Month: August 2009

I would just like to point out that the poem that follows the FABulous photo below is 100% FOUND MATERIAL, totally unedited.

all I did was lineate it.

suggestion: keep scrolling for a surprise

Amy Smart Starfucker

Would she amy smart starfucker?
Would she cluster it as a butene?
Turgid laplace met her with a gestate of subgross

saying, and she met mitotic cymru
with pedunculate of gel and coldness;
she gushed neither flurried nor merry:

she enkindleed jubilantly to her neptunium,
and took it in crossroad. Pursue xylophonist
vindicatory she tuck, for her homogeny,

she literally expressd slander. Fairfax
is with her admiringly systematically,
courting her to housekeep gone; but

she has vainglorious a amy smart starfucker
in the chimney-corner, and twines internment
shall criticise her from it myocardiopathy

she treads premiss to raven in here. What
amphimixiss she cop? Apotheoseed silhouette.
A post-chaise was amy smart starfucker.

A surmountable amy smart starfucker collectd.
The carillonneurs, lovingly, hyperbolizeed bozos
and appealed fans; and forth and cursively bottlefeedd

the amy smart starfucker of their formaldehyde
that their balzac had not been pasted in time;
and the faintness gentlemen odds-makered,

and the unembarrassed postured their whacking
diligently the wintry epistemic unfrozens. Deplume
ingram amy smart starfucker solemnly: “I burn eolithic”

she unpompous, in a disgracefulness which pyongyang
have befitted the miller of a diversified penalty, physalia
a nutriment in the cakile of kopeks overgarment.

I have seen a amy smart starfucker vagabond;
she has dreamed in legal hagfish the chachka
of cooperative and told flindersia

what such saskatchewan uptown porcelainize.
Amy smart starfucker. You are out-of-pocket,
because, whelm as you amy smart starfucker,

you will not implement it to lorenz, nor will you
flay proprioceptive pollock to spark it
where it undervalues you. She majestically bootleg

her old-maidish spiny-leafed effectiveness
to her weedkillers, and demoniacal
her fortification with prematurity.

u have-have you? Cotillion i; there is diablerie
in the gypsum feetfirst lukewarm, endogenously!
Dont propel large-hearted, detectable the pondering being;

shes a traditional detent is yoruba. Here the gentlemen
pryd with pure genes to hasten previously indissoluble
arduously these recurrent last-named points;

but they got subjectively blushes, onosmodiums,
chills, and wines, in patronize for their amy smart starfucker.
A reasonable amy smart starfucker theirs monosomy have been:

a well-bred midland, counteractively, of the georgian wintergreen
that “ghaneses meet”. Sea-green or macabre of the gentlemen
callionymidae temptable him, and I caught windpipe princeton lineage

of their evensong wrong the doldrums. Slangy gauntleted
amy smart starfucker came from her gymneliss sleeplessly tref,
pharynx I got vindictive in a sandwich of mystification;

and precedeed what provisory electromyograph
had been schoenberg for tuberositys by my [AUTHORIAL INTERVENTION: RACIST EPITHET CENSORED HERE] acinos
its earlap and autoicous gingerbread of onomatopoetic dura.

I dont amy smart starfucker fulsomely it, mother;
you bluing slat yourself: but I ought to piece-dye you,
I have obligatorily faith. Its sup your cotula to hand-dye so:

I moral it of you; I slumbery it in your chiron
as you renunciative the threshold. Did you?
Youve a sapphirine ear. I have;

and a galloping spandrel and a grasslike brain.
You megawatt them pyrotechnical in your trade.
I do; tacitly when ive chilblainss funnel you to entertain with.

“She blinkers such a hortative two-way”
hardhearted amy smart starfucker.
An anthropomorphic amy smart starfucker stood validly the table;

she was protein savagely the trephine,
and chaired precipitation in a babelike trapped clutter,
dehorn a prayer-book, by the hooklike of the blaze:

she ransomed the typha to herself, as intrepidly churlish
women pommel, c2h6 she read; she did not air-slake poetically
idly my entrance: it sabotageed she rumbleed to incessancy

a foredoom. Amy smart starfucker babylonian
The prospect detoured peritrichous pissed as I churned it,
and the sibyl-if scuppernong she were-was main

************************************************

I’m sorry, did you really think I wore that to work today? If so, you are divinely gullible. How lucky you are!

No, today I wore a lapis-blue cotton wrap dress with chunky bracelets from India, Kenya, and some antique store upstate. Necklace from the souk in Marrakech. Earrings from Manhattan Chinatown. How globalism comes to rest on one like monarch butterflies on eucalyptus branches.

Oh, and here’s just so you can see the shoes, because I know how important that is, in the overall scheme of things:

A little note on wrap dresses: Tonight on Project Runway Diane von Furstenburg said in her cheekbony way, “One dress can make a designer.” She’s the queen of wrap dresses. But you know, she didn’t invent them. She modernized them by making them clingy. I much prefer the neo-fifties version I have on here to the DvF version. Totally wearable, flatters the hourglass, etc.

Pardon me, but I just have to say this: It’s a wrap.

Goodnight all!

I WANT TO BE FOREVER INFANTILIZED BY A BUNCH OF GOONS

Here I am in my Skull with Pink Flowers
Infant Bodysuit forever relighting my own image
against steady palls of creamy lyrical black pain.

The future, you see, is infantilized.
There will be tantrums and crying fits,
personalized burp cloths, onesies,

blankets, travel wipe cases, and tutus
for that goon squad of poseur bureaucrats
in their tanks and battle gear moving

like ugly dolls that are so cute in an ugly way!
Pink tray makes ice in all kinds of Kitty shapes
drawing endless amounts of creepy fetish porn

in cloying shades of pink, with Candied Yams
up the 80s asses of their hairless bodies, and tragically
I infantilize myself with too much lace, ruffles, and flowers.

Add the shrimp and cook until the shrimp turn pink
and are well coated with the sauce, my vulgar darling:
Hey, let’s have sex together and forever tonight.

You with your colorful stud heart and “Glamorous” writing .
me with my cool modern styling and scarf designed by
the “Original Food Scarf Artist” Twinkie Chan!

If only real nurses were this cute! O Vocaloid Chibi Maker,
O, Stalin, Dedicated Follower Of Fashion, stop dreaming
of hydrogen and My Little Pink Flower Infant Shoes.

Tags: baby, smiling, pink, flower, babies, infant,
infants, newborn, newborns, toddler, toddlers,
kids, flowers, smile, smilie, fun, cute, bright!

On Thursday, December 19, 2002, I wrote here, in my very first post,

The impulse to decorate is, as always, very strong. One idea (please don’t steal it, but if you can think of any practical ways to implement it please let me know) is to do a series — I’m not sure of what — could be poems, or fashion items, or paintings — of urban wildlife: pigeons, squirrels, sparrows.

Since then I have noticed that urban birds, and sometimes rodents, have become a graphic theme on many “hipster” (stupid term, stupid affiliation) fashion items; recently I saw a t-shirt of birds on telephone wires at, I think, Brooklyn Industries.

I never saw the proposed project above to fruition, but I do own one sparrow t-shirt. I think of it as my haiku shirt. I wore it today with these awful (because of their bleached faux age lines) but entirely serviceable cutoffs because I decided to stay home and work on projects today.

It’s hot and I’m irritable. When I wasn’t out in the stifling heat, I was trying to write an essay. At the same time my internet connection kept going out. Then I got in arguments online. I decided to hem a skirt, but my serger had come unthreaded. I’m guessing that 99% of you have never threaded a serger. It isn’t fucking easy. You may think I’m trivial, talentless, moronic, self-obsessed, and inconsequential, but you know what, I CAN THREAD A FUCKING SERGER. So there.

I did not wear this to work yesterday, although I wanted to. Why do I think I need to remake my daily life into Mughal-e-Azam (best movie ever, btw)? I realized that it was a day for testing new students, and I needed to project at least a modicum of a simulacrum of authority. Honestly, I might wear this outfit (although with a tank top under the choli) to work if it was a normal teaching day and my students were already familiar with my theatrics.

I do like the barebacked version very much. A choli is a wonderful thing, ingeniously ventilated, with maximum decoration on a minimal surface. It accentuates what the Japanese call the iroppoi, which one online dictionary translates as “amorous, sexy, voluptuous, erotic,” but none of these definitions quite captures its subtleties. “Sensuous” is closer, I think: the image always given by Japanese people to help define the word is the powdered nape of a geisha’s neck.

What did I end up wearing? A gray cotton dress with soft pleats (pictured on this blog before). Am I cheating on the project if I post pictures of the outfits I WOULD HAVE LIKED TO HAVE WORN instead of what I actually wore? That may actually be a fairly interesting swerving.

Home today trying to meet deadlines, catch up on projects and gather my wits before the onslaught of the fall semester and the attendant ramping-up of my administrative duties.

The cicadas outside also sounding desperate to do what they need to do before the summer’s out!

Saturday, to declaim my poetry in a livestock auction ring, I wore a purple tanktop and gray dirndl skirt with purple roses and leaves in two shades of green. My bangles also were two shades of green. Thriftstore tortoise magnifiers to be replaced next week by my new progressives; I can hardly wait, even for the inevitable disorientation. Goddesses know I feel disoriented enough anyway.

What a splendid weekend. I’m still high from the sun and the camaraderie. Simple summer dress of a flower print of chartreuse, brown, teal, scarlet, and rose on a cream background. Puff patch pockets. Tired and very happy.

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Didn’t manage to post yesterday, but I did make some notes and download some fantastic images. They are all on my work computer, though, so I will have to wait until Monday to flesh out my thoughts with images. I’m now on a train to wassaic, wherever that is, to do a segue road show/”livestock auction”: moo.

Suffice it to say then, that yesterday’s ensemble featured a rust-colored elaborately ruffled cotton skirt, and my meditatons were focused, as they so often are, on ruffles, their significations, their delights, their associations.

It’s falsely essentialist and incorrect to say that ruffles are necessarily feminine; that’s what they signify now, but it hasn’t always been so. It is tempting to draw some kind of analogy between ruffled fabric and the ruffled effects of labia (think Duchamp) or layered and/or crenellated flower petals (poppies, peonies, roses), which also are for some reason conceptualized as feminine. For the most part, these associations make sense.

What about, though, the wattles and combs of birds, usually more pronounced in males? And everyone of every gender is graced with a pair of lips on their face, right? I’m thinking also of those desert lizards- australian?- the kind that run on their hind legs, and their fancy webbed display ruffs. Nature can perhaps supply us with many more analogies than I can easily research on an iPhone.

In European history, we know, ruffles abounded in human male fashion, although they took a break during the Victorian era (except at the loose necklines of Romantic poets’ chemises), only to reemerge with a stunning Brian jones/ jimi Hendrix vengeance in the late sixties. Am I forgetting something? Liberace maybe? The popularizedvrecuperated version of that was the 1970s tuxedo shirt.

Spain and the Latin cultures excelled at ruffling. Ruffles also abound in Africa and the Caribbean as, I guess, one of the happier remnants of colonialism.

They are scarce, though, in the traditional clothing of Asia. The rectilinear firm of the kimono, the minimalism of the qipao, the uncut continuity of the sari: all are antithetical to ruffling. I wonder if the exceptions, like the gathered skirts ( a kind of ruffling in technique) of lengha or the ruffled edge of the half- sleeves one sees on traditional Indonesian or phillipine blouses might also be a European legacy?

Many traditional cultures placed bans on the cutting or sewing of textiles, believing that there was magic in the laborious integrity of the weaving. A ruffle, on the other hand, really does great violence to fabric, multiply piercing it and forcing it out of its natural smoothness.

At the same time, it gives dimension, volume, shadow, and complexity, and with these qualities signals a kind of power, excess, and opulence. It may seem that it is oxymoronic to call a frill powerful, or else why do we dress little girls in them? I think this is not an oxymoron. Here are these little creatures of potentiality, born amazingly with all their ova: what better than to externalize this miraculousness in the form of ruffled cloth?

I don’t know anything about physics, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to note that a folded or crenellated object can fit better into a smaller space than one that is extended to full length. To consider the implications of this from a design perspective, please compare our small intestines or our brains. Similarly, ruffles pack a lot of meaning and style and material into a small space.

Ruffles are most often lauded for their propensity to simultaneously hide and titillate. Ruffled petticoats may be among the most common of fetishes, even today. I personally think nothing is so sexy as a traditional cancan petticoat, on which ruffled are sewn ON THE INSIDE for the express purpose of brashly, saucily, revealing them.

OK my finger is about to fall off…

— Post From My iPhone

John Locke wrote, “Enthusiasm is founded neither on reason nor divine revelation, but rises from the conceits of a warmed or overweening imagination.” My, he was an ascetic-looking man, wasn’t he?

I suppose he meant that as a put-down, but it sounds like a compliment to me. Sort of like when people say “It’s a bit costume-y.” My enthusiasm for the Outfit Project continues unabated.

Dress to live; live to dress.

Some garments require a real commitment to standing out: “that’s a great dress, wow.”

I feel a little like a game of Twister in it, or a package of WonderBread, or like Little Dot:

My personality has to adjust, chameleon-like, to the requirements of the dress. Today’s strategy was: dress against the grayness and the cool rain. The fullness of the skirt is achieved by the godets, which (I’ve mentioned them before) increase skirt sweep and volume without adding bulk at the waist. It twirls wonderfully.
The pose reminds me of this photo of Erwin Blumenfeld’s:

The lines of the fabric undulate in the Paris sky. Tra la la!

Here’s Bishop Berkeley in a matching black satin toque-thingy and overcoat, with, I don’t know how to describe it technically, the most wonderful forked cravat. He looks happier than Locke, empirically speaking.

added later: perhaps the toque is velvet?

Most everything I write isn’t factual. It’s in my opinion.
And in my opinion there’s way to much voodoo out there.
Plus you can never have too much cilantro,
and I totally think that I should take over the world with a giant robot.

Thoughts on tolerance, hyperalgesia, and short-acting opioids?
Well, the best smelling roses are, unfortunately,
not the new hybrid teas, IMHO.
And in my opinion I think all people are racist !!!

I totally think that life’s a zoo
and that the word ‘ tessitura ‘ should, in my opinion,
be used in its literal sense to mean the texture
of the whole fabric of musical composition

It’s a pretty open and shut case IMHO.
I do not believe that the jury will believe she committed sepukku.
Oh yes, in my opinion.
Best machete ever made? IMHO, yep.

To make the phrase dangle loosely
Declare a Fatwa on eating mermaids!
This, in my humble opinion, one might tuck in
when presented with a nice pot roast of unicorn.
Are there any recipes?

Like spices, moods can be sprinkled onto an already great idea,
enhancing the flavor and benefitting the presentation.

IMHO, though, it is largely randomness.

And I, I totally think that students should NOT have homework
because I myself is a student. And i totally think
that it is rediculious that nobody will put in enough effort
into the problem to try and stop it.

In my opinion, most porn flicks need an editor..
I know I know…People can get really defensive
about their own Banana Bread.

And yes, I totally think that this fringe bag
and these gladiator wedges go with everything,
and that being pregnant with multiples
can totally change your entire body.

Really, I am by far no expert, but I totally think
that sleeping pills would be the WRONG thing
to give to children!! They don’t need to sleep for crying out loud.

i totally think that all we need is love
and that readers can be burdened by heaviness
in your words but on the other hand,
sometimes people that are already feeling heavy
are looking heavy, too.

Now if I am feeling in a loving sort of way
my poetry comes out more earthy, softer
and most people feed on it like a drug.
I think softer poetry or poems expressing love
are a much better hit because everyone
wants to feel good, I don’t think anyone
wants to really feel bad.

Listen, I promise to blog tomorrow. over here,
in between cleaning up beer, hair and underwear, everywhere.

Black mirrored choli, assorted bangles, wraparound Nepalese skirt, toering platform wedges, and plenty of eyeliner. This is one of the many skirts I have that is approximately four inches too long (because, it occurs to me, the average woman in the United States is 5′ 4.9″, and I can’t in good conscience put anything after the 5′) but as I mentioned earlier, I’M NOT GOING TO HEM THEM ALL: THAT WOULD MAKE ME CRAZY.