Friday, November 27, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
Thursday, November 12, 2009
These are amazing: each
Joining a neighbor, as though speech
Were a still performance.
Arranging by chance
To meet as far this morning
From the world as agreeing
With it, you and I
Are suddenly what the trees try
To tell us we are:
That their merely being there
Means something; that soon
We may touch, love, explain.
And glad not to have invented
Some comeliness, we are surrounded:
A silence already filled with noises,
A canvas on which emerges
A chorus of smiles, a winter morning.
Place in a puzzling light, and moving,
Our days put on such reticence
These accents seem their own defense.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Sunday, November 1, 2009
;(some type of skin shafter, false father plied harder)
take: a yellow potato peeler. to: the white fur ear.
it’s all pale pink underneath, secretes under a net of feather and beak
dreaming of this animal:
fertile or proliferating
sniffing pink &white pheromones collected from its seeping bones
braid into a kitely rope
hey rabbit drover dove, white feather duvet slip,
you could benefit by being more or less like this
cd: he will demand me
will he shake a stick
=enter the space behind the female eye.
cd: she will demand me
& I will grate my fist
wordswords black to right
“ left to white
enter crowd. gather round togeth to observe
cd faints. falls. to get gutter. papers flapflutter shitshutter expandorum she can’t hold it in anylonger.cut with butter what a fucken splutter cd vomits (nb: prop dept//bakedbean&glue cut with butter) observe the bright yellow and the scrunchy money falling out of her face in balls.hands of Herr Hold sapping with colour, all cd’s food is purple peachum red & blue
historian: (demands) what have you been eating>???
before the law your colours now!
these are the shapes we call ourselves!
this is the country we call our home!
yours are the bodies we wish to own!
slept of a stanza
shakily raising her colour-spatted hands
slowly the historian meets her poke
cd: it’s laughter the paper,
it’s laughter for all
i do my dirtiest work on screen, a public shearing shot in HD, but if you want to know my private hysteria it’s the secretion scene. typing in the white slot this virtual excretion, i eat my meals alone in my bedroom. i love it when you throw the gazpacho at my face. i don’t often wear red. sometimes when i’m due i let it slip and kiss you. my ogle is filthful and it spatters all over the tv, around the lounge. i do sit-ups on the kitchen floor. some hundred metres along the eroxxx stretch, i am a twenty-inch queenie and cutting like butter. there’s a man disguised as moving billboard, 021creamit; he calls himself and i just laugh. my legs are open for all eyes, on the roadside and up the glossy highrise. the hard bread tastes of cucumber, the soft of bell pepper; vinegar of wine. and salt. we share my meal and you vomit before even making it to the basin. it takes a few minutes and as many tissues to mop up.
i’m seized on the streetside, back once before long. there’s babywipes in my handbag. and mineral water, for a stone shower. in 10 weeks just one rule, click it to read my story. couraged of a lover on the eyeball blade, i watch buñuel with no clothes on, crying oh for simon of the desert. my mother’s next door but she’s not bothered by the sound of penetration. there’s that convincing special effect when i’m alone. straining at a fragment pix of here n there, scrambling for a phrase to conjure me upside and make me sick. my speaker’s wearing a suit, but the dirty knees give her away. i like country rockers and cowboys and having something to rub against. i read that being female’s ‘both a blessing and a curse’, searching for two sticks, one to stop the blood and one to start it. let’s try this on a positive premise, a productive position, if you wave the banner i’ll carry the baton. cutting tomato for the gazpacho, wearing your purdy red shirt, my finger’s in the way, my head’s in the basin and everything gets wet. the blender’s on, i’m in nylon stockings and think about your special tools and how terrible you are. i put the drink in the fridge cause it tastes better chilled. still i can’t help but take a lukewarm swig.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
witha wink ing,, wink l e t the liquid
without tangling,, loose,wet,red,ropes
so stick y
Thursday, October 8, 2009
What do I do
From your book
Would we be
This much wider
Sucks a separate
Kind of logic
Mark jump clunk
On our crosshatched faces
Sunday, October 4, 2009
thread in cone
stalks like wire and
as i pull one away
someone coughs .
lemon, seashell, last week’s lilac
my tongue a bouquet circle
in glow hum,
a rush of blonde
a ripened room
>a wave>a circle>a lick
our names a splatter portrait on the wall
department store ceiling is the fluoro sky
a wide tall forceful form
buying socks (yes socks)
the fleecy thick type men wear
connected by plastic. laid flat
we will take them home and roll them into balls.
i exchange coin for cover with that actress via glass pane
she looks serious
a rush of blonde concern
we leave with socks to an open sky
the hill up ahead is the road to school
trees and moves
the actress over there in work shirt and tiny leathers
stalking up all flesh heels legs on asphalt
while the sun threw down
yr body is hidden yr vomit in the gutter rubs
yr head is child-size in a fabric eruption
yr ribs hurt i am looking from up down on you
yr hair curls under me yr lying in bright colour
yr beige seizure yr breath rasps sharping
people stand nearby asking questions .
i feed on my own pillow!
a wide field where i run races against heads with punched up faces
when my friends return
from prolonged frothing fits of adventure
weeping from each servile crevice
we queue up and shake hand in celebration
we roll an awkward joint in jubilation
still sheepish in the shadow of our parents’ squeaky sneakers
this is the town where i grew up
let us never speak of it again
smacks of fraudulence, A wandering core
i bleed on my own pillow
the rear door’s open and cold airs flood my upper right thigh
spiral kite, kete ora
i am a messy text; a jumble of alphabits; sever-bellum, brain fixx, pop jizzes:
this is how you spell my name
sola scriptosaurus, on the wall in yellow paint.
Friday, October 2, 2009
blue frames a window
glass is black
and a sports store lit up at night
a straight stretch of town
bricks on weatherboard watch
moon is low
gauzed by patchy square hedge
there is even now
a slivery reflect of unseen beam
please bury me with my boots on
even though you'll have to break my ankles
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Otherwise I wouldnät have diuscoveerd this
Otherwise I wouldnät have discovered ithis'
Otherwise I wouldn't have discovered this
Otherwise I wouödnt have discovered this
Otherwise I wouldn't have discovered this'Otherwise
Othwerwise I wouödn't have disocvered this
Otherwise I wouöldnt have discovered this<>Otherwiss I wouödnät have discovered this
>Otehrwise AI wouldn't have disoceverd this
'Otehrwise I wouöldn't have discovered this
Otherwise I wouldnt have discodiscoeverd this<>
Monday, August 31, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
this young lady was at the checkout, through a glass pane
she looked like claire danes, she was claire danes, in my dream she can be especially as we almost have the same name
there was a problem, she looked at me seriously, all blonde concerned
we (?) left the store, me and you with socks and walked up a road to see her ahead, she is dressed in tiny leathers, all flesh heels legs on asphalt while the sun threw down
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
the gap between my cornea my cochlea my cavities is not wide, there is little space through which to give birth because the processes inside never manifest in reality when I was eight I wanted to make a mask, it was of a bird, it was for a parade at my school and it was so clear the picture of the bird in my mind and I was so disappointed when my hands failed to produce what my mind could see I have an idea I have an idea you must understand that I know more than you know what it means, that I understand and that I have an idea I just don’t know how to say it, you must understand that I just don’t know how to say it and my face goes red when I try the processes never manifest the baby’s head is just too big for the birth canal
so cut me open precisely make a precise incision incise precision I think that is a good idea do you? take that scalpel that red surgeon’s mask so I can’t see your teeth or your red lips and cut me open and wait watch the stream explode and flow and the words fly out all over the place and stick to all sorts of objects like little leeches they are everywhere they are on your scrub and glove and red surgical mask and there is one that got cut by your scalpel but now it makes two
the exercise if nothing else spreads the words so you can see the fish in my head that they swim at least as fast as yours, the voices layered upon each other is always a nice trick, your voice sounds nice harmonising with itself singing ahhhhh ahhhhhhh hmmmmmm hmmmmmm ohhh brothheerrr oohhh brotherrrrr over the pvvvvrrrrr pvvvrrrrrrr drone of grey dusty warmth and I want to listen to that song again
I don’t think I’ll read this over but I’m aware of my curling spine spatting like a dying eco bulb, the blue paper balloon light makes this room a morgue and the departure of a flatmate wrapped in wood into the boot of his parent’s car while us two watch tv then do the dishes
still watching a cracked screen it makes its own skyscape it has its own moon and my mum thought it was a painting, it breathes back at me when I push at the pieces with my finger purple ripples cellular divisions and always that one moon in the top left hand corner of the sky that secret spot you want me to show you where to touch
the cmyk flood
how I love your white noise
Monday, August 17, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
while I make coffee in the kitchen
I keep my breath close
to my chest as I wait in line
I keep my hands inside my
jacket when I’m walking outside
I keep empty beer bottles in the toilet
and think about removing them
I keep a woollen hat on my head
even though I’m indoors
I keep the door shut when I’m writing
although there’s no one home
I keep a cracked screen beside a new one
because I hate throwing things away
I keep scrolling up to erase the words
with the fuzzy green lines
I keep lists blu-tacked on my walls
despite the peel effect it has on paint
I keep vitamins beside deodorant
I keep a claim form on the desktop
I keep apple juice in a Guinness glass
I keep playing at delete page up <
I keep cameras at the chemist, they have piles of photographs under my name
I keep telling myself I’m interesting
I keep biting my nails
I keep a Mr. Potato Head on my stereo
I keep spending money on food I can’t afford
I keep forgetting to look at my lists because I’ve made too many and they fall off the wall in the cold
I keep Nivea on the shelf and Tascam on the floor, I keep a kitten under my bed and needles on the table, I keep on thinking of you who is reading this now and I keep my underwear in a drawer I keep tapping the F with my left pointer and think of the email I got back from him I keep reading into punctuation or lack thereof I keep my mother’s ring on my wedding finger and my breath steady I keep Nick above the clock and PJ on the opposite so they can see each other I keep a lighter in my bag though I don’t smoke I keep paper in my drawer and my feet up on the dashboard I keep Hejinian on the wall despite the peel effect she has on paint ‘and so I was returning’ I keep my woollen hat on my head I keep my disgusting habits to myself
Thursday, August 6, 2009
the pattern of a tree graph
you, asked to describe
tween mi fingers peel
and i recognise you by your spectacles and your lesson-voice
no, you-are-a fay-el-yure
spun shadow about dis corner
[yo loki com roun dere]
a glance down side me
ah, yes take a loan
cone arrow fringe
i just stare back at him
most move at once and loki bak
this seats no room
and when the students shift
stiff chest exhausts and i move too, from my space
the bus pssssssshh
breath happy sigh toowanwan
and i feel eyes but just sound conversation
and i think we all thought we'd be brilliant, didn't we all think we'd one of us be?
and i circle cause you're on you and i'm on me yet we both here on toowanwan together.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
under your breath singing Phantom, lay your insides out.
swollen breath floods a stale frosty chest
lopsided, it begins to spread
broken and knit into a woollen web
(I can't see it with these eyes, so squinting, Yet smiling.
(This tongue, lip, hand can't tell your picture For it WILLS me to stop and stare at you
You tug at my secret pocket
And shed THis seamless light
Palm to palm,
Food of flesh unto
Consequent breath, it's cold star fresh in here
This space is shaped like you
Not so selfish
As to keep it to yourself.
I will sit and admire; an eyesmile whispers once,
Once will never be enough.
than to exhale all of the things i've tried? lit by white light i write, thinking of
nothing but what i haven't done. twisting the arm of fate, blindfolding everything i'm supposed to
sometimes bloodiness is all i can see -
warming the organs inside me;blaming my brains for my failings;
living two lives that have found me - one where i sit; one i'm standing,
rising on dirt from beneath me
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Instead it seems to be located
in language, by virtue of which we negotiate our mentalities and the world;
heavy at the mouth,
we are pulled forward.
Monday, July 6, 2009
at the midnight supermarket, we can't even get a bottle of wine. next time i guess we'll have to plan if we want to overflow the bags under our eyes.
she cheats on him. he flirts with me. i bite my nails until they bleed. i'm only 21 and i feel like a
this is all, so, SO important
OHMYGOD it's really quite serious.
are a visible ache
of all these years living in this serious
(and we went swimming with the shock of it -
- and we went walking underwater)
Friday, June 19, 2009
"It also helped that the night was kicked off by the impressive Dear Time’s Waste, whose Clare Duncan proved she can out-sing most Auckland residents any time, even when she’s got the flu! DTW is growing stronger and more cohesive all the time. More than able musicians in their own right, on first impression they seemed slightly fragmented and unsure of themselves, but after touring and gigging extensively they have become a real force to be reckoned with. Clare’s enviable vocal range and skillful handling of her jaw-droppingly beautiful Rickenbacker guitar, together with the lean and stylish image the band cuts makes DTW a really enjoyable and professional act. With their mesmerising songs pulling a gauzy curtain over the early evening they really set the scene for a memorable gig."
spelt my name wrong, two points off. but 'lean and stylish' - thanks, we have been working on our figures.
also a timely shout to sarah's brother simon gooding at york st for being a super super amazing fellow and engineer for a wee track called 'alice' that is currently in the mix.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Sunday, May 17, 2009
some stuff if you´re interested:
National Radio Live to Air can be heard here
Polarity live at Refuel in Dundedin, courtesy of Ian Henderson