I feel like I’m breaking sacred trust by republishing this online without asking… but I cannot help myself! May I be stoned for it! But this poem is everything to me at the moment and I sometimes wonder if I’m actually just an internet meme so in case that is what I am, here it is… I love you Dodie Bellamy! This may be the most perfect poem ever, unless I accidentally added in a typo-or-two… You can get a copy from Les Figues Press and really, it’s what everyone should be reading this Fall! I’m headed upstate for a last bout of summer, gonna jump into a lake and some shit!! Byeeee!!
by Dodie Bellamy
Go fuck yourself. Now answer me—where is your body as your mind is jerked around on dried goose turd? I still love you—yes, you in that bed surrounded by books. It’s fitting that you so quickly come when I fuck you silly in a bed full of books. You’re so tough, the way you smack me down with your rebuff. I love it. I love it when you suck me, I love all the bloody things you’ve done. Oh wife, oh wife, you’re blowing my drowsiness all to hell. There never will be another woman in my thoughts, not when you send me your panties everyday, saying they’re for me, not for other men. You shoot shivers up my spine and into my nose. I will wear your panties, will wear whatever dresses your cunt. If flies were the sign of love, I’d adorn my prick with maggots the size of seals. My cock, my darling, loving your mercy, comes like King Kong up your cunt. We fuck forever in the spring, which makes my own worn self to sing. If I touch you ‘til the skin on your neck gets emergency shivers, morning or evening or afternoon, oh my lovely, I fuck you like I’m wringing all the oceans. Most lovely lady, whether you’re dressed or undressed is a sexual experience—a collaboration whether we’re going at it in bed or sitting only. Oh loveliest you are here and I fuck you silly between your lips, and, yes, you fuck me back, yes, my lady, whether you are just or unjust, you are fucking sexy, such a romantic. You can eat me, my lady, you can do whatever—I love seeing you hanging there with my balls. You are the best of ladies—in rain, in shine, in any weather. When my cock slides into you, we rhyme, like in those stories where the hero is beyond help. I’m here with you now, it’s magic, we’re fucking like Hercules or Aeneas going into death. I blur into you I’m moving so fast. We don’t need Virgil’s plan, not with you singing those torch songs of hoc opus, hic labor. This is the now, this kind of love just is—Virgil has been dead for two thousand understandings. I love your industrious wisdom, how you live in a way that hasn’t yet ripped your lips off. Let the heroes stay dead so I can propose to you with my dirty mind. You have me. You hold my weight. You must understand—there are chunks of cement everywhere. If you know what, say it. Don’t pretend. Like electric shock therapy, you know me in a prayer. Before you I’m helpless, helpless in an unreal situation. No woman ever was wiser than you, so my cock hangs above your face and what you take in your hand grows.
A Guerilla Reading by Rick Moody and CA Conrad at MoMA
wednesday, march 20th
6th floor (several galleries in)
at the BALLA paintings
From CA Conrad’s website:
(SPECIAL ALERT SPECIAL ALERT, THE REINCARNATED SOUL OF GIACOMO BALLA HAS BEEN LOCATED, CURRENTLY LIVING IN NYC, AND SHE IS A WOMAN AND SHE IS A GENIUS, AND SHE IS WISER THAN HER FORMER SELF (when she was a man named Giacomo Balla) AND SHE WILL BE JOINING US FOR THE MAGIC THE MAGIC THE MAGIC THE MAGICAL AFTERNOON)
“We are no more or less beautiful or fit than anyone else, but neither are we average looking. Actors, dancers, and models are better looking, sportsmen and martial artists are in much better shape, and porn stars are definitely sexier. In fact, our bodies and faces tend to be awkward looking; but we have an intense look, a deranged essence of presence, an ethical quality to our features and hands. And this makes us both trustworthy to outlaws and rebels, and highly suspicious to authority. When people look into our eyes, they can tell right away— we mean it. This, I may say, amounts to a different kind of beauty.”
for the rest go here.
Saw Whitney Vangrin perform at 1:1 gallery’s Valentines Day Feast. The performance was called Blood and it was part of a trilogy of sorts put together by Whitney. I missed the first two nights, but was a little surprised at how surprised everyone got when she stuck a needle in her arm. After all, we were in the Lower East Side, home to many a junky, if not the capitol of junk 20+ years ago. Where’s your sense imagination, adventure, or of history!?!
Or maybe it’s just me and I just don’t see the point in sterility. Actually I’m vehemently opposed. But maybe I’m missing something?! Are there subtleties in cleanliness, rigid structure and white…. she did make the cutest faces as she shoved the needle into her arm & I thought the necklace she made at the end would be fun merchandise, like I might steal that idea.
Once home, I was telling my housemate Tony Torn (actor, performer// was in Reza Abdoh’s theater company) about the show and Tony got all excited by “blood” and a performance and started telling me stories about his favorite moments seeing Ron Athey perform, it was something like a room full of people trying to come to terms with the positive blood flying over their heads…
And the rest is as they say, youtube hersturrraaaaay…
Went to the House of Ladosha opening at Culturefix tonight. Photos are of a video project lend me yoir hearts not yoir headlines by Chris Udemezue, which was definitely a highlight of the show for me. As well as the musical performance by Dosha Devastation + Cunty Crawford Ladosha… near the end of their set a few freaked out kids ran for the exit which allowed me to move deeper into the room.. I haven’t felt energy in a room like that in way too long of a time. There is some serious magick being summoned & I suggest everyone bask in it whenever opportunities arise. I think this show is up for a few weeks so be sure to check it out.
Another highlight of the night was this shirt! FUCK EM TILL HIS DICKS SWELLS
GRRRLS ON FILM! celebrates the work of women, trans people, and genderqueer filmmakers, writers, performers, and other creators, especially but not exclusively those whose work has been influential to or stems from riot grrrl and queercore movements. the series is held by page 22′s page poetry salon (curated by lee ann brown) in the former home of geraldine page at 435 W. 22nd St. in Manhattan. for ten consecutive weeks, GRRRLS ON FILM! meets Thursday nights, doors at 8pm. the night will begin with the salon and end with the screening. audience space is limited and dependent on rsvp. to do so, please send an email to email@example.com, and feel free to let us know now which nights you’d like to attend as we have rsvp lists going for the whole series. all events are free and open to those that rsvp first, but for those that are able to do so, a suggested donation of $10 would really help cover all the costs incurred in putting this event together. we will supply some food and/or drinks every week but suggest everyone BYOB and/or bring something to share!
Wildness was a party, people went there, they wore fur and sequined high heels, they danced and fought in a tiny backyard that was always covered in puke and shit because the toilet would give out. Drugs were easy to find. Usually someone was fucking someone in the bathroom. No one left alone. Unless the girls didn’t like you, in which case you should’ve been re-evaluting your priorities.
My first thought while entering Blasting Voice was, “Woah! Ashland (aka Total Freedom) did it” as the production quality was far more sheik then the reckless abandonment Wildness inspired.Then I noticed someone suspended by a rope over the stage area, I guessed it to be Ashland and imagined him angelically dropping from the ceiling, as he welcomed everyone into the space. I’d like to mention that hanging from a ceiling by rope is one of my favorite past times…
A youtube video projected on a wall shifted the audience’s attention away from the stage to a Sergeant giving a report back from the front lines of a war zone. His account of hunting the enemy and his earnest love of country eerily set the tone for the visual building onstage.
Vishwam Velandy hung from the ceiling like a cat burglar with a flashlight and headset, fumbling through the internet and ranting about his role as that of the “fun maker” when he’s just as melancholic as the next guy. As different youtube videos flashed on the wall, Velandy dove into the complex psychological condition brought about by internet social media culture, he likened the experience to the sufferings of multiple personality disorder. Simultaneously Velandy played poker and watched pop music videos as he lamented the banality of existence: the state of American life. Velandy couldn’t go to art school because his parents couldn’t afford it and he resented them.
As his rant wound down and he ascended back toward the ceiling, a smoke bomb went off in his pouch. Velandy cried out, “I can’t have the stage if I can’t touch the stage.” He was then pulled away from the stage and set on the ground. I couldn’t help but remember the recent mass shooting in Colorado, I wondered how I’d react if he suddenly imploded. Would I be covered in his blood? Would I run for the door? If, in the end, he blew up, it would have been an unforgettable performance.
Whenever I see a guy alone with a guitar I sort of freak out. You can tell Ilyas Ahmed really feels himself. It seemed like he was strumming for his life as he strummed his guitar and held the same notes excessively long, like he was trying to strum his way into heavenly noise. As he cooed into the mic, I kept thinking, he must really like Sigur Rose.
Lizzi Bougatsos came out with arms full of egg cartons full of egg shells, after a long process of constructing a huge rectangular Mylar installation center stage. A lighting and camera crew followed her around the room as she dropped cartons and eggshells on the floor. She talked about surviving in New York, explaining that she’s lived with a bit extra and had nothing, time and again, the great stabilizer being the feeling of “always walking on eggshells”.
She quipped that she’d developed tips on how to feel rich: drink everything out of wine glasses (obviously she doesn’t revere “Dot the I”); have one thing every day that makes you feel like you’re in Paris; take lots of bubble baths as they’re better and cheaper than a massage; look at the sun it smiles back at you; and more…. Then she disappeared back behind the Mylar installation and began to sing.
She sang out “I am the future of America” then distorted and looped the line, as she transitioned into an Ozlike character brandishing beats instead of the aspirations of tropes. She muffled over and over, “Did anyone bring me a teddy bear?” A bear wrapped in cloth was thrown from the back of the room, I couldn’t see it, as I couldn’t see the floor in front of the Mylar installation, but my friend says a teddy bear sat up and wiggled around as Bougatsos came out, grabbed it and pulled it back with her behind the installation. A few moments later the bear was raised above the installation and turned into a puppet. Then she seemingly undressed as she hung her clothes over the Mylar, as her set wound down, she climbed up through a cloud of smoke, revealing the cute gap between her front teeth.
I definitely suggest making it out to the final three nights of Blasting Noise for Phoebe Jean, J Patrick Walsh III, Analisa Teachworth, Devonté Hynes, Math Bass, Raul de Nieves, Elijah Crampton, Max Eisenberg, James Ferraro, Tim DeWitt, Wu Tsang, Shayne Oliver. Continue reading
A few weeks ago we posted an interview with Marc Arthur about his highly anticipated theatrical adaptation of Peter and the Wolf. Alas, the time came and the time passed and now all we have to share are our memories, but the memories those that ventured out to see the play share are grand, for Marc’s adaptation truly dazzled. His vision was a unique one, with a cast largely made up of kids using live action painting and dance to tell the tale. After interviewing Marc (and since I have known his work for awhile) I had a sense that the play would truly break apart traditional theatrical conventions, but waited with bated breath to see if his description would match the actual experience of viewing the play.
After the lights dimmed and the play began all anxieties faded as the audience wandered into a fanciful tale full of color and extreme language rarely expressed through children. A favorite line of my girlfriend and mine was spoken by one little girl to the other and was something like, “Do you see what nature did to you?” The line was used as a jab, the little girl belittled was a duck that was regularly harassed and put down by the other girls for being unable to fly. Eventually the little duck burst into tears and confessed, “Because I love Justin Beiber.” The line invoked laughter in much of the audience, but in retrospect it truly was a peculiar laughter since so many little girls are caught in the same emotional reverie as the little duckling that couldn’t fly. Am I really that immature that I find humor in a little girls pain as she longs for her idol? I guess I too “am a sick man and a spiteful man,” the Grandfather quoted Fyodor Dostoevsky as s/he took the stage from a seat in the audience.
Breaking the wall between audience and show wasn’t the only way the play broke convention, in the end the whole play evolved into an auction house wherein the live-action painting that continually evolved throughout the play was bidded away at somewhere around 100,000 pounds. I’m sure every director in the audience cringed as they, for the first time, realized the enormous opportunity theater provides to auction off art. After this, the ballerina’s took stage again, by now though, their outfits and faces were covered in paint, another reminder of innocence’s fragile nature, the once clean little girls, like the rest of the characters, prove just how dirty and simultaneously beautiful the world can be.
Here’s a short little clip I took of a choreographed dance scene of Peter painting while the Ballerina’s took flight into reverie:
As some of you may know I have been working on a collaborative performance piece off and on now for the past eight or so months. After various periods of down time and breaks in our creative process, Talya and I are finally ready to premier our new work; Masturbation Remote as part of the Bushwick Site Fest this Sunday afternoon March 6th at 3:30 pm.
Masturbation Remote is a first time collaboration between Talya and I and we are very excited to be sharing it with all of you. Here is a short paragraph about the work:
Masturbation Remote is a trio involving one male, one female, and an obsolete television which receives only static signals. The two performers, like the constantly searching television, exist in states of confusion, longing, and uselessness. There is a continual power struggle between the three in attempts to find balance and understanding between the immediate given circumstances and the endless possibilities of the unknown.
The Bushwick Site Festival is sponsored by Arts In Bushwick and is in its third year. It is only one of the fantastic neighborhood wide art festivals that happen over the course of the year and the only one solely dedicated to performance. Arts In Bushwick and the events they throw are in many ways the heart and soul of the Bushwick arts community, keeping an important focus on community in a neighborhood that is quickly changing.
The Site Fest functions around five “hub spaces” that all show various work all weekend, but the festival also includes performances at a number of “satellite spaces” (apartments, studios, street corners, galleries etc) scattered throughout the neighborhood. There is an amazing unified feeling that the festival evokes and it is rare in New York City for this much multidisciplinary work to be shown and attended in celebration not only of the art on display, but also of the neighborhood that is housing it.
The entire festival is free and run by volunteers. It is a true gift to not only the neighborhood of Bushwick, but also to the borough of Brooklyn and on a greater scale, the city of New York.
We look forward to you sharing this very special event with us. See you round the hood!
Date: Sunday March 6th
Location: The Bushwick Starr 207 Starr Street (Between Wykoff and Irving, right down the street from the Jefferson L Train Stop)
Photos by Ryan Mekenian