Amazing Interview for No Bra’s latest album!!

“The song was originally inspired by a former roommate years ago, but I think this has become more of a general feature of our times. Looking at people in terms of their use value as opposed to give and take relationships that help people evolve over time or whatever. Perhaps this is considered being powerful, manly, womanly, whatever, just like with social media and pop culture in general I think we live in quite a boastful, show-offish kind of time. People don’t want to show vulnerability for fear of being left behind maybe.”

For the rest of the interview go here

Fall is Coming: Current Favorite Poems

On the day of your leave-taking

by Maggie Nelson

On the day of your leave-taking

I wouldn’t want to see you anyway

I want to be alone with my vagrant ugliness

Want the bridge suddenly to double its span

so the only parameter becomes the vanishing

of my already thin-soled shoes

On a Friday night, one girl hangs from a trapeze by her shins

You think it looks scary but having lived among them

I know there’s always a safety (in this case, the toes)

Another girl enjoys bars with themes

Another is painting bunnies in Kentucky

I am taking my welts to the tub

hoping the porcelain is free of blood and hair

The blood and hair I left there, streaking

the pale pink soap melting into the brick wall

which grows black and green with companions

People continue to grind the veiny fat into the asphalt

with their feet, it’s only nine degrees, my river rocks

now bearded with ice. So the fat freezes and a spoon

wedged into the cement glistens, I keep wanting

to pick up every hard and bright object I find

and put it in a Mason jar, then add blue pigment

and shake. Gnarled hand of green glass, leftover

confetti, petrified pieces of pizza that appear

near the trio of homeless men who watch a shaky TV

hooked into a generator in a parking lot, it’s where

I get my news these days and why not, they always

know the score, the five-day weather report. I can see you

boarding your jet plane, see you with your hat on crooked

as if you recently tumbled onto the planet out of the carapace

of a rumpled goddess. I hear the gulf is a little bellicose

but beyond that, livable, despite the depressing stats

from that part of the world, and you know I’ll be here, perched

into blotchy corners, not knowing what life

could possibly mean without its soundtrack

so I can hum along to its pain, as if its humdrum

or shared nature could possibly dim its particular

luster. But it’s the cold that makes my mascara pool up

around my eyes and gives a shock to my quads

as they push forward, the only idiot crossing the bridge

at sunset, but you have to march across the span

while you can, before winter’s sweet cocoon

gets punctured and happiness presents itself

as an option, and I have to accept the possibility

of another body in my bed. I keep dreaming it’s

someone else that’s paralyzed, a childhood friend

I’ve fallen out of touch with, I keep dreaming

we’re fucking but somehow never alone, sometimes

I think it would be so hot to fuck you with another

and other times I know I’m just making the best

of a bad situation. Have I mentioned I’m watching

a man softly cry as he searches for a lost pill

under the pillows of a sage-colored couch, he has

a cough that comes from the Underworld, one lens

of his glasses dramatically cracked. I want

to hold him, the way I want to hold anyone

who seems contagious. Maybe we could

keep each other warm. And you emptied yourself

twice into my throat and I remain utterly starved

for more, the smell of one sex intimating the smell of another

but who am I kidding, really, on this January day

that has dwindled into the single digits, in which

we have to pin the drapes shut with safety pins

and stuff towels into the honeycombed walls

I just want to be called out as the greedy whore that I am

summer reading mash up: thoreau cahun cooper cage

cahun

What! With all those wonderful beings around you… You’d have had time to think of me! And me so small… it’s a mistake, but do still make it… continue to make this sweet mistake with me.

Would you like to join a society called Capitalists Inc. (Just so no one would think we were Communists.)? Anyone joining automatically becomes president. To join you must show you’ve destroyed at least one hundred records or, in the case of tape, one sound mirror [tape recorder]. To imagine you own any piece of music is to miss the whole point: This is no point or the point is nothing; and even a long-playing record is a thing. A lady from Texas said: I live in Texas. We have no music in Texas. The reason they’ve no music in Texas is because they have recordings. Remove the records from Texas and someone will learn how to sing.

Alone – which you call: being free, you who forge the bars of your own prison.

Here we are now at the beginning of the
third unit of the fourth large part of this talk.
More and more I have the feeling that we are getting
nowhere. Slowly , as the talk goes on
, we are getting nowhere and that is a pleasure
. It is not irritating to be where one is . It is
only irritating to think one would like to be somewhere else.

**INSERT LONG PAUSE**
*GIVE YOURSELF A BREAK*

Here we are now at the beginning of the
ninth unit of the fourth large part of this talk.
More and more I have the feeling that we are getting
nowhere. Slowly , as the talk goes on
, we are getting nowhere and that is a pleaure
. It is not irritating to be where one is . It is
only irritating to think one would like to be somewhere else.

It’s over!!!!! I live on feebly, clinging to words, to fables!!!!!!!! Clinging to the dead!!, to great names!!!, to those disasters in which I claimed to see my vanity!!!, my ruin and my damned remains!!!, justified by the Conqueror’s rage!!! (Among so many confessions, what a ludicrous confession. I’m wrong to emphasise it. It would be best to let it all pass unnoticed.)

However, I feel fucking terrible….. Without doubt: my soul has become ingrown like a nail nobody has bothered to file regularly.

I am here , and there is nothing to say .
If among you are
those who wish to get somewhere , let them leave at
this moment .

Does the world have to be badly made for a being who is odd, but sexually sociable, to be forced to take refuge in crime as if it were a convent, not only to live in but even to create some new values there!

But what kind of crime? …. what does it matter! A dead end..

The confession of my shame:
Will I blame the circumstances, my contemporaries? These aren’t the circumstances of my life, these are its causes that led it astray. I was condemned before I was born. Executed in absentia.

The unnatural ones, the real ones:
No more impossible metaphysics – let them be consigned to the accessory shop: theatrical costumes but their impossible physiques remain with us, alas! – or thank god – the really tragic ones, with no theatrical strings.

My face fucking hurts!

I have nothing to say
and I am saying it and that is
poetry as I need it .

———————————————
beware of
that which is breathtakingly beautiful, for at any moment
the telephone may ring or the airplane
may come down in a vacant lot . A piece of string
or a sunset , possessing neither ,
each acts and the continuity happens

The death of Narcissus has always seemed totally incomprehensible to me. Only one explanation seems plausible: Narcissus did not love himself. He allowed himself to be deceived by an image. He didnt know how to go beyond appearances. Had he fallen in love with the face of a nymph rather than his own, his mortal impotence would have remained the same. But had he known how to love himself beyond the mirage his would have been a happy fate, the epitome of living paradise, the myth of the privileged man, worthy of envy down the centuries. That beautiful child was able to extract the infinite from his reflections, while we remain vibrations away, always the same, incapable of going any further. Oh Narcisus, you could love yourself in everything…

Eternity without you, without me, we have no need for it. We have this moment which forces itself upon us, out of love for whoever life has thrown at us, we alter ourselves to such an extent that if the ideal one ever came along we’d be incompatible without mercy, which limits us and is incarnate in an omnipotent void this categoric imperative.

“yet it is not our birth day but our death day that really defines who we were”
-blissfull2012

Pittsburg: Another Sensibility

As I’ve mentioned, I spent the past couple days in Pittsburg, gave a reading at the very lovely The Big Idea Bookstore, gave a lecture at the University of Pittsburg and then lost my shit at Blue Moon bar, those bitches werk it out.

AA

1.
Bill Scott, professor at The University of Pittsburg brought me out to guest lecture on the topic of the Occupy Wall Street Poetry Anthology and my involvement with the Peoples Free Library. We discussed free speech, poetry, activism and wandered amongst the various intersections. I even managed to bring porn into the conversation thanks to the hard work of” Occupy My Throat.” Link here:

https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B24RGAm86s1VWFg5S2o0anNfd2c/edit?usp=sharing

I meant to talk more about why I thought that porn was interesting from my personal angle as a poet… while living in Zuccotti Park I had written a poem called “Gangbang for Democracy“. I read it while living there but didn’t know about the video until after the park was closed down and I met David Sokolowski (one of its stars). I didn’t spend much, if any, time online while I lived in Zuccotti Park because wikipedia, for a moment, went into real time. Anyway, I thought it was a really beautiful gesture what they had done. I myself consensually fooled around a bit in Zuccotti Park and it was an extremely magical atmosphere bursting with human creativity. But I’m pretty sure it’s the most honest depiction of the hierarchy of the movement, a few walked away with royalties to a film and the rest got thrown some pocket cash.

The lecture went really well, surprisingly so, by the time I checked to see how long I had been talking already an hour had passed. And the students questions really broadened my understanding of what we had done. I walked away with a pretty positive outlook on what our time in Zuccotti Park had done, Occupy acted as the social justice cheerleader for a generation to get off of its ass for a moment and think about what is going on around the world. As long as were alive we’re part of what happens on this earth, and we have to admit to ourselves that our actions affect our surroundings and we must strive for harmonies, we must dream of new realities as we heal ourselves and everything we touch. It’s going to be very hard because we’re all totally insane but I think we can do it. Life in New York is rough and often much more mundane than the fantasies we believe we deserve, but the magic is stronger. The nights and lights never end here so everyone can have their 15 minutes to stretch into the infinite because there are so many people and everyone has an extremely busy schedule because we’re wizards. True change will only come through direct actions that can only happen by very focused and secretive groups which are committed to disrupting the status quo exclusively by peaceful means; like planting an edible plant or native species in a roadside garden full of invasive species and don’t forget to talk to the worms while you’re there with your secret group so we can figure out a way to solve our biggest problem… the 99%

*insert sarcastic just-after-sex grin* Continue reading