Nov 2022
1-800-BEAR
... removal? is that a thing? julie thinks i’m joking, but she also thinks i’m not good at jokes. she has a prescription for nausea and non-fiction family. a sneaker collection. i like when she talks about her dreams. she likes when i talk about shattering. julie asks why i don’t call the cops. i laugh because her jokes are better than mine. i pick up a different object every day and call it art. today? a to-go cup of orange juice. it hurts so bad. cops **** dogs.
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i tell god i will be such a good girl. god tells me i’m not a girl. i don’t think that’s important. god says stowaways don’t get second chances. i think that’s *******. i tell god there were no chances, only iterations (spaceship/arbor/fane). god gives me a remote, calls me uncontrolled.
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orange triangle in a blue sky. all my art is the same art, and i want to say all the wrong things about it. i want to be all the wrong things about it. wrong. get it wrong, say the name wrong, paint the wrong shape, compost everything. feed it to the angels. if they’re here.
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as we approach the valley i ask, is this mine? honest mistake.
i’m excited, but god is hanging back on this one. lawn chair, cocktail with umbrella and straw. pink sunglasses and a technicolor poncho.
no, god says. but look alive.
we've come [together] to observe the supper of the venerable maw.
the valley is deep and suffering.
are you sure this isn’t mine, i ask again, but then i see it-
my reason for journeying.
taller than god-tales. mouth a frothing triangle. arms ending in twin fetishes.
suddenly i'm the moon in a field of flowers.
there's a village and they provide sheep for the feeding. the sheep are loud. they sound like one animal.
go no closer, god says. i go no closer.
the behemoth unhinges its jaw, and- i'm the moon in a field of dead cars. no. i'm a cup and i’m full of strange water.
this is mine, i tell god. stop lying to me.
god says nothing. god gods a bar into existence. music in the valley. blood on wool in the valley. i'm pulled inside and fed different food.
... removal? is that a thing? julie thinks i’m joking, but she also thinks i’m not good at jokes. she has a prescription for nausea and non-fiction family. a sneaker collection. i like when she talks about her dreams. she likes when i talk about shattering. julie asks why i don’t call the cops. i laugh because her jokes are better than mine. i pick up a different object every day and call it art. today? a to-go cup of orange juice. it hurts so bad. cops **** dogs.
-
i tell god i will be such a good girl. god tells me i’m not a girl. i don’t think that’s important. god says stowaways don’t get second chances. i think that’s *******. i tell god there were no chances, only iterations (spaceship/arbor/fane). god gives me a remote, calls me uncontrolled.
-
orange triangle in a blue sky. all my art is the same art, and i want to say all the wrong things about it. i want to be all the wrong things about it. wrong. get it wrong, say the name wrong, paint the wrong shape, compost everything. feed it to the angels. if they’re here.
-
as we approach the valley i ask, is this mine? honest mistake.
i’m excited, but god is hanging back on this one. lawn chair, cocktail with umbrella and straw. pink sunglasses and a technicolor poncho.
no, god says. but look alive.
we've come [together] to observe the supper of the venerable maw.
the valley is deep and suffering.
are you sure this isn’t mine, i ask again, but then i see it-
my reason for journeying.
taller than god-tales. mouth a frothing triangle. arms ending in twin fetishes.
suddenly i'm the moon in a field of flowers.
there's a village and they provide sheep for the feeding. the sheep are loud. they sound like one animal.
go no closer, god says. i go no closer.
the behemoth unhinges its jaw, and- i'm the moon in a field of dead cars. no. i'm a cup and i’m full of strange water.
this is mine, i tell god. stop lying to me.
god says nothing. god gods a bar into existence. music in the valley. blood on wool in the valley. i'm pulled inside and fed different food.
