Love says it is not afraid of being unreasonable
But love can’t even pronounce the word unreasonable
and just keeps shuffling its limbs.
Love can’t even speak right.
Mouth gets so mad that love is trying to do all of the work
the saying of things, that should be just for me
you get the agendas, all of the rush and flash
But brain gets mad that mouth is doing the thinking
and mouth quits the talking
and love gets footing suddenly and just fucking takes off running.
Love doesn’t know shit about reason
can’t even shape the syllables right.
Love has all this speed under its feet
that it is without agenda.
Here, when I say love I do not mean love
but the feeling that it might exist.
That there was the potential.
Salome dances her dance of the seven veils,
The men all eye her like wolves on the hunt, this beautiful girl
finally undressing for them. Finally they can see her
exactly as they want to.
The first veil drops.
In 2007, Kim Kardashian’s ex-boyfriend
released their sex tape against her will.
Kim Kardashian, rather than hide in shame
Used the publicity to promote her own career.
Salome moves like a dream half-remembered.
Salome dances like a siren song. All the men ache
to see the hot sugar of her hip bones.
The second veil drops.
In 2014, Kim Kardashian walks down the aisle
As the whole world watches. If only all of us
were so successful in our revenge.
If only all of us stood in our Louboutin heels
on the backs of the men who betray us,
surveying the world we created for ourselves.
The third veil drops.
Kim Kardashian knows exactly what you think of her.
She presses the cloth tighter against her skin
Her smile is a promise she never intends to keep
We can almost see all of her.
Salome shows us her body
but never her eyes.
The fourth veil is dropping.
The four things most recently tweeted at Kim Kardashian were
@KimKardashian Suck My Dick
@Kim Kardashian Can I Meet Kanye?
@KimKardashian Please Fuck Me
@KimKardashian I Love You. I Love You.
Women are told to keep their legs shut.
Women are told to keep their mouths shut.
Some women are kept silent for so long,
They become experts in the silent theft of power.
The fifth veil has dropped.
Kim Kardashian made $12 million dollars this year
Yesterday, uncountable men in their miserable jobs,
told their miserable friends that Kim was a “dumb whore”
Kim Kardashian will never learn their names.
The sixth veil has dropped.
The seventh veil has dropped.
And Salome sat beside King Herod. And he swore unto her
“Whatsoever thou shalt ask of me, I will give to thee
unto the half of my kingdom”
And she smiled, and said
“Bring me the head of John The Baptist.
Punish the man who hurt me”
"Well," I said, "If she brought me here to look at me, let her look at me," and as I said it, I knew it had already happened. How long had I been sitting on that bench? As I had been remembering her, she had been examining me. "Oh. She did already, didn’t she?"
"And did I pass?"
The face of the old woman on my right was unreadable in the gathering dusk. On my left the younger woman said, “You don’t pass or fail at being a person, dear.”
The Ocean at the End of the Lane, Neil Gaiman
Hiroshi Sugimoto - Theaters (1978-93)
“I’m a habitual self-interlocutor. Around the time I started photographing at the Natural History Museum, one evening I had a near-hallucinatory vision. The question-and-answer session that led to this vision went something like this:
Suppose you shoot a whole movie in a single frame?
And the answer: You get a shining screen.
Immediately I sprang to action, experimenting toward realizing this vision. Dressed up as a tourist, I walked into a cheap cinema in the East Village with a large-format camera. As soon as the movie started, I fixed the shutter at a wide-open aperture, and two hours later when the movie finished, I clicked the shutter closed.
That evening, I developed the film, and the vision exploded behind my eyes.”
Never get out of the car, Vanscapes by Alison Turner
4 June 8:58 PM 2014
Look at the sky, a patch pink like skin that’s healing, and the rest grey blue like it wants to hurt always. I’m telling you, 9 at night in the south saves.
Today the elderly man with cumulus cloud hair who always, without fail, orders an oatmeal raisin cookie and a small coffee, black, walked to the register holding the Time issue with Laverne Cox on the cover, and I got the next three orders all wrong.
When he speaks he has a 1940s southern drawl and when he takes out his three dollars and ninety eight cents his entire body shakes like it’s a vessel for time itself. I wanted to ask him about the magazine, but I didn’t want to repeat myself, and sometimes with him I have to.
When he walked out an hour later he was still holding the magazine and I was still trying to deal with the quiet magnitude of it.
Sometimes I want it all – my name on bestsellers out front, a grand house in a kind city, and someone who loves me, finally.
Other times, on nights like this one, I am okay with only a heavy bookshelf caving in on itself and the honey thick sentimentality moments like these carry.