dirt attracts dirt
and so finds itself
hobbling, and collapsing in on itself
tiny puffs of grime caught in orbit
the inevitable dance of dust and lint
like little space spindles
one rolling hair
under the invisible guidance of some inter-fibrous static cling
knitting flakes of epidermis
into a necklace of gunk and grit
lonely knots of pollen
blown broad across a llano of laminate lino
intrepid little tumble weeds
the woven wonders of mud mites and microbes
skirting the borders of barren contours
with a shiver here
and a quiver there
a storm of detritus
in the corners and canyons
until it clots and congeals
like a scab
like a conclusion
dirt is humble
dirt is patient
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Friday, September 20, 2013
this is the NEWS
today, there were incidents.
violent people were violent
and accidents happened.
in other parts of the world,
stupid people did stupid things.
innocents were hurt.
angry young men
directed by sociopaths
continue to be the main perpetrators.
cars crashed,
celebrities died.
freak incidents occurred
and chaos remains a factor
in day-to-day life.
violent people were violent
and accidents happened.
in other parts of the world,
stupid people did stupid things.
innocents were hurt.
angry young men
directed by sociopaths
continue to be the main perpetrators.
cars crashed,
celebrities died.
freak incidents occurred
and chaos remains a factor
in day-to-day life.
underground stop
3 girls,
after a century and a half of waiting,
prop up against tiles,
suckin teeth and fake leather,
yeh like w'ever.
immortal gum chewers,
nattering vintage plastic studs.
denim, double. bandanna. comb.
hunched shoulders and exposed bones
exploding in a tube
of high pressure air.
scalp pulled back
by the fierce atmosphere of the underworld.
the wind in the tunnel,
the wind in the pipes,
the wind in the vents,
making us feel so accompanied,
so alone.
we go into hiding,
in mirrors and make up.
laying it thick,
and sometimes thin.
the media, TV,
the powers that be.
a follicle deep zeitgeist
- no guts -
it's just dirt that won't wash off.
after a century and a half of waiting,
prop up against tiles,
suckin teeth and fake leather,
yeh like w'ever.
immortal gum chewers,
nattering vintage plastic studs.
denim, double. bandanna. comb.
hunched shoulders and exposed bones
exploding in a tube
of high pressure air.
scalp pulled back
by the fierce atmosphere of the underworld.
the wind in the tunnel,
the wind in the pipes,
the wind in the vents,
making us feel so accompanied,
so alone.
we go into hiding,
in mirrors and make up.
laying it thick,
and sometimes thin.
the media, TV,
the powers that be.
a follicle deep zeitgeist
- no guts -
it's just dirt that won't wash off.
Sunday, September 15, 2013
wet lettuces
wet lettuces, all around me! i must be trapped in a salad.
...and there's no dressing!
...and there's no dressing!
i am amused/disturbed (a classic combo) by an observation that the phrase "i like to have a drink" has changed its meaning from "i love the drink" to become "i sometimes have A drink": an afterthought added to the end of an introduction or character profile so as to add some virility to the manifestation of an otherwise timid and isolated generation. it is added as a plea to be considered something other than a total partypooper.
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