often-and-vigorously - Tumblr blog

[often-and-vigorously]

The City

French Dispatch, late call, 28 Liberty Plaza at 10pm, Monday 10/26, found facing Brown Brothers Harriman, their high rise 30 stories and a Crunch gym and a coffee stop On the ground floor, five stories above Unfinished, emptied, still A defense against a truck bomb. The movie. An impossible American's paean To French Film, the reaping Of the subsidies of Empire, Beautiful, laughable, disgusting In its expense, just like us Just like me. The artifact the emission, the philosopher 's kidney stone.

Rode a bike from Liberty to Walker The bar on the corner closed, but the barback Collecting dewy glasses, sends me to Nancy Whisky, the end of the block Down rows of postal trucks Into shuffleboard moans and the pure America of now, and all its Writing, writing, writing.

Walking back the rain Streetlight on the sidewalk, his eyes Focused down against the event of sudden shit The light always running away To the edge of the bluestone block The first cigarette of the year On his lips:

They stand against the window dressing The streets empty but for bicycles "these really do make you feel like shit, don't they" She says "yes, but you are beautiful" His butt lands perfect in the rain as he crosses to her The kiss the only sound among the din He pulls back, a camera to her face, And she lifts the lit fag to her mouth, his eyes Questioning, wry "Oh, but I'm not rich like you."

[often-and-vigorously]

Fuck yeah uutpoetry

The Tesseract

April 29

Oh happy and simple tesseract walking about with lambs going to the weddings of unchanging piles of roots wearing green bones.

You are the savage neck-stump of the Priestess of Thammuz. You are the courtier’s condemned daughter. Whereupon

most of heaven is a silk eye-gesture, a bony white booty, steam cooling on the bronze earth.

Bronze earth! just shaven, unfolding its new bats’ wing, and going in and out of the rain to the cries of Mongolian birds.

Everything about spring is amazing! Especially the vinegar blood in the mirror of opposite dreams and the hot perfume in the goblin’s pig ear.

seed text: Ted Hughes, Collected Poems art by cardboardcities

[often-and-vigorously]

The car is full of fog. You put the joint back in your mouth and breathe it in.This time I will let him touch me. And there is no guilt, no half-swallowed apology, no echoes of the others who came before him. You open your mouth and he is there, covering it with his, breathing more fog for you to swallow, and it is hard to see, but you know, you know. You can taste it on his tongue. You can see it in his eyes. The promise written in red.I won’t hurt you, I would sooner die, I would sooner die. The fog rises and rain is dripping down your backsides, skin sticking to the leather seats like melting popsicles in the sun. It’s still love even if it sounds dirty. Even if it is in the backseat of his car, it still tastes just as sweet. Here is your scripture, carved down his spine with your fingers:He is not everyone I’ve ever loved. Even though I am full of smoke and air, he does not hold me like a ghost

Like a Ghost | Caitlyn Siehl (via alonesomes)

[often-and-vigorously]

A Human Head

Every zero one In serum belief holds: One the warm curve held One the sword arm One the singers multiplying armies but Still single, one times one time one

We're blowing our sick Noses through our tissue of lies Folded over and over against and Still blood sticks

I am still, I am washing the echo of you Out of the bowl, off the bed I am walking into the dark coil Wrapping your world Learning your words

Blue-handed I am alchemist, I am fool, poling this skin boat Down the river of shit and forgetting, I heave, leave bread floats, mercury holed (Bring me my husband, bring me his corpse) I beat on fast, hoping to lap me Prove to the boat's cruel eyes The past, the circular path of water.

2013/11/03

[often-and-vigorously]

This guy.

Sometimes the only good thing about New England is its chilly nights and I’m going to ride the subway to your suburb to knock on your door and wait — companionship is preferred to most forms of heaven, which I’ve learned from driving nails into an empty sky. Still at your door, I’m giving...

[often-and-vigorously]

Practical Effects of Finiteness

(or Let The Encyclopedic Electric Eye Dry Your Tears)

From Cory Monteith to Drug overdose to Toxicity to Toxodon to Hippopotamus to the Bouri Formation History as described by butchery marks, to Homo sapiens idaltu (penecontemporaneous) as Radiometric dating to Nuclide and Electron capture to the r-process The dividing line of iron weight, to Neutron flux to Radioactive decay (from steel activated) towards Nuclear transmutation towards an Energy amplifier perhaps the Spallation Neutron Source and then The speed of light

2013/07/19

[often-and-vigorously]

Music in the park

Drunk pointing my passionate eye North marching in to the precinct of her voice, Sound my age in repose on the lawn of Children standing around sitting City worthies remembering in summer their Winter trysts, guitar dreams, lost powers, Folk wisdom, crushed for wine in press of Corporate intelligence, cash, low interest Rate and the loss of hair Thighs, eyes, wrists, breasts And the scratch of grass murmurs to my exit (The smart money leaves before the festival rush) Down to the crossroads drenched in gold Sunset eyeliner conversation, the Conde Nast guy, the eye-bank guy, the Tumblr guy. The best views in the city are at street center The Hudson casting solar spells down all the way to Brooklyn, You stand for just a second Before the taxi wind huffs threaten And you hustle back to the terrace office home Two breaths ahead of the swaying happy crowd. Suzanne Vega, Madison Square Park, 2013-06-19

[often-and-vigorously]

Exquisite corpse

1) Corpses have an exquisite smell, like pain and wine Lying in a hospital bed, a red rose Has stained & tainted your post-prandial saliva And what are you to do? Other than put the teakettle on? Subconsciously I think the thoughts that express myself 2) Junk underneath 5.9% of four drunken months my life Almost 120 days of never knowing myself Myself has had 120 days without accident, but I'm drinking for two tonight But that unexpected third, the neurotic liver, leaves much unfiltered Foul liquid on the floor. Molly, get the mop Molly Pitcher, you bitch. Imbibe my sins. Cleanse my soul. 3) Last week I meticulously peeled the skin off of every fruit in my apt I'm apt to bruising, waiting too long to catch a moment before it dies under the fridge and rots for a month Anemic fungi lack the vascular avenues required for profundity But there's nothing like a stuffed mushroom with beer Fear, the mush, the experience... the feelings quiver, shiver and Mosh out of the pit, into the church, the bourse Nirvana 4) I'm all out of sorts, exhausted from just... shit, LIVING... I better carboload Cause Atkins don't allow masturbation & neither does the Army Cold showers and long runs, as though preparing myself Myself, a temple, pray... cold & warm loving & caring, be free The mountain, snowy breasts, they're there to climb, scale, sing - Every shape is a note & I can't resist the music 5) At this altitude cloudscape is confused with landscape Clouds sweep over a jagged ridge of icicles like teeth Teeth against my flesh, my neck, like cold rain I walk into their white circle, my life a bite mark, raised, sucked I come from a past of lust and dreams - do I regret it? Regret is just the past creepin' on my Facebook - I don't have time for bullshit like that, I've got rent due 6) When we ate bitter lemon curry and made love When we made love and had bitter thoughts, curry was us Bathed in the sauce of want, Instagrammed meals spelling more want, I think my social network profiles will act as a suicide note I've made a pact with my top 8 to die like a fashionista blurring down the Amalfi Coast in a stolen Maserati My nicotine-stained fingertips slipped from the wheel - Tom and I plunged into the Pacific Conrad Rushing (crushallhumans / often-and-vigorously) Cat Leth (cat) Androo Markham (coffeecanashtray) Turner Yevich (turneryevich) Keith Frost (hacknyc) Kevin Grijalva (thetargetbird) 2013-04-30 HousingWorks Bookstore / Puck Fair, Soho NYC

[often-and-vigorously]

Believe in short breakfasts like poems

Believe in short breakfasts like poems On rising late I sit with the Portland boy Booked in all his gorgeous grief, He is our herald, our rouser Clanging his cigarette and driftwood shield Calling me to the most genteel war of trees. But coffee's grounds now, worktime. In my city of frost and crush, Girded waking, scratching the second skin Of credit, drones eye me ambling to offices. In the pink thrust of peak graphs, Lines of push and ping, my spectacular Mostly useless arts, unable even to stitch A button to my sleeve, a place to stay An evening phrase, a muddled drink, A dandy in morning dress, baller as fuck. A murmur through messages Rimed with crypto, I am dancing With hers, winding the corda, Piano wire brightness Around tough-handled time until snapping She comes through the door, Falls, couched, spread Bolts drop and neighbors Sigh and creak through the flailing noise. There's no perfect game here, even though I grip you like a spun sixteener And I roll you all night long, I have the will Strike, turkey, fivebagger, bastard. When I pay for all the cheapest beer and leave I'm just dents in your wax-polished floor. Night-morning readyfied in overnight creams, Flushing the dead skin of blunted brushes, Art and tooth, solution suspended Inside this giant robot my luck Armed and known to all the fellest actuaries. What is the escape now, through the tasteful tiles Where's the plughole to my favorite passenger, the man Death? I imagine him inside me, bareback, alien The most welcome worshipped walk-in. Through the root of the burnished sacrum I Am full of ready death, this my only gift, The simple closure ending the longest code: My father grown up from rank weeds His darkness in the night valley, wells Pulling the land down around it for food, Leveled and soaring, in Ferraris and wine My mother grinning down the beast of history, Climbing up to Pergamon in the blood of my announcement. Thirty-three marble pieces retrieved and sent to Berlin, And in the club stall sunk beneath the teeth of the Wall A suitcase shirted full of bones, my empty book goodbye. 1/3/13

[often-and-vigorously]

My brown mouse

In my drafty, uneven brain, haunted Your hole lists at the baseboard of the room Your passages are in among my wires and pipes Your bed among the barrels of bellybutton lint Drifting down from the vents of my sleeping skin. You stammer life Fingers at your tongue, washing your ears. The mortgagers fill the walls with water Driving you out, your demon colony In gunshots of cracking plaster I hear your voice Humaned, drowned. 2012/11/4

[often-and-vigorously]

Archaeologist

One song, one long chord through ocean and earth, a great circle A thousand miles, four, crushing past in brutal acceleration My arms wide to sweep away the mountains and dry up the sea. I am always landing, burning, melting into your rooftop, a lost satellite, Antitelemetry, I am always hurling myself before your plow Deorbiting liquescent into your pen, Folding into your lines, a cord wound round the singularity hole. You are lightspeed, bight and bias, the ansible of my throat Falling right through the center of the real, Suspended by strong magics, physics, love. I am scaling the black face of fortune, Wrapped in ropes, the barest cushion against arrest, The footholds in blue code, money's crumbling shale, No night or day, the windchatter of ghosts and agents Around me like bats, roosting every night in my bat tent, Sucking through the poisoned net, reaching blood, tainting dreams. Waking I am setting the pick, climbing again. Men years before up this face, one day, Carved a semblance of you in a nook out of the wind, Small long god, serpentine and tuff, Turned mighty toward absent captors, their statues stolen Long before. Standing ringed, exhausted, Where their bases lightened the floor I begin. I am coming for you, abductor, In the ritual of the wind through the cave I am becoming you, The mountain gone, sky gone, floating in the whitespace Temple transubstantiated, a mote of light Glancing down the edge of your knife, Distance bridged bodiless, you are licking me from the edge Like your tasted prey, animal, We are tracking one another wounded Dripping through the eye-high grass, Collapsing to the plain, skinned raw Our mouths sucking treasures in tongues. The grass shudders down below the wind, thunder forks the sky, Time gasps and lurches forward towards us, voyeur, In his lust the mountain thrusts up Ten million years of stone below us A pinnacle where the moon spotlights the final combat: Naked leaping I am over you, breaking your blade, You spit out the deeds of your kingdom and all is mine, But the crown I place flush over your flushed brow Is star-linked, the meteor your soul Flashes once and you are gone, the moon goes out And I am alone again, my tools in hand, Code and cash, rotten coughs against the cave. Pitons down, another expedition lost. But I will follow you mythic, down the corridors of hell Break you from your shell. 2011/10/24

[often-and-vigorously]

Isis

You dark shape at the edge of my wall One sway hip hooked around, but almost gone. Brick me, up into the mortar smear Me, make me steel against the armies Of friends abandoned in far fields, Dwindling memory launches plague Shells across the sky of my life - Around me curling air of my flight away Supersonic from the clutch of love, I am an airframe, an architecture of war, Curled into a stone at the base of stones. Pitch napthalene fire through my series, O fastballs of the fucked Melt it all down, bring me to the sappers Divide my body triske Dectuplicate Let me float the East River unrotted To some soft assembler's fists. 2012/10/22

[often-and-vigorously]

Brew my death

In my dry tower, licking my lips, this place full of bourbon and sec known to few women, I brew my death. Here at my fingers, the cauldron, the Internet, My lesser potions I sell for profit The carthorse of my withered empire. To them I add my blood, spun from my eyes in volumes Fractionating, I wright wights of business intelligence Writs of furtherance, a security backed By my own toxic sweat, my fear as the font congeals Its russet undertones the copper in my mouth, the lead in my gut, And then it's no longer a work but a man, leering from inside the pot: I feed him on rye and redbull, he's laughing and dancing as he strides Naked out my door, gathering in the songs of his lost people, The Great Expatriate, rich only among the wretched. Stamping clubfeet shiver the must into wine, ready for the final fining. I blow a cigarette's curse over it, sealed. Unsleeping over the corking and these labels, Each bottle a cycle of lines, of lies - The joy in which I come to market, the very purest of fiction. To you I sell my full heart butchered, tough meat, stew, But over cups of me you'll smile, remembering when I was new. 2011/10/10

[often-and-vigorously]

Old lies

The border of you descending another woman's throat, Your cigarette ghost coating my tongue - Warm body is warm, but heat death floats across light years Faster than the sap through the vine, Neutrino, I've betrayed you, in honor-eating Conspiracy of drink and dance and power: Neutron source, your dark eyes lurking in the well, Fracking my rotten isotopic fear Into whirl, sweat, strobes of joy, I am Mounting to the high place and gripping the shaking ceiling, Until pulled down to waiting lips and the aching confession, "Take me home, you magnificent bastard." Your body, disassembling Away thousands of miles Your lust reduced to a song - You are no currency to me, no rope, Your eyes don't follow me into this dark bedroom. Yet I am lost in you, your fingers in my heart, The house-shattering wave your love: I am homeless, trauma, an atavism. Gripping her breast, only fat, My man lies elsewhere, a living room swept out to sea, Crumpled up a sodden box of records, Her questing lips find nothing, the beast flown, Parsifal witless wanders naked through the door. 2012/10/9

[often-and-vigorously]

Trade show

Lines, come into me, through me, I hear you in the backscatter, noise of the floor The dust and fingerprints smeared across my brain. I'm in the gadget hum, the money lust Monkey suited animals shaking trees for trust. Sunk redundant and cold soaked, my data dances Flaking down my shuttered heart. Put your palms out, I repeat, Bakshish for my coded song, put it on me, Cover my cash, each contract crawling contagion, Prosperous, majestic, ill. Throw me open, bring me to the stage, My crumbling fingers stuck into my ears, Eyes closed, mouthwide snort, clench and throw the switch: The mob frozen in fear, whir of generators stilled, And from a billion blocks uptown I hear your wicked heels Clicking down leagues in each, stamping into my dark hall. My thanes drunk, queen shattered, alone awake I wait. Come into me, my lovely goblin, Rip the skin from my bones and put it on, give me yours, Let me out into the fields of the mystery While you stay to feed. 2011/9/12

[often-and-vigorously]

Nightingale

I have lost you, your soul boat unmoored from me Sometime in the gloomy mere. Numb sickness came to me in the packaging End hourless work, the clinging string of code Executive opinion like a guillotine, the ache in the mind. Waking to take you imaginary, there is nothing in my hand, A grainy photo, a stained page, the magic all fled. Out to the world it is grey, the air grey, the taste of ozone Heat all fled to the endless arc welding these old bones together. Weary traveler I return to the source, The bright water of our song. And through me springs the vision of your voice, The warm spread of our mingled brains The reckless glee riding forth my armies The myth unfolding, iris open back through time The ash dusted away, the soft bristle of your heart Driven by the air piston of subways, soaring me to the street. I see you in all the breasts of Prague, The proud summer jut of parties, The nervous question of girls' new cleavage - What? Why? When? The great sore ward of mothers' turned to manchildren, The bureaucrats' lumpen barrows, The strappedback trouble under a tourist's tower pack, The nipple's stiffen recognition, the sway of earthen empires: All chorus, all calling to offstage, all mastered To bring you nude my mouth, sweatshone, beating, mine. I know you on these stones, Imagining the sex behind the windows, A slow increasing screw of contentment, sliding towards breakfast, The muddy fuck in a basement loo, Bound devotees hung leathern from their hooked desires, The lubesellers in the fancy malls, their toys and wires, Drunk discoveries of Saturdays' sixteen, The steady dwindling tantra of fortysomething lords, Their shrieks, their yearn, their thrust All driving down the piles, raising up the walls, stripping off the moon To shine through us, sunk deep, in the highest place I hear you in the song of order, now Chipping long kindling from uncarved time, now Chanting nominal through a telephone, whiskey, tango, one now Calling boarding, wings whipped rigid loaded kerosene now Treating with the coded air of strange domains, confirmed now Loading out the music of currencies compounding surfeit now Transiting the level scroll of timezones, correcting now Leaping through the book of our music, reflex symphony now Unlocking and now the solemn criticality, Buzzing you through the door, My hands tremble out to grip your hips Through my threshold I grasp and pull, Blind mouths seek up lock tight And right there is all memory full. 2011/11/8