I feel like I’m breaking sacred trust by republishing this online without asking… but I cannot help myself! May I be stoned for it! But this poem is everything to me at the moment and I sometimes wonder if I’m actually just an internet meme so in case that is what I am, here it is… I love you Dodie Bellamy! This may be the most perfect poem ever, unless I accidentally added in a typo-or-two… You can get a copy from Les Figues Press and really, it’s what everyone should be reading this Fall! I’m headed upstate for a last bout of summer, gonna jump into a lake and some shit!! Byeeee!!
by Dodie Bellamy
Go fuck yourself. Now answer me—where is your body as your mind is jerked around on dried goose turd? I still love you—yes, you in that bed surrounded by books. It’s fitting that you so quickly come when I fuck you silly in a bed full of books. You’re so tough, the way you smack me down with your rebuff. I love it. I love it when you suck me, I love all the bloody things you’ve done. Oh wife, oh wife, you’re blowing my drowsiness all to hell. There never will be another woman in my thoughts, not when you send me your panties everyday, saying they’re for me, not for other men. You shoot shivers up my spine and into my nose. I will wear your panties, will wear whatever dresses your cunt. If flies were the sign of love, I’d adorn my prick with maggots the size of seals. My cock, my darling, loving your mercy, comes like King Kong up your cunt. We fuck forever in the spring, which makes my own worn self to sing. If I touch you ‘til the skin on your neck gets emergency shivers, morning or evening or afternoon, oh my lovely, I fuck you like I’m wringing all the oceans. Most lovely lady, whether you’re dressed or undressed is a sexual experience—a collaboration whether we’re going at it in bed or sitting only. Oh loveliest you are here and I fuck you silly between your lips, and, yes, you fuck me back, yes, my lady, whether you are just or unjust, you are fucking sexy, such a romantic. You can eat me, my lady, you can do whatever—I love seeing you hanging there with my balls. You are the best of ladies—in rain, in shine, in any weather. When my cock slides into you, we rhyme, like in those stories where the hero is beyond help. I’m here with you now, it’s magic, we’re fucking like Hercules or Aeneas going into death. I blur into you I’m moving so fast. We don’t need Virgil’s plan, not with you singing those torch songs of hoc opus, hic labor. This is the now, this kind of love just is—Virgil has been dead for two thousand understandings. I love your industrious wisdom, how you live in a way that hasn’t yet ripped your lips off. Let the heroes stay dead so I can propose to you with my dirty mind. You have me. You hold my weight. You must understand—there are chunks of cement everywhere. If you know what, say it. Don’t pretend. Like electric shock therapy, you know me in a prayer. Before you I’m helpless, helpless in an unreal situation. No woman ever was wiser than you, so my cock hangs above your face and what you take in your hand grows.
A Guerilla Reading by Rick Moody and CA Conrad at MoMA
wednesday, march 20th
6th floor (several galleries in)
at the BALLA paintings
From CA Conrad’s website:
(SPECIAL ALERT SPECIAL ALERT, THE REINCARNATED SOUL OF GIACOMO BALLA HAS BEEN LOCATED, CURRENTLY LIVING IN NYC, AND SHE IS A WOMAN AND SHE IS A GENIUS, AND SHE IS WISER THAN HER FORMER SELF (when she was a man named Giacomo Balla) AND SHE WILL BE JOINING US FOR THE MAGIC THE MAGIC THE MAGIC THE MAGICAL AFTERNOON)
“We are no more or less beautiful or fit than anyone else, but neither are we average looking. Actors, dancers, and models are better looking, sportsmen and martial artists are in much better shape, and porn stars are definitely sexier. In fact, our bodies and faces tend to be awkward looking; but we have an intense look, a deranged essence of presence, an ethical quality to our features and hands. And this makes us both trustworthy to outlaws and rebels, and highly suspicious to authority. When people look into our eyes, they can tell right away— we mean it. This, I may say, amounts to a different kind of beauty.”
for the rest go here.
Saw Whitney Vangrin perform at 1:1 gallery’s Valentines Day Feast. The performance was called Blood and it was part of a trilogy of sorts put together by Whitney. I missed the first two nights, but was a little surprised at how surprised everyone got when she stuck a needle in her arm. After all, we were in the Lower East Side, home to many a junky, if not the capitol of junk 20+ years ago. Where’s your sense imagination, adventure, or of history!?!
Or maybe it’s just me and I just don’t see the point in sterility. Actually I’m vehemently opposed. But maybe I’m missing something?! Are there subtleties in cleanliness, rigid structure and white…. she did make the cutest faces as she shoved the needle into her arm & I thought the necklace she made at the end would be fun merchandise, like I might steal that idea.
Once home, I was telling my housemate Tony Torn (actor, performer// was in Reza Abdoh’s theater company) about the show and Tony got all excited by “blood” and a performance and started telling me stories about his favorite moments seeing Ron Athey perform, it was something like a room full of people trying to come to terms with the positive blood flying over their heads…
And the rest is as they say, youtube hersturrraaaaay…
Went to the House of Ladosha opening at Culturefix tonight. Photos are of a video project lend me yoir hearts not yoir headlines by Chris Udemezue, which was definitely a highlight of the show for me. As well as the musical performance by Dosha Devastation + Cunty Crawford Ladosha… near the end of their set a few freaked out kids ran for the exit which allowed me to move deeper into the room.. I haven’t felt energy in a room like that in way too long of a time. There is some serious magick being summoned & I suggest everyone bask in it whenever opportunities arise. I think this show is up for a few weeks so be sure to check it out.
Another highlight of the night was this shirt! FUCK EM TILL HIS DICKS SWELLS
GRRRLS ON FILM! celebrates the work of women, trans people, and genderqueer filmmakers, writers, performers, and other creators, especially but not exclusively those whose work has been influential to or stems from riot grrrl and queercore movements. the series is held by page 22’s page poetry salon (curated by lee ann brown) in the former home of geraldine page at 435 W. 22nd St. in Manhattan. for ten consecutive weeks, GRRRLS ON FILM! meets Thursday nights, doors at 8pm. the night will begin with the salon and end with the screening. audience space is limited and dependent on rsvp. to do so, please send an email to firstname.lastname@example.org, and feel free to let us know now which nights you’d like to attend as we have rsvp lists going for the whole series. all events are free and open to those that rsvp first, but for those that are able to do so, a suggested donation of $10 would really help cover all the costs incurred in putting this event together. we will supply some food and/or drinks every week but suggest everyone BYOB and/or bring something to share!