arcologies

your voice is an ordeal

epacris71 — Wed, 20 Feb 2013 03:44:42 +0000

you are the gift that never left my hands
listening, I hold my hands mid-air
I can’t hear your voice over the birds there
and the birds here
the birds here
are offering their protection
the magpie lark looks up from the lawn
sees me through glass, head tilt
confirmation of value
promise, will sing again before too long

epacris71 — Mon, 11 Feb 2013 09:22:43 +0000

“We might ask, as Levinas surely has, what kind of gift this is that returns to me so quickly, that never really leaves my hands.”

- Judith Butler, Giving an Account of Oneself

atonement

epacris71 — Sun, 13 Jan 2013 04:48:04 +0000

desperation never wins
your gaunt strength
resilience as buzzword
rain hits our skin the garden
the tv says petrichor

objects come to us
a penguin plate a cushion
five minutes later
they’re suffused with memory

I worry about you
you walk around
like an open book

(an open wound in a soldier’s chest goes septic
he never returns to her)

so you’re a taxonomist after all
classifying this longing
that attaches itself to things
a photograph a poem

sipping port in the blue glow
still monitoring the waveform
that waits for forgiveness

camera roll

epacris71 — Sat, 15 Dec 2012 19:44:42 +0000

epacris71 — Mon, 26 Nov 2012 07:33:05 +0000

the absent gnat in your server
the red grevillea puts out a call for poets
buying rich food for visitors to show love
here alone, aloud

you like to watch gardeners handle soil
you come like Christmas, hot and sweet
and almost too much to bear
falling asleep under “just a sheet”

the child in the seaweed doesn’t know slimy yet
suddenly there’s bunting everywhere
and lists of suburbs to hang on your wall
dizzy in the sun with the politics of gift giving

you come out of the ocean a different creature
the child makes a casuarina cladode into a straw
the next door piano practices Jingle Bells
here grinding cartilage, splitting ends

epacris71 — Sat, 04 Aug 2012 02:20:47 +0000

via The Selby

epacris71 — Sun, 29 Jul 2012 03:45:43 +0000

Unnecessary Mountain

epacris71 — Sat, 28 Jul 2012 04:44:42 +0000

“It’s a strange business, speaking for yourself, in your own name, because it doesn’t at all come with seeing yourself as an ego or a person or a subject. Individuals find a real name for themselves, rather, only through the harshest exercise in depersonalization, by opening themselves up to the multiplicities everywhere within them, to the intensities running through them. . . . One becomes a set of liberated singularities, words, names, fingernails, things, animals, little events: quite the reverse of a celebrity.”

- Deleuze, Negotiations 1972-1990

tl;dr

epacris71 — Thu, 26 Jul 2012 07:43:13 +0000

sometimes there is so much riding on something
it becomes ridiculous, otherwordly, fatuous

all your life you’ve never been greeted until a two year old opens the door
and happy squeals jumps and falls on his arse at the sight of you

an afternoon could pass taking photos of the cabin
but to what end? more gaps more unauthorised production

we go hyperlocal into white ayslum and blue convolvulus
heads down like bees you remember nanna’s garden

did you know I was literally walking on broken bones when I came to see you?
I think we heard them grinding in the sun reminding us not to sleep

epacris71 — Thu, 26 Jul 2012 01:41:33 +0000

Study for The Bridge in-curve, 1930 – Grace Cossington Smith