grrr

These callipygian longings.
Not to have seen you naked =
the greatest injustice known
to man! But don’t assume
that I am writing about
you.

Stunned daffy energy
morphosing on the lipid
pleasure of revolution
in tartan tights. I love
it when men tell me what
to do I love the timid crust
of need on the surface
of false order. There.
You have your orders.
Go.

Life beribboning
itself with more
and more and more life:
then twisting into its
same old spiral.
In semicostume as always
prying the sticky lens
from the bioglobe.
Opinionated. Injured.
All the little…
comptrollers…

condiments

I can’t ketchup to you
to sweetly relish
your interiorities:
not even with all this
pelvic mayonnaise. The poems
are the crucial chutney
to the bland daily “special.”
Nothing else matters,
not the wasabi
of your personality,
the coarse mustard
of my mannered
suggestiveness,
or the gooey duck sauce
of these noxious phantasms.

Wallowing in Gaudy Baubles

Sol Lewitt wrote:

New materials are one of the great afflictions of contemporary art. Some artists confuse new materials with new ideas. There is nothing worse than seeing art that wallows in gaudy baubles. By and large most artists who are attracted to these materials are the ones who lack the stringency of mind that would enable them to use the materials well. It takes a good artist to use new materials and make them into a work of art. The danger is, I think, in making the physicality of the materials so important that it becomes the idea of the work (another kind of expressionism).

I find this quotation very entertaining. What exactly is this “danger” that he refers to?

Today’s ensemble: zoo day

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IMG_7583, originally uploaded by Ululate.

What else to wear to the zoo but leopard print? Faux, of course. OF COURSE.

She seems a little nonplussed, but isn’t she majestic? Her fur is REAL.

lately I’m a little like a car whose driver is slamming too hard on the accelerator and the brakes, accelerator and brakes… where’s the agency in that? by which I mean I’m not the driver.

don’t read this it’s boring

aaargh the dreams… was about to fly off to Japan with G. for some reason the airport was on the lower east side near delancey street… I stopped in a little store to buy some olive oil… why would I need to bring olive oil? and then remembered I hadn’t brought my cell phone or charger…so back to some apartment… not ours… but we’d been staying there… almost no furniture… an apparition slipped in… female, I think… maybe a homeless person using the bathroom… although too much like an apparition to actually use a bathroom… and then she slipped out again… and then I realized… Gary was nowhere to be seen… the flight was leaving in a half an hour… I still didn’t have my cellphone… I thought OK I’ll rent one… but where was Gary?… I noticed the olive oil was dark, like unprocessed argan oil…

Lynn you can have this boring stress dream if you want although I can’t imagine why anyone would want to read it: it doesn’t even have a denoument…