Omar Salazar and J. Mascis (Dinosaur Jr.)
1961 . Malcolm X on TV but he looks hungry .
signal fades . angles project a head to
watch it snow thick analog fuzz over
let my arm forget let me be all the people
in this city
the faucet’s running
language vibrate off into permanent
luminous pools .
walls of VHS wobble rise up .
a voice bleeds from a sequence of rectangular
lights that impersonates a tree .
it is our
pleasure to serve you .
it is already late
our sense of what is happening absconds
embarrassed at not
at naming our parents
after the little house on that mountain
the music stops .
a rock falls
from the sky and we just go crazy
for it .
faces coalescing from the high-speed
ambient flicker of medium grid and dissipating
back into it
which the city does, too
arriving as brief rushes of language
& then cubing back off into
& as for the ones who
brought us here
let knives tear their
let it rot
the mouths of
while speech, depolarized
as a matter of sovereignty
against the contours of absence
from Bomb Mag’s feature on the poetry of Ian Drieblatt
his translations of the prison letters of Pussy Riot’s Nadezhda Tolokonnikova are forthcoming in Comradely Greetings from Verso Books
- - - - Let Your Loss Be Your Lesson - - - -
- Faye Webster ft. The Shadowboxers -
Self Portrait 2013
Cool, sf moma reblogged my selfie
— chuck bass
People these days, never treat each other right..
All they ever do is fight, fight, fight
Staring doesn’t help
Nor does running around
Music doesn’t help
Getting together doesn’t help
Nor does staying apart
Seeing someone else doesn’t
Nor does seeing you
Sleeping doesn’t help
Nor does waking
Dreaming doesn’t help
Nor do any facts
Running doesn’t help
Nor does sitting around