end infinity

Moi, je déteste la musique heureuse.

Fri, 21 Dec 2012 10:16:05 -0500

Moi, je déteste la musique heureuse.

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Fri, 21 Dec 2012 10:15:01 -0500

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Thu, 06 Dec 2012 18:38:46 -0500

piss on my shoes and tell me it's raining

Mon, 05 Nov 2012 15:56:29 -0500

"KARMA"

Fri, 26 Oct 2012 15:06:52 -0400

“KARMA”

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Sun, 21 Oct 2012 10:17:38 -0400

Coward Pussy

Thu, 20 Sep 2012 01:24:12 -0400

Pussy Coward

TRU, from Megan Amram: Anniversary

Tue, 11 Sep 2012 22:24:31 -0400

TRU, from Megan Amram: Anniversary:

meganamram:

I can’t think of a better day to speak directly to my “demographic” – skinny 18-to-34-year-olds and spam bots. I am talking to YOU right now, Tweeters and Tumblrers and Bloggers and whatever the HECK else portmanteaus we can whip up while sitting in ironic coffee shops ironically listening to Spotify. We are coming of age in a culture not of un-enjoyment, but of anti-enjoyment. Passion is not just superfluous – passion is weakness. If you like things, you might like the wrong things, and then you’re WRONG with a capital “DOUBLE-U” with a capital “D”, and then you’re BAD and ugly and FAT and SUPER FAT. The Internet can’t figure out whether it wants to beatify things or damn them, so it just gets all sorts of contentious. Contention on the Internet is silly in the worst sense of the word. Personally, I hate confrontation. I like to think of myself as a sickly Victorian child, or a maybe a sickly geisha. Very demure and easily persuaded and sickly. If the Internet is a super highway, we all have road rage.

To participate in this chic backlash against passion is to have a small mind. In my humble, unimportant, normal-sized opinion, it is better to have a small BRAIN than a small MIND. If you have a small brain, you can still be a good, kind, hard-working, dumb person who can manage some sort of farm or daycare. If you have a small mind, however, you very well might hurt people with it. You are just getting a sliver of the delicious Bacon, Ham, & Cheese Lean Pocket that is being young in America.

Spending your youthful energy on combative, kinetic apathy is a waste. Stuff is AWESOME, GUYS.

yisgoodwin: ball so hard…

Sun, 02 Sep 2012 23:15:39 -0400

yisgoodwin:

ball so hard…

Not Philly-related, but longtime readers will appreciate this...

Sat, 25 Aug 2012 10:01:18 -0400

loladelphia:

I was contacted by a self-proclaimed juggalette (female juggalo) on eHarmony! Her first question was, “Do you like Insane Clown Posse?”

I’m kind of surprised there isn’t a dating site exclusively for those who live that lifestyle!

hahahaha hell yea

lyrical mastermind

Sat, 25 Aug 2012 00:24:23 -0400

Self-loathing narcissist
Spittin’ crowbars out the back window of cars and shit
And acting like a klonopin binge-hardening
And switching up the moniker of artists into arsonists

Knock-knock, it’s that prodigal pen-throttle, bitch
Popping like the top of a bottle of hot JavaScript
Rhyme harder than nine joggers with
Shin splints dodging an ornery rhinoceros

Order me my waffles and bother me not, blogger
The option of being modest just walked to where my father went
Ponder how we can holler then spit darker
Than Gotham at six bars in the genre then lick shots

At imposters and miss nada, Volatile pig brawler
Is hotter than lit parliament, send in your fucking army
In the parking lot of a Target, I’m targeted, piss-harboring
Heart dark as that thick parka I slip markers in

Holla if you’ve never been a starter
Spartan kicking jocks and tossing salt at their Ed Hardy shit
Burning chops, talking shit, rocking 28’s on a rocket ship
So I could give a fuck about the car you in, nigga

Drooling chew aluminum
Blue ‘Preme overalls, jump when the Goombas come
Some of you should run from where the shooter’s come
Out for cheese with a studio, it’s like a gudda run, it glues to us

Shouts to pigeons that I flew amongst
Mouth deliver poop, it’s spouting mucus from its stupid tongue
Alpha male, got the chicken losing in his cruising trunks
Losers get a Kuma Punch, I’m moving like a puma’s lunch

And I’m back… bye

tarleton: Installation by Maurizio Cattelan with text added by...

Sat, 25 Aug 2012 00:17:40 -0400

tarleton:

Installation by Maurizio Cattelan with text added by an anonymous artist

cantgohomeagain: Grimes - Genesis Mostly into the PUSSY hat

Sat, 25 Aug 2012 00:14:28 -0400

cantgohomeagain:

Grimes - Genesis

Mostly into the PUSSY hat

jesuisperdu: joseph dylan ruymen

Thu, 23 Aug 2012 16:15:37 -0400

jesuisperdu:

joseph dylan ruymen

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Thu, 23 Aug 2012 16:14:13 -0400

Ode on Periods

Thu, 23 Aug 2012 16:12:45 -0400

Bernadette Mayer

the penis is something that fits into the vagina
so's the tampax or sponge
therefore Aristotle never thought of women at all
the penis like a tree fits into mouth, hands and asshole too
it can be the subject of an academic poem
disguised as a sloop, catapult or catamaran's mastpole
never the monthly menstruation will she
belie tradition's bloody demagoguery enough
to appear in the rough in a poem in a monthly
I dream I had a deep cut on my finger
filled with a delicious tofu cake
and when you took off your clothes your penis
was among them hanging by a cord on a hook
I took it down hoping its disassociation from being
would not thus prevent its manly erection from existing
and therefore I tried it out and it went well
such as license as mine perhaps made it swell independent
I think the world is all fucked up in many ways (see footnotes)
and one of these is the apparent interdiction in dumb poetic tradition
of speaking of and being heard on the glories of sublime menstruation

I first got my period when I was twelve the day my father died
at least I knew what it was, some girls didn't then
we were told you can't go swimming but don't you wanna have children
so much for confessionalism
I won't call on the moon like in a real poem
or anthropology or the bible or talk about being untouchable
or power etc. I've nothing at all to say but to exercise
my freedom to speak about everything

now that poems've got everything in them
even rhetoric and dailiness plus the names of things again
including flowers like the spotted touch-me-not
so inviting to hummingbirds
and I'm writing one
I'd like to mention or say blatantly
I got my period today
probably like nobody
certainly in the nineteenth century ever did
and if you really wanna know
most of us you know
all get ours on the same day no kidding
and we talk about it frequently and peripatetically
Alice with Peggy Peggy with Marion Marion with me me with Anne
Anne with Alice Peggy with me Grace with Peggy Marion with Grace

So Friends! Hold the bloody sponge up!
For all to see!

give me some time and I will leave again, then for longer

Thu, 23 Aug 2012 16:09:45 -0400

give me some time and I will leave again, then for longer

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Sun, 19 Aug 2012 17:01:45 -0400

"To decide to do “this” as a living is to invite barbs that generally pile up around gender and..."

Wed, 01 Aug 2012 22:15:06 -0400

“To decide to do “this” as a living is to invite barbs that generally pile up around gender and power. The poet is a fag, the poet is a drag, the poet is righteous. But really I think people resent our freedom. Our choice to keep doing something they may have done badly when they were younger and were full of feeling and to keep doing something that supposedly anyone can do – making something out of something as practical and mundane as language is to brand oneself as a lifelong fool rather than merely a fool in her youth. People feel sad about what they disavowed to become who they are now. Poets are human of course and have disavowed plenty, but to stand behind this nonetheless significant or foolish act – it’s a kind of self identifying, self categorizing act (like language itself) that enrages people exactly in the place where they’ve made choices and need to assume you haven’t. This – to be a poet – was the biggest choice in my life, and I suffer fools gladly and have a great life. Look at this. I just wrote a book called snowflake, for god’s sake.”

- Eileen Myles on the Hairpin!!! (via meaghano)

vicemag: Cooking in Prison Before I went to a super shitty...

Fri, 15 Jun 2012 10:17:55 -0400

vicemag:

Cooking in Prison

Before I went to a super shitty prison with no kitchen, I never realized that you could cook a whole meal like you might with a stove, but using the microwave. It sounds cheap and gross, but after dining out of the micro for two years, I can’t complain too much. When cooked properly (by me), the meals were borderline bangin’.

The main problem for the prison gourmand is that since my joint technically wasn’t a “cooking facility,” there was no cooking oil in the commissary and it wasn’t allowed in the care packages we got from the outside. The only butter we had was from margarine packets stolen from the mess hall and mildly poisonous margarine from the commissary that most people couldn’t afford anyway. The only oil to be found was in canned octopus, which I ended up using a lot—more on that later.

I usually cooked solo. In prison, concepts like sharing become complicated. And even if I get along with someone, that doesn’t mean I wanna eat the same shit as him. Most dudes eat summer sausage or pepperoni with every meal, while other guys go the canned seafood route. But my recipes are bugged the fuck out. For example, I used to get a monster ginger root in my monthly 35-pound packages from home. I would try to put it in every meal. It scared a lotta heads away because of its pungency, and that stroked my boat just fine.

In the warmer months I stayed tight with dudes who worked with horticulture and had access to herbs and vegetables. It wasn’t a bad setup. July through September I would often eat a raw zucchini, cook spaghetti squash, and munch on monster 15-pound cabbages. Heads thought I was nuts, but most prisoners don’t even know what healthy is. I took my health serious while I was in there. But it was damn difficult to get any fresh food in the clink-clink. I still get my knickers in a knot over the fact that nearly everything I ate was packaged, processed, or quick-chilled. That can’t be good for an inmate.

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