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.
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
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.
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.
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
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
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
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
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
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
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.
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.
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.