Wednesday, 30 December 2009
"If you danced from midnight to six A.M.
who would understand?
The runaway boy who chucks it all to live onthe Boston Commonon speed and saltines, pissing in the duck pond,rapping with the street priest,trading talk like blows, another missing person,would understand....Once this king had twelve daughters, each morebeautiful than the other.They slept together, bed by bed in a kind of girls'dormitory.At night the king locked and bolted the door .How could they possibly escape?Yet each morning their shoes were danced to pieces.Each was as worn as an old jockstrap.The king sent out a proclamation that anyonewho could discover where the princesses did their dancingcould take his pick of the litter.However there was a catch. If he failed,he would pay with his life.Well, so it goes....Next came the ball where the shoes did duty.The princesses danced like taxi girls at Roselandas if those tickets would run right out.They were painted in kisses with theirsecret hair and though the soldier drank from their cupsthey drank down their youth with nary a thought."Anne Sexton
Tuesday, 1 December 2009
Wednesday, 11 November 2009
Last night I dreamt I was in a world of parrallels.
Two beds are next to each other in one room except one is in england and the other in france, miles and miles separate them and yet the people on it can see and hear each other as if they were inches apart, in one single room.
They can actually jump and swap beds, crossing miles.....in seconds. As if it were nothing.
Then you are surrounded by demons wanting to play russian roulette. thy wear black suits with red ties and they laugh and they laugh.
You are a demon yourself but you have to protect the other person, the one from the other bed, you close the doors and use the lock hoping it will keep the ghosts at bay, lurking in the shadows. so you smoke a cigarette, sitting on a high wooden chair. In fact it all happens in one room. At the end you're stuck on your side and you can't jump on the other bed anymore, you can't hear the other person. the borders have closed.
Then someone, my brother maybe, asks me to point my foot, like a dancer. and bends it.
Wednesday, 4 November 2009
Tuesday, 3 November 2009
Providence rhode Island suspended in time with all it's inhabitants hidden
and it's churches closed on mondays
A city of absentees and crazies where cars spit out silence
I long for a home that doesn't exist
A memory transfigured and magnified
I long for people traced along the lines of others, people in technicolor,
amplified by memory and wishful thinking
Aren't they always?
Tall geometric shapes in providence
Playthings for giants
Lifeless and silent.