Sunday, April 22, 2018

cancelled

It is so natural for me to alienate myself from the world that when I actually have a friendly connection with a human being, it consumes me to the point of paranoia about all the ways that they will hurt, disappoint, and leave me. It's a blacked-out cave with prehistoric hieroglyphics deciphering the self-hatred it took to get me here in the fist place. Add on the molotov cocktails of procrastination, anxiety, amphetamines, and this secret life of inevitable failure and voila! All the love is once again sucked outta my veins, but this time I'm just too damn old to feel sad about it. I haven't had a suicidal thought in a long time, a long, long, time. I can taste the prejaculation of glory with these thoughts of dying, my own blood on my hands. I wonder if anyone would even miss me. In a way, I hope they never find out.

Thursday, April 19, 2018

reparations in Andover

sometimes evil wins
we'll all die soon anyway
so drink it with thirst


Tuesday, April 17, 2018

Bluesday, April 17: Arvo Part

Reading this fascinating article about how deep-brain stimulation failed or did not fail in its surgical attempts to cure depression, I realized most of mine was manageable once I remove myself from this world, the industry's world, the phone world, the internet world, fueled by narcissism and an excessive need to "connect" without fitting the proper puzzle pieces, impulsively "express" without the due diligence of definition, and "document," almost like a serial killer returning to the scene of the crime to relive the slaughter over and over again because he can't get his dick up in real life, kill after kill, post after post, tweet after tweet.

Escape, do I; find refuge in the flaws of man, once admitted; crave for the poetry of the Pastoral, perhaps more gothic, twice removed; I remain, I retreat, curiously, in that which I was repressed- artistically, historically, religiously. May I remain, may I retreat, may I reject repression while the world spins in its meaningless meaning, may I find the harmonic convergence in atonal tintinnabulation. It is the key to make all of this fathomable, holding fast to hope.


Friday, April 13, 2018

cunts are your mates

may 28, 2013

i saw him at the molé festival in pilsen. he looked awkward and lost, like he didn't know it was possible he could gentrify anything. my friends and i went to the bar afterwards, simone's. he showed up. i was drunk and said hello, my name is corrine. with a certain kind of accent he introduced himself and then joined us. my friends and i went to a house party in logan square. i invited him. we got more drunk. he heard me sing and play guitar. he said he'd pay to see me live. we went back to judy and danelle's house, did a bunch of blow. my radical queer lesbian friends are radical and queer. he was the only straight guy there but we had a connection. it was some sort of magneticism. we made out all night in the nooks and crannies of their apartment. then my friend put him in a cab. i should have gone. i wanted to. but they're lesbians and they're my best friends and i guess they know what's best for me? no, they really don't. so i left with two gay guys to get cigarettes. i don't smoke cigarettes. i smoked a whole pack of cigarettes that night. i woke up in dirty sheets that weren't mine and i woke up feeling flemmy and gross and i woke up with a stick and poke tattoo of a sharp sign that looks like a hashtag and i woke up with a bloody finger and bloody pants and bloody lips and a 5 page poem i wrote in sharpie and tag calligraphy about nonsensical loneliness. i texted my ex-girlfriend at 6:30 am some weird poetry shit. i still love her. i'll always love her. and i think the aussie was the closest one to kissing like her. he was a great kisser. and he wasn't weird and try to like feel up on me and shit. it was straight up makin out. it wasn't terrible, and i think we could have had a lot of fun. when he left, he said goodbye, and i said cheers, cunt. cuz in australia apparently cunts are your mates.


Tuesday, April 10, 2018

Bluesday, April 10, 2018: Ángel Parra

Puedes matarme si quieres,
mi amor no lo matarás,
tengo la esperanza puesta
en volverte a conquistar,
que una vez te diste entera,
nunca lo podré olvidar,
amor.

Puedes quitarme el aire
que preciso pa' vivir
pero no podrás quitarme
la fuerza que nació en mí
cuando mujer, cuerpo y alma
me diste en el mes de abril,
amor.

Quítame la cordillera,
quítame también el mar,
pero no podrás quitarme
que te quiera siempre más:
lo que entre dos se ha sembrado
entre dos se ha de cuidar,
amor.



You can kill me if you want to,
but my love
you will not kill,
I have my hope put on
win you over again,
that once you gave yourself whole,
I could never forget it, Love.

You can take away from me
the air that I need for living,
but you can't take away
the force that was born in me when woman,
body and soul
You gave me in the month of April, love.

Take away from me the mountain range,
take away also the sea,
but you can't take away from me
that I will always love you more:
what between two
has been sown between two
has to be taking care of, love.