This post is formatted to reflect an original journal entry. 12/10/19 I like that it’s a cozy, gray morning. Listening to Fleetwood Mac’s Mirage, drinking coffee, and revisiting Rollo May’s The Courage to Create. An observation: the artists I admire most have all cultivated such powerful and unique personal styles. Poets, visual artists, musicians, too. [...]
it might be time to runaway with the second kiss a hand on my shoulder you and i tumbling through the forked opening of a shelter we're new suddenly yellow as the fields of creation off the cuff a radio edit forfeiting logic to be blinded by a deeper light the thrust of a paper [...]
to the deliverance from the fog to the remains of a sacred sex & the conspiracy of heartfelt panic to the pop culture rebel to the heroic reflections of our dreams & the wretched cats who tilt their eyes on the wings of a forbidden planet to the reversible side of fire to dial in [...]
T. Blake, Sisyphean Rhythm, 2019. it was a story as old as time but the morning after i couldn’t remember it the soft swerve of an open mouth episodes of everlasting love and a star-studded disco in the sand in my mind, the lost pains of sunrise and a sea of tadpoles redder than the [...]
quick before the sun sets on this field of fire and the fresh air faces us like a splinter raise your skirts and collapse your fists, you primal-eyed maidens of the night we are women of the future, our broken hearts are dead in a box, with knees as delicate as ants, we are benevolent, [...]
PREFACE yellow book company: a compilation of pages signaling a journey in non-sequential order (page 8) if it’s more real than white, then why don’t we save it a space on every forehead? not the past, little lady, the space within—no—the sight that gives sight, what blinds us to the gaps that only the mind [...]
because of this i ask for you at your elbows for a drift of the knee and a pushing for the pulse of a violent overturning for the golden hour when my breasts are clutched in the fists of a midday storm we are blue with the veins of existence and you with your blood [...]
