stoned

Dear s-t-o-n-e-d-j-a-j-g-e-c-u-a-p-u-k-a-j,

I am going to dedicate this page to you,
though you may not deserve any of this.

(yes I'm angry but it's only temporary)

only "dead letters" that keep going

@shock_of_the_femme_

#WORRIED

Yes you sent that one to me

Johnny's always running around
Trying to find certainty
He needs all the world to confirm
That he ain't lonely
Mary counts the walls
Knows he tires easily
Johnny thinks the world would be right
If it could buy truth from him
Mary says he changes his mind
More than a woman
But she made her bet
Even when the chance was slim
Running around
Running around
Johnny says he's willing to learn
When he decides he's a fool
Johnny says he'd live anywhere
When he earns the time
Mary combs her hair
Says she should be used to it
Mary always hedges her bets
She never knows what to think
She says that he still acts like he's
Being discovered
Scared that he'll be caught
Without a second thought
Running around
Running around
Running around
Running around
Johnny feels he's wasting his breath
Trying to talk sense to her
Mary says he's lacking a
Real sense of proportion
So she combs her hair
Knows he tires easily
Johnny's always running around
Trying to find certainty
He needs all the world to confirm
That he ain't lonely
Mary counts the walls
Says she should be used to it
Running around
Running around
Running around
Running around

it's all so true

Dear hot recipient,

I see myself
In the kitchen
Approach you from behind
While you're cooking

I would slowly
Start kissing
Your nape
And then slowly
Start kissing
The side of your neck
Right in the middle
Between your ear
And your upper shoulder
And I would
Pull out my tongue
Slightly
And taste
The particles of your skin.

I see myself
In the corridor
Facing the bedroom
Open door
You are sitting
On the edge of the bed
Naked
With the white sheets
Between your legs

I would slowly
Approach you
Kneel down at your feet
On the soft fluffy carpet
And start kissing
Your chest
Your belly
And then slowly
Pull up the sheets
And start kissing
Your sex
And I would
Pull out my tongue
Slightly
And taste
The particles of your skin
And
Your pre-seminal fluid.

Maybe we met too late.

But if we had met earlier

Nothing would have happened

either.

Has anything happened already?

Will anything happen somehow?

One was a dream

One was a nightmare

Is there a third term?
A third time?
A third space?

I want the first one again
But it seems
I can only have it
Together with the second.

Bob Holman @poetry_project

@emiliemoutsis

Dec 31, 2020
7 am
Brussels

new year oracle

this is all true

Ariana Reines, Coeur de Lion

#WORRIED

Ariana Reines,
Coeur de Lion

#WORRIED

I'm gonna love you just because your name sounds sooooo filmic.

I feel exhausted

Tape ain't gonna fix it

Blueboy

Remember?

M HKA

misquoting Rebecca May Johnson, to purge the desire to write like a man and Bhanu Kapil How to wash a heart.

see I was writing about the nape of the neck

so I won't disappear
but I wish to be able to ghost you
Ghost you
Or haunt you
Or something in-between

Seems you're not strong enough to handle me anyhow

But today this all only tastes bitter.

It's even becoming toxic.

maybe but he's gonna love me.

* Françoise Dolto

* burned

yes indeed you are so fukkkked up that you become wicked, blueboy

There must be some sort of emergency exit* somewhere around here.

"Watch your oil pressure !"

* Ocean Vuong I love you and your fire exits
(there's also some fire extinguishers somewhere but I can't remember where...)

this is all true

I want to be a good woman

And I want for you to be a good man

And this is why I will be leaving

And this is why I can't see you no more

I will miss your heart so tender

And I will love this love forever

I don't want be a bad woman

And I can't stand to see you be a bad man

I'll miss your heart so tender

And I will love this love forever

And this is why I am leaving

And this is why I can't see you no more

This is why I am lying

When I say that I don't love you no more

'Cause I want to be a good woman

And I want for you to be a good man

You are the bitter I am the sweet

Bob Holman @poetry_project

Barbara Mor, from Oil

"L`Homme Le Parfum was presented in February 2020, and embodies the magnetism of L’HOMME in a new radically woody signature, expressing the elegance and refinement of the seducer. L’Homme Le Parfum encapsulates the heart of the L’HOMME franchise, the woody accord, in a modern and elegant reinterpretation of the original Eau de Toilette. The raw power of cedar wood wrapped in a precious alliance of amber wood and vetiver essence, reflect the smell of warm skin under a flawless suit.

Top notes: Primafiore lemon essence, ozonic notes, cardamom essence
Middle notes: basil essence, violet leaves, geranium essence
Base notes: cedar essence, amberwood, vetiver essence"

Amy McCauley, excerpt from Thre Poems 2017 in The White Review

"Have you gotten to the point of numbness, where nothing pleases
you but your displeasure? If that's the case, let us flee to those countries
like unto Death. — I'm the one in charge, poor soul. We will
pack our trunks for Tomeo. Let's go farther, to the far end of the Baltic;
still farther from life, if possible: we 'II go live at the pole. There
the sun skims earth obliquely and the slow alternations of light and
night suppress variety and increase monotony, that half measure of
nothing. There we could take long shadow-baths, except when, to
divert us, the northern lights send us from time to time their rosy
showers, like reflections of Hell's fireworks."

Finally, my soul erupts, and in wisdom cries out, "Anywhere! anywhere!
out of this world!"

This life is a hospital, where each patient is possessed by the desire to
change beds. That one prefers to suffer nearer the stove and this one
believes he would get well next to the window.

To me it seems always it would be well for me to be somewhere I
am not, and the question of moving is one that my soul and I discuss
endlessly.

"Tell me, my soul, poor chilled soul, how about going to live in
Lisbon? It must be warm there and you could bask like a lizard. The
city is on the water; they claim it is built out of marble and that the
people so hate vegetation that they've uprooted all trees. There's a
landscape to your taste, a landscape made of light and minerals, with
liquid to reflect them."

My soul makes no reply

."Since you love repose so much, along with the spectacle of movement,
would you like to come live in Holland, that beatific land? You
might find diversion in this country whose images in museums you
have often admired. What would you think of Rotterdam, since you
love forests of masts, and boats moored at the doors of houses?"

My soul remains mute.

"Maybe Batavia2 would please you more? We would, moreover,
find there the spirit of Europe in the embrace of tropical beauty."

Not a word. — Could my soul be dead?

XLVIII Anywhere Out of the World!

Let's go farther, to the far end of the Baltic;
still farther from life, if possible: we 'II go live at the pole. There
the sun skims earth obliquely and the slow alternations of light and
night suppress variety and increase monotony, that half measure of
nothing. There we could take long shadow-baths, except when, to
divert us, the northern lights send us from time to time their rosy
showers, like reflections of Hell's fireworks."

The Way to Keep Going in AntarcticaBe strong BernadetteNobody will ever knowI came here for a reasonPerhaps there is a life hereOf not being afraid of your own heart beatingDo not be afraid of your own heart beatingLook at very small things with your eyes& stay warmNothing outside can cure you but everything's outsideThere is great shame for the world in knowingYou may have gone this farPerhaps this is why you love the presence of other people so muchPerhaps this is why you wait so impatientlyYou have nothing more to teachUntil there is no more panic at the knowledge of your own real existence& then only special childish laughter to be shown& no more lies no moreNot to find you noMore coming back & more returningSouthern journeySmall things & not my own debrisSomething to fight against& we are all very fluent about ourselvesOur own ideas of food, a Wild sauceThere's not much point in its being over: but we do not speak them:I had written: 'the man who sewed his soles back on his feet'And then I panicked most at the sound of what the wind could do to me if I crawled back to the house, two feet give no position, if the branches cracked over my head & their threatening me, if I covered my face with beer & sweated till you returnedIf I suffered what else could I doBernadette Mayer

Bob Holman

Octavia Butler handnote

Anne Carson, Fragments of Sappho

Alexis Pauline Gumbs, M Archive

Ariana Reines, The Cow

Joanna Walsh, Breakup

ANGRY WOMEN cover

Claude Cahun

Chick Strand film still