tank girl

hot hot heat, sylvia plath

this just seems appropriate on the hottest day of the summer so far.

Fever 103°

BY SYLVIA PLATH

Pure? What does it mean?

The tongues of hell

Are dull, dull as the triple

Tongues of dull, fat Cerberus

Who wheezes at the gate. Incapable

Of licking clean

The aguey tendon, the sin, the sin.

The tinder cries.

The indelible smell

Of a snuffed candle!

Love, love, the low smokes roll

From me like Isadora’s scarves, I’m in a fright

One scarf will catch and anchor in the wheel,

Such yellow sullen smokes

Make their own element. They will not rise,

But trundle round the globe

Choking the aged and the meek,

The weak

Hothouse baby in its crib,

The ghastly orchid

Hanging its hanging garden in the air,

Devilish leopard!

Radiation turned it white

And killed it in an hour.

Greasing the bodies of adulterers

Like Hiroshima ash and eating in.

The sin. The sin.

Darling, all night

I have been flickering, off, on, off, on.

The sheets grow heavy as a lecher’s kiss.

Three days. Three nights.

Lemon water, chicken

Water, water make me retch.

I am too pure for you or anyone.

Your body

Hurts me as the world hurts God. I am a lantern——

My head a moon

Of Japanese paper, my gold beaten skin

Infinitely delicate and infinitely expensive.

Does not my heat astound you! And my light!

All by myself I am a huge camellia

Glowing and coming and going, flush on flush.

I think I am going up,

I think I may rise——

The beads of hot metal fly, and I love, I

Am a pure acetylene

Virgin

Attended by roses,

By kisses, by cherubim,

By whatever these pink things mean!

Not you, nor him

Nor him, nor him

(My selves dissolving, old whore petticoats)——

To Paradise.

yeah i hate poetry too

something for you who hate poetry

a diseased metaphor wakes

at the slamming of the door

a limb allows for gesture

fuck yourself

and all the ire in a holding pattern

check sleeves for your lyrical

i,  check my email

check my email 

check my email

swallow slow sad goodbye that says some growler is waiting

in that courdaroy chair

sunken and somber its a dried blood orange

in my memory and still creeks with each movement

back and forth and overwrought

with revelry tantamount to sorrow in the dregs of tonic and salt water

i hear you laugh but i feel paroxysms of rage

baby tell me the chair or the memory

which one should i bury first.

duhluze

this is the first night in months that i have been alone. the wind is almost audible over the backfires and car jams, just barely and i can wear shorts in bed without covers. work is looming on the morning side so saturday night is a social bust. i'm pouring over virtual social platforms with the steady beat of austra in my head. wrote a song for z last night listen here: http://soundcloud.com/a-wolf-is-a-hole/in-the-dark on some kind of depressive high, and it feels like i am finding the sound i want to put out in the world. rummaging around the google planes for explications of gilles deluezes philosophy, i keep coming back to this quote"Courage consists, however, in agreeing to flee rather than live tranquilly and hypocritically in false refuges. Values, morals, homelands, religions, and these private certitudes that our vanity and our complacency bestow generously on us, have many deceptive sojourns as the world arranges for those who think they are standing straight and at ease, among stable things"
— Gilles Deleuze (Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia)
It puts me at ease.

Fallout Shelter Montage

beach porn, staten island.

snake people.

LOVE $$$

a wise friend once told me.. 'there is nothing grander than a reproduction of a reproduction' and with that in mind i offer you the following song.(given that my recent work is mostly reading and under construction)
b_5pA

I think the tone of the song resounds with me more than anything at this moment.
It's been a long time since you saw your body,
it looks like someone you know, like somebody.
It's not beautiful, and it's not ugly,
it's just your body and it looks like somebody else. 

I recently discovered that my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. They caught it early, and I am hopeful, but in the light of this moment, I'm thinking about this experience of disassociation from the body on a number of levels. On one level, this delay that seems to occur between the moment I hear something that codes as painful, and the moment that I feel the pain. I almost have to force myself to feel, or it erupts at moments of human connection. On the other hand, i'm thinking of this disconnection in terms a very real sensation that I do not associate with my physical body as the same one that other people see it as. And in relation to the song, I'm thinking of this disassociation in terms of the ways people who are female-bodied or raised as such, can learn to disconnect in the order of defense. Additionally, I'm thinking about how this association with one's body can be altered so drastically through the removal of appendages.

Transistor Oscillator

                    

The video above shows the transistor oscillator that I built. I've included the schematic for it below the video. You can see in the video that I've added a potentiometer to one of the  1K resistors in order to tweak the pitch of the sound. This is a very simple oscillator and a good project to start with if you are interested in understanding electric currents and their relation to the production of sound. 

LED simple schematic