‘Pollution’ is in fashion today, exactly in the same way as revolution: it dominates the whole life of society, and it is represented in illusory form in the spectacle.
Two wheels/ lickable thick wind
Seeking sound(s), I heard it was a real sweet thing. Cruising home, under banks of stars and tempest ocean thick around us. Are there words for these sways, these ebbs of feeling. I am not sure where I am in the world, I am compelled to explain this strange story to justify how shy rooms can make me feel. My anxiety palpable. I want to settle, to shake into arms. To breathe in the edges of openings on a leather couch. What is it that I am so afraid of? Myself, that i have come so far from. Retail stands in for craft, In being sold we forget the fire. This unsure woman, I have listen to your stories so much I walk through them, unaware of this narrative spell that softened the focus.
Victoria has always had a tragic quality for me. The memories and longing banged into these shores is an abundance of washed up treasure. The folks here are salty, white-wind washed and longing to be gently held. This wet west coast, where Manchester plays tonight just like United hard swift, shirtless and glorified. The hours of sands, planes and basements, steel ships and welders. A throb not juicy enough, when what is craven is juice. I felt this often in England, this need to grind metals, to rush coals and looms in repetition. The kids say the archway where they marched the prisoners to sway on the docs feels scary. Bastion square, home of public hangings past and public art canoes. In gas mask, from the U.K via Liberea. The last time i was in a gas mask, I was breastfeeding a faux baby pig, tableaux in brazil. I met kent monkman there, and his painting brushed that yearning I feel with vast valleys, rich and possible. Manifest destinies strewn west, following the lasts sun set. A Brave rogers Custurd’ splays and land remembers clustered rape. We have our apps, our tea to cast out the possible. Desire, so thickly laid. The most dangerous thing a woman can be is divorced. What is offered is that the expected duties of motherhood where not possible while pleasing the man. It is places that sort me, remind me of what I need. Your statement, your legal rights deceptively chattled, for marriage, historically has not been about love, yet the regime is re-packaged now, to be eternally cherished. Loud and displeased, tricked and laughing, jelly / fish and chips. What storied did we tell, which way did we go. What is if the first thing you remember? What are you longing for right now?
