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April 26 2012
To fuck them in a way the people can grasp, but with all the brilliance that is our wont
What in terms of creation is a priority for your right now?
To show the people a convincing picture of decisive actions. To passively squander it all on symbolic actions right now, when you can smell the History, would be amoral. The December and now the February events make that clear. The citizens have been led astray by an opposition that grovels before the authorities, back-scratches, worrying in advance about their phantasmagoric seats in parliament and nothing else. People in the streets are forced to pointlessly freeze, in a trance, under a foreign tune. And none of those frozen people can make up their minds to have a dance. As a result, instead of getting three months of experience in a war of resistance the crowd has experience in freezing and stomping their feet at protests with blown-up condoms in their hands. And that’s what they’ll take to the presidential elections. The opposition has reduced the protest to the point of using memes that are generously provided for us by the Kremlin zombie box. Everyone is sucking Putin’s jokes dry and moaning gratefully instead of training themselves to be street fighters, preparing themselves for battle, sabotage at the enemy’s flank. Seriously, if the political opposition cannot handle Center E, if they think that is their unconquerable enemy, then they have to change their methods of action.
April 18 2012
. by Carla F. Andrade on Flickr.
untitled by kira shulgantseva on Flickr.
April 17 2012
16/30
Every air conditioner in the city is broken.
The wind cakes around our thighs, curdles
in our hair. My breasts are musty plums,
your fingers careful switchblades, peeling
the ripe want from my sorghum collarbone.
I am dirty. A dead dog in the gutter.
My mouth is watering, you say, seaweed
spilling out of your wet flaps. The chairs
float across the apartment floor, moss
climbs the bed posts.You can’t have me,
I say, wringing sweat from my swollen fins.
I want to be carved clean as soft sea glass
I want to be fresh coral on your tongue.
Our neighbors swim down the hallway, grip
the banister, gurgle in their thin night gowns,
When did the tide come in? The streets crash
and pour, shiny foam gathering along storefront
windows. Don’t touch me. You will wince when
you enter this rank cave. Your shudder will stain.
I will wilt. Crawl back into my crusty skin, a dried
woman with no gills. But baby, I want to drink
your rot and heat. I want to swallow every inch
of your salty filth. Let me taste your shame. My
mouth is watering. The city is soaked.
Portrait by Nathan Altman of Anna Akhmatova, 1914
April 07 2012
Shame (2011)
10/10 Steve McQueen
April 03 2012
20070720_01_21 by alibosworth on Flickr.
double by Anastasia Glebova on Flickr.
caught in the rain by daylessday on Flickr.
before falling asleep by daylessday on Flickr.
lauren zuniga: 2/30
I COULD STAND TO BE CRACKED OPEN
Your God and my God grew up together. They had contests
to see who could hold their breath under water longest.
Your God asked questions so fast the earth gave a blank stare.
Mine was hide and seek champion three years in a row.
Melons fell apart in their mouths.
They darted through the forest like hungry rivers. Collapsed
in the field, scrawny freckled earthquakes.
When the salt came and grew their limbs sad and tough,
your God waited each day by the pansies. Sang each petal
sturdy. My God broke
all the finding places. Ran so far the trees shed their names.
You make a good living as a stethoscope. I struggle as pulse, work part-time as lamp. When our Gods kiss in the hallway,
their scabby knees quiver so hard, heart yolk spills out the door.
April 02 2012
reality is a Enki Bilal comic
Radiant by Tamar Burduli on Flickr.
March 27 2012
March 26 2012
March 21 2012
2057-0035a by AliceJapan on Flickr.
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