technically felt at edge of space
having offspring with animal hearts, monkey hearts exactly put, because of no reason,
they started flying low, acoustic mammals shouting sunlight in curtains.
Perplexity on a peer around me, how did you end up there? I availed myself of the opportunity.
I continue. Not asking if I should. Not asking.
But I open my mouth.
cat act tic tac itc cit tci tci tci where is it leading?
Choose your favourite syllable and repeat it in a tempo chosen as you wish.
Ok. I’m ready.
or..not at all. It goes on and on unfinished.
Say syllables out loud on a wasteland, in front of it, after having walked over it. Say
repeat constantly
while walking standing thinking them how to say them looking up to the sky shout out loud syllables how they go gaps in between, pauses, tactics
inventing teg ASTRA TRA TRA TRA
stra stra gyte change order of the letters.
What sense does it make? What new views it opens? To tear, tear words apart. How do you feel when you repeat these syllables?
Majakollektiivi Timanttimetsä 