?

Log in

journeys in the childhood of a narcissus [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]
pelicanese

[ website | my myspace ]
[ userinfo | livejournal userinfo ]
[ archive | journal archive ]

Pretty Much Done or Swan Songs [Mar. 17th, 2010|07:15 pm]
pelicanese
I found out about Google Reader and I never post anyway. Might start a new blog. Might never write again. Might be over-dramatic. Might eat a sandwich.
Link5 comments|Leave a comment

(no subject) [Dec. 7th, 2009|04:56 pm]
pelicanese





Recently (read, the last hour) I've been experimenting with rot. When something that's dead decays and falls apart. It's editing: I find a piece of writing that's ugly and stinking and inert and see if there's anything living inside, if anything can grow out of the organic refuse. If you were looking for bad poetry, where on the internet would you go?







Images stolen from Google and Guido Mocafico, respectively.
Link1 comment|Leave a comment

dear k who asked me to tell her some things [Sep. 17th, 2009|01:51 pm]
pelicanese
[Current Music |Wilco - She's a Jar | Powered by Last.fm]

Things are not easy to tell. Stories are easier to tell and they can be things but are not always. These are some things that can be told. There are no sheets on my bed or cases on my pillows. The Sumerian deities communicated their wishes to the human race, letting priests know what they wanted through such omens as the shape of a liver found in a sacrificial sheep. I dreamt about my dad handing out weed to, like, everybody. Aestivating means spending the summer in a place. If a diamond is kept in a house, a demon cannot enter. Something I like is to feel smart(er than everybody else), but I don't like that I like it. I have a new scarf. At this moment, a strikingly high proportion of films, commercial art, popular music, video and computer games, and non-genre fiction have become what Csicsery-Ronay calls science fictional, stimulating science-fictional habits of mind; we no longer treat science fiction as merely a genre-engine producing formulaic effects, but as a mode of awareness, which frames experiences as if they were aspects of science fiction. John Dee believed that man was capable of divine power, and that this divine power could be exercised through mathematics. We all are really staring at glowing rectangles all day.
Link1 comment|Leave a comment

Proust...what a fag [Aug. 12th, 2009|05:33 pm]
pelicanese
[Current Music |Bone Thugs-N-Harmony - Mo' Murda | Powered by Last.fm]

"...he would have to prepare it with meticulous care,
perpetually regrouping his forces as for an offensive, to bear it as a
load, to accept it as the object of his life, to build it like a
church, to follow it like a régime, to overcome it like an obstacle,
to win it like a friendship, to nourish it like a child, to create it
like a world, mindful of those mysteries which probably only have
their explanation in other worlds, the presentiment of which moves us
most in life and in art..."
Link1 comment|Leave a comment

dreams & goin crazy [Jun. 26th, 2009|11:46 pm]
pelicanese
[Current Mood |bailey's]

I. Dream about hanging out w/ allen's stepdad, who is an asshole. Played tennis, he doesn't like 90s altrock but listens to it in his car

II. Dream about g & t before they leave on their field trip. They have a lot of cats and there are ants in the sugar shaker... A wolf stalks me around the house


III. recorded a few songs with tiger and garett and others. Hip-hop danced in whiteface for the opening of one song., while enormously drunk. Took mxxxxx to watch but she went to albertsons without telling anyone. I left before the party to go home for work, but had to go find her...she had found a white baby at albertsons and was holding it while the trashy parents edged slowly away like they wanted to run. I will not wait for you anymore. You will be polite to me and politeness includes not waiting. I should've left her there without even going tto look





From: KXXXXX
So people have been sayn you are writin a book on twiter? Then i read it was proust backwards. ppl think you are going crazy. I get the genius.


http://twitter.com/futureproust
http://twitter.com/futureproust
http://twitter.com/futureproust
http://twitter.com/futureproust
http://twitter.com/futureproust

http://twitter.com/futureproust
http://twitter.com/futureproust
http://twitter.com/futureproust
http://twitter.com/futureproust
http://twitter.com/futureproust

http://twitter.com/futureproust
http://twitter.com/futureproust
http://twitter.com/futureproust
http://twitter.com/futureproust
http://twitter.com/futureproust

"This is the lesson which justifies the attempt to evoke this image."
-Walter B.
Link1 comment|Leave a comment

COMIN ATCHA [Jun. 10th, 2009|12:12 am]
pelicanese

unstrap your wristwatch and fling it to the ground the time is come the time is come the time is come, there is no time, the moon is ringed in your smoke you swore you wouldn't smoke again and all the bells are rung, the whiskey's poured, the ice is melting, it's a work night! bang the drum and croon your pop single you idolater, lick their necks, crow from the rooftops with the weathervanes swinging grandmother dances cock-topped and glinting, eat a box of saltines and watch tv all night, lethal weapon, sleep the day away, there is nothing for you left on this plane, the grey days stretch forever and you can see them coming in your rearview mirror, they'll smash you like a glacier, like a laser, like a beam, like an ice-age, like the tides are gone, like you can't find the ocean, like the water-line has dropped 300 feet everywhere in the world, like all the water you wish you could drink is frozen, it's ice-cubes in your glass, and it's coming for you. Your ancestors knew all about it, that's why they left the forests on two legs and quit patti smith space monkey fucking each other in ways you can only see on the internet you pathetic loser, they got buildings so they could get walls so they could get webcams, that's why they built the cities, that's why they stayed in the streets, that's why they stayed in the hood, that's why they stayed around the people who ain't got nothin, cause they ain't got nothing to say but love, and there's no respect you can show but phone time, voice time, watch time, time to smash your watch, time to break the bonds, time to let caesar render for his goddamn self, time to enroll in vampire school, let the shrews fuck indoors and let the faggots pay taxes, I want to get eaten by a bear, I want to be raped by a serial killer, I want to hitchhike to saturn and chill with sun ra, wake up, we've all got hermes' wings on our feet, the world is open, you can go to tanzania tomorrow and breathe that same savannah they did however many million years ago the books tell us it happened, where they say a fifth is kept of all the freshwater in the world, as if another fifth is what we need, breath out steam, power through the ice, find the north pole and take the expressway to outerspace


Link1 comment|Leave a comment

The Genre of the Monstrous [May. 27th, 2009|02:27 pm]
pelicanese
"But if it so happens ... a work ... under pain of otherwise becoming shameful or false, requires fantasy ... [and that] certain limbs or elements of a figure are altered by borrowing from other species, for example transforming into a dolphin the hinder end of a griffon or a stag ... these alterations will be excellent and the substitution, however unreal it may seem, deserves to be declared a fine invention in the genre of the monstrous.

When a painter introduces into this kind of work of art chimerae and other imaginary beings in order to divert and entertain the senses and also to captivate the eyes of mortals who long to see unclassified and impossible things, he shows himself more respectful of reason than if he produced the usual figures of men or of animals."
Michelangelo


(from BibliOdyssey)
LinkLeave a comment

(no subject) [May. 3rd, 2009|05:36 pm]
pelicanese
[Current Music |Set Fire to Flames - Mouths Trapped in Static | Powered by Last.fm]

There is a city made of tall buildings and the buildings are made of words and the words are made of teeth laid out, angled, jutting, jagged, graphing shape and method of use, spaced according to some incomprehensible blueprint. It is said that when the world was young there were two cities, and each city was a mirror of the other, and one was above and one was below. It is said that when these two cities were born they were one city fused, and they made up the whole world and walled the world in too, so there was one city and one world and one wall, and the wall was white and shining, and nothing could come in. And then the cities detached, and no one knows if one fell or one rose but only that we can no longer see our brethren or the places in which they find themselves. There is only our own world and everything is lost besides.

Here is what happened. This is what our histories tell us.

First there was a gentle breeze, and the breeze became a wind, and the wind became a gale, and the gale became a thunder and the thunder was a noise which grew and grew. Our buildings began to fracture at their midpoints and then to crumble there, and soon a gap appeared. And the space between became a chasm, and the noise filled the void, and still grew, making deaf generations of our ancestors, and yet built, until it was noise no longer but became a word.

What split the world was this: the word. And the word brought with it the tide, and the tide swole up, smacking and swelling. It was red and pink and purple, the colors of bruised blood just rising to the skin's surface. It was rough and where it touched our city it left a slime which ate at them. And ash came, and smoke, and our once-white buildings were darkened by soot and sludge, and our wall was breached, and our ancestors watched as their brothers and wives ascended in their offices and apartments, and half our city gone.

The wind and the noise and the tide gone with it. Half our world rose and gone with it.

Ours was never a race of builders—we never even knew who built for us our city, our world—so even had we wished to go forward, to repair and rebuild and forget, we could not. It is understandable, then, why many wait.

They say now there have been signs, quakings and rumbles at the outskirts. They look up, some from the safety of the ground, others in the ruins in the upper-most abandoned buildings where our world was torn apart. They say we will be made whole again.

I do not need to wait. There is no sign for me but certainty, and it is all I am. Something is coming to meet us, this I know. The how and when are mysteries, but I do not need to wait. Waiting is not for the believer, to whom nothing must be proven. It is but left for me to wonder. As they wait in the penthouses and on the rooftops which once marked our medians, I wonder. As they hold their signs and their voices growl unintelligibly and they stare past me in the crevices down between our spires, I wonder. Who is coming? Are they descending from a higher place, or rising from the lower? Do they remember as we do from where we all came? Do they think we will ever return there? Does anyone honestly believe we will find our way back?
Link2 comments|Leave a comment

The Unwin-Dunraven Literary Ecclesia Presents [Mar. 15th, 2009|12:33 pm]
pelicanese
[Current Music |Jackie-O Motherfucker - Amazing Grace]

I don't know if any of you live in or around Portland, OR; I think if you did, I would know by now, but maybe not. But if you do live in or around Portland, OR, you should come. On Thursday, March 19th, Rauan Klassnik and Ariana Reines will be reading at the WorkSound Gallery, 820 SE Alder St., at 7:00pm. Not only are they both fantastic, I am also fantastic, not like they are, quantitatively or qualitatively, but in the way where you know of a person and what kinds of things they like but have never met them and might like to, for a laugh, and with my collaborators I am hosting this event, which is free to attend. There may be wine, which may also be free.


Read moreCollapse )
LinkLeave a comment

(no subject) [Mar. 14th, 2009|02:51 am]
pelicanese
On returning home from the bar last night I discovered, placed in front of the door to my room, a box with a familiar symbol on the side. "Amazon?" I thought. "Who would be cool enough to send me books from Amazon? After relieving myself I opened the box with my switchblade. Inside I found, not books, but instead a palette of twelve Hamburger Helper Microwave Singles. I looked for a return address but there was none forthcoming. "Someone must be playing a practical joke on me" I thought.

In reality, there was no practical joker. It was my dad, making sure I had enough to eat.

I am currently eating a Hamburger Helper Microwave Single.

Thanks dad.
Link2 comments|Leave a comment

navigation
[ viewing | most recent entries ]
[ go | earlier ]