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Paralytic atrophy made karmic by the blood

Encephalitic kisses enraged by rabid spit

With the neurological temperance of the devil

I am built to stumble through my entire syntax

Holding snakes up to heaven in the baptist flood

If they sink their fangs, I am proven, I am real

What's love to me, in the wake of carcinogenic smoke?

I could keep chasing your scent, but I'm chemically derailed

Replace that space in my heart, that I left for you

With vector-borne illness and a drunkard's hue

You were a refractory disease made worse

By the same disseminated love you placed on my lips

Necrosis by proxy, virulence measured in eye-shadow smudges

Acute outbursts of colors, references to red

Pandemic coughs of ethyl alcohol, tonic, and war

A systemic infection buried amongst the benzocaine

You are the exotoxin that sang so beautifully

That I could not resist the siren, or the songs she will sing

My mouth is a dying throne, my teeth are usurped kings

I want to bow to you in the hospital ward

Fever dreams of your back, your freckles, your wings

Wolf spider, spin your web around my heart

Hold me until the venom sets in, never let us part


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Um. I guess this speaks for itself, and JohnnyClyde's awesome story outline. 

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Replacement memories to sew the tapestry together

And bitters in the tonic to make them blend like ink

The ten-gallon drum of anger I've been spiking with light

Is much too dark to purify, it's too deep to even drink

Backtracking across plains to find where the tracks break

Adding colors to what I remember until I vomit in the sink

What a grand finale I've devised inside my guts

It's all the problems with halcyon, my regrets when I blink

Faster and faster spins the carousel, the horses

Forever posed to run from nothing but each other

Polar glaciers of glass in the arches of my feet

So my path can be remembered by my absent lover

Drawing the oiled comb through unwashed hair

With just enough of my scorched skin to cover

All the cracks in the plaster I call my body

Every author is a liar, every artist is a thief

We believe we are rediscovering these frontiers

When we're just bombing atolls, destroying reef 

I regret everything I've ever written

That had to do with love or loss or misery

I regret meeting every apostle, saint, and martyr

Because hymnals are at the heart of all your injury

The problems with halcyon, the colors I keep creating

Is the exorcism that follows when I stop breathing

For a single moment, to remember all your flaws

Are more beautiful than anything worth believing

Could come and collect me and hide me away

But ugly men fear the sun, and I fear what you could say

The problem with halcyon, and color, is there's nothing left say


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Standing on a chair.

How the world would snap our spines if only we'd stop pushing back. In varying degress of entropy, I lay naked on hardwood planks. The helix of my muscles contracting until the bones turn to dust beneath. I'm just waiting for your garotte to take me home. A single note missing from the piano so that the melody is never complete. You're free to have men much better than me. But don't forget me, should I leave. Build a shrine, burn a candle, anything to remember, anything to keep. Put my voice to tape without my knowing, and play my words back when you're alone. To remind yourself there's a man out there, alive, who'd made the world your throne.

Drip the wax over my skeleton, and pose me like a shadow. Keep me alive forever, smiling at the gallows. How many wax sculptures are there, ones you've hidden away? Shut up in a dark room never to see the light of day. We're brothers in our own way, but wolves in theirs too. Toothless and old, dreaming of Mikado yellow, choking on Cerulean blue. I've worn the grit off my paws, the enamel from my nails, just trying to claw my way up to you. Maybe I just kept digging, to prove it an adequate grave. Maybe I mistook your kiss for errant magnetic waves. 

Keep your chin up, dead man, you've only come so far. To breathe and be a statue that was soft enough to scar. Only human, only human, is what they keep saying. You've made me a sullen sculpture with his wax heart decaying. Portable radios will get you to the coast. Songs of sadder souls will cause your bloom and boast. And you'll start anew on the other side of the sea, with candles and torches and men that are not me. 

The chair falls down. 

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Rotating plates and blackbody rays

Every breath I take is an accident these days

While I ingest radiation from the sun

That blackens my lungs, it deadens and numbs

Are you the machine they built to save me

That was calibrated to lock its knees? 

Are you the wattage in the light bulb

That burns out so that I may see?

I thought I'd need you to find my footing

Or to bandage my wounds when I am lost

But you lose yourself much faster

Cuts and bruises welling up

Turning dials on the switchboard to heaven

Placing calls to apartments in hell

Foxtrotting with demons and serpents

Drinking venom from natural wells

Have I put too much of myself forward

To ever rebuild and be made whole?

Or is this doom in nine circles

Pivoting your shoes and their burnt soles?

Turn the dials all the way up

Burn me alive in brilliant light

But don't expect me to waver

I'll never be too weak to fight

Pitch black gums, switchblade tongues

You are my ultraviolet night.


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I've been dreaming lately

That I'm stuck inside a glass box

Under the constellations of Grand Central 

With some kind of illness on my tongue

And the people passing by are laughing

As my fingernails tear loose from their beds

And my teeth come tumbling out, like bricks from my head

The world is watching me come to pieces 

And all they want to do is laugh, laugh, laugh

"There's the dead boy now! Watch closely, my son!"

But I'm waking up before the crowd can get my name

I never want to sleep, because I miss so much of you

Your absence, my disease, is killing off the view

Of a city that held so much of my potential

Before squandering it off like a peddler 

Numbering my numerous deaths as sequential

I'm done wishing on things that only fucking run

Numbers, stars, and love, goodnight all, I'm done

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I'm being picked up

By the reverse side

Of drunken gravity

And smashed back down

When her arms give out

Losing teeth on the concrete

Like piano keys spilling out

Of an old black bag

Where we used to carry our hearts

I always keep my shoes on

Just in case

We have to run from this

And head straight for the grave

Made a coffin for a bed

Buried myself inside my head

And if you hear the bell

Don't try to dig me up

This is a lesson learned by lovers

From the sugar spit spat by time

That we're nothing but mangled bodies

Who continually fail to align

But we try to keep straight

With whiskey and waxflower breath

But we're walking in circles

Because we favor one foot

Like property lines we've crossed

Rivers we can't afford to drink

We're wilting like gardens

We're ships that god can't even sink

Hallelujah, I'm born again

In the black heart of the tulips

I never bought you in the end

Bring me to the end 

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We're in a perpetual confusion of tongues

Tripping over phrases until we're raw in the lungs

Can you imagine how many times I'd be hanged

If you could understand the words I've been saying?

We've condemned honesty to make room for lidocaine

Our hearts have been removed to make clouds for more rain


I'm scattered abroad upon the face of all the earth

With a half-life of never since I survived birth

No gutters to follow away from all the lights

Where I can tap morse code into the mains and the pipes

I'm saying, "We've been lied to, I love you. I need you now."

But I don't scream for long enough for the code to be loud


Let's build a tower and call it the end

Separate at the bridge where the train tracks bend

You're living in the reflections of the glass

I'm dreaming aloud while lying on my back

I've been looking for a reason to smash every mirror

A Cassandra complex for a girl who's never near


You can't change the future, you've already trapped the past

If we're taking turns speaking in tongues, let me go last

You'll never hear a damn word I say, you'll never listen

Because you're surrounded by your demons

And I'm burning alive, just beyond your vision


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Cosmic radiation through dime-store drinking straws

Blisters on my heels that refuse to heal

A black hole aftermath when the room depressurized

All our novels falling from poorly supported shelves

Onto floors I've claimed as my own

There is no comfort for a perpetually broken boy

Like me


My broken back, your useless literature

Your discarded gifts, my dead flowers

My sandstone knuckles, your lilac candles

We're a god damn mess, and we're only getting worse


I used to live where the coyotes could get to me

And deer stopped to bow at the sight of my hands

Pulled by my hair through the muck and the mud

Until I ran towards the rising sun, towards you

I've fashioned a crown from the stems of white roses

And the pedals are all turned to rot 

What kind of king I am, sleeping on the floor

When you left the door open, it scared me like war


A mouth in the wall that's lost all but one tooth

You could turn the deadbolt, but you never do

And I constantly wonder, how much electricity I must build up

To lay down with you once, and levitate you out of your head

How much electrostatic glow I'd have to project

To keep you safe in bed



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There is no way to win through

The glass into the light beyond

Where the electricity runs with the hum of a song

That no one has sang since before we were born

While moths crawl the length of my arms

And leave prints of their wings in dust

Up and down the place on my neck

That I never want you to touch again

I wish there'd been some kind of chemical on your lips

That could have scarred me, branded my collarbones

A scarlet letter to wear for my shame

Not shame of you, but shame of me

For letting how my heart felt dictate what I believed

A tyrant inside a ribcage, just waiting to ravage the body outside

And I know that I'd destroy you if given half the chance

My hands were not meant to save anything

Not you, not anyone else

They're better off at my sides, being eaten alive by moths

An exhibit of failed intent for the crowd to laugh at

They'd call me a monster, a beast with one back

A spine that doesn't bend enough to retract

So it's become a cross with no god to make it a metaphor

I'm a shitty church that no one prays in anymore

If you fell now, you'd fall for a leper

And when you dragged me anywhere, I'd keep dropping pieces

Until there was nothing left but a trail of me 

For you to follow all the way back home

So what am I meant to love if not you?

An attic with no roof, a gathering of moths around my little light?

They've no feelings for me to hurt, hearts too simple for me to break

Just let me lead myself down into the cellar with no floor

And fall into the abyss, where Virgil waits whistling 

Even if sometimes you lay awake at night

And think that maybe all this drivel is just what you needed

To keep the wolves from the door

But it's not, it's just the blood soaking the lawn

Let the moths come, let them gnaw at my nail beds

If it meant I couldn't ruin your life any more

Than the ones who came before

And left the window open 

When they vanished

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As always, download for Hi-Res.

Bored at work and have always wondered what a visual representation of this would look like, so...

A not so informative, and oddly confusing infographic of the 2014 Resident Curators.

Please feel free to message me if I messed something up.



P.S. If this seems rough, it's because I never intended to release it, actually. But it turned out okay enough that I said "Ah. Fuck it."

P.P.S I was informed that I accidentally spelled MarieIv's name with an L instead of an I. That's my bad. 

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Film: Red Wires

Released: December, 1988

The sophomore effort of Canadian-born director Tomas Ellis-Warsburg, Red Wires was released in select theaters throughout Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and British Columbia. The screenplay, written by Kentucky playwright Thistle Wickens, was originally intended for off-broadway theatrical release, but was never recognized as a particularly "stage-worthy" piece. Red Wires is the tale of Tommy, a young boy, and his twin sister Hilda, who search the five boroughs of New York looking for their father, who mysteriously disappears after developing a cure for Bowen's Disease (A rare skin disorder). The journey is only decided upon after Tommy and Hilda discover a secret room in their father's apartment which houses evidence of a conspiracy to thwart his medical efforts.

Although claimed by some critics to be "Lackluster" and "An egotistical, pedantic romp through New York City", the film generally received positive reviews. The most confusing, and somewhat genius, aspect of this film is that it was written by an American, filmed in New York City, but only released to Canadian audiences in select theaters across Canada. The true glory of Red Wires is seen in the outstanding performance by Japanese actress Aiko Ishiguro (Ellis-Warsburg's adopted sister) who plays the ironically named "Aiko", a geisha with (the aforementioned) Bowen's Disease. 

Dense, sometimes confusing, and intentionally dry, Red Wires wins through with its unflinching attention to realism, its showcase of breakout performances, and its several cleverly encoded references to Homer's The Odyssey. Red Wires is a stand-up film that is normally forgotten when discussing Canadian cinema, but it will never truly disappear from the selection of Ellis-Warsburg's greatest works. 

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If I stopped to turn my head, I'd see a road full of crooked crosses.

Knocked down by the wind, the weather.

And I wonder if this is what everyone has been seeing.

This amalgamation of faith lost by something not of man.

We are set to conquer the world seven times over.

And yet we're afraid to tell one another how heavy are our hearts.

I could take all of my fury and bring this city to the ground.

But I couldn't take your hand for more than a moment without shaking.

And I could die knowing that you were here and alive, and die happy.

Our parents are meant to leave us at some point.

We're born to be abandoned, but not before we learn to love.

So we can repeat the cycle, and tell our children how it was. 

Before storms gathered up and ripped at our skin.

Before someone left you alone with your bed and your limbs.

It's how I fear I'll become, if you ever let me try.

I fear that I'm imagining that I'd give you the entirety of the sky.

Maybe I'm weaker than I once thought possible.

And you'd be left once again to fend for yourself.

In the space where ghosts roam restless and alone.

The silhouettes of every man who'd loved you and gone home.

Without the slightest thought that it would break you.

Turn your heart to stained glass.

Pieces that will no longer fit together, but refuse to mend and pass.

I am the giant that wanders in the ocean.

I am the ladders down to hell.

Climb the knives up my spine, meet the bats and the ring the bell.

There's only the words that I've written here to guide me.

There's only the crowd of moments I'll hold in my heart.

You're in them all, you're the centerpiece, you're my art.

And I'll kill anyone who ever hurts you.

Destroy every cross that forces you to carry it.

I'll make a bonfire of them all.

And we'll dance like savages until the cold and the fall.

When we'll go inside and rest and give in.

And those silhouettes, those ghosts, will be gone.

We'll have cast them away, we'll dream before dawn. 

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