Passed my Knees

The
Oh sing of love

Heartbreak and longing

***

I rode down to 95448 this weekend. I closed the bar Friday and made it back to the studio by 4, was asleep nearing half six, moving by into the day by ten.

It was a have to trip, a reclaiming, a test of my determination. I stopped in Corning for fuel at this chevron that used to sell espresso coconut water (which is delicious if you ever come across it but a case, it's hard to find). Fueled up, took a piss, pounded a snack bar and a Starbucks protein coffee, tried to start the new bike.

***

Nothing. More nothing. Still fucking nothing. The bike clicks at me and the onboard computer spits out a code "EWS"

***

Panic sets in before my brain turns on. Phone google the owners manual is an online PDF

I should save this into my 128 gig iPhone.  Christ the bike is two weeks new; we're still courting and the bike is testing me, not giving up their name, playing pranks on the sides of the highway, refusing to start in Corning.

A lipstick candy apple red BMW is a real attention grabber and at 800 hp no fucking joke. Being broke down on Saturday just after five with a BMW is also no joke. There is an unspoken rule that all Beamer shops shutter at 5 on Saturday and don't reopen until 8 Tuesday. That's not until tomorrow morning.

***

I tell my panic to fuck off

***

Hawaii, I think suddenly, maybe Hawaii is open. Google call Hawaii BMW; they're out surfing; eff you Hawaii

***

Think brain

***

Google says every shop from SF to LA is closed. Fuck fuck fix this I can't be here not til Tuesday fuck

***

Out of the threads of my mind: Las Vegas

***

Ten minutes to spare and I get the mechanic on the line

***

EWS is an antenna, he says, it just fails sometimes, it's a safety thing so no one can steal your bike (electronic chip of linking the bike to the key or some BS). It's a DEATH WARRANT according to all the specs I'd read in the previous hour and I knew he wasn't being a dick.

****

Fuck that, I said, there has to be something I can do to override this system. Disconnect the battery or the computer, otherwise I am so fucked. (The Taco Bell across the street is starting to seem like a positive life choice and having stopped smoking cigs a I'm thinking Taco Bell and cigarettes in a hotel room: my kind of stray cat Saturday). 

****

His voice breaks into my mind, there is a chance your battery could be toast. If you can get to an auto parts shop and your hands on a multimeter you could test it. It should be at 12.1.

***

Looming behind the Taco Bell is an Autozone sign spinning lazy in the snagged out sunset. I hang up as he's trying to tell me about the next thing it could be if blah Blah blah battery failed because 

***

I strip the bikes skirt and test her box. She's reading at 10.4. My battery is dead. I buy a new one, pop it in, Martine starts up purring.

 

Dare Big & Dream Accordingly

I am simplifying. I square up the corners of life. Meaning two or more points converge to form a point. Examining the exterior, formal, edge of an object leads to an understanding of its physical nature. The interior represents the essence, the atomic, the unobservable potential expression. 

For art to be good it must inspire others to good action and demonstrate continued exploration of the social context in which art is created and exhibited.

The call to action is similar to Platos urgency that all true love ultimately leads to wisdom because it is a progressive and willing exploration of shared symbols. Semiotic introspection is galvanized when the formalized symbols which represent our conception of social identity fail to accurately disseminate our empirical observations. 

**--**

I've been sitting on secrets, holding slightly more back these days. I am calming my nerves with exercise and focused breathing; I stopped smoking.

I gave myself that for my birthday, having finally decided I appreciate my time on this planet to want to be here long enough to really fall in love

Bridge the Waters

I have to be very firm and clear. I need my space to be and form and self-direct. I live by continuous course correction and modification.  I balance myself function as an autonomous being first

My desire to see you stable is also one hundred fold.

I understand what necessary means for me. My space is sufficient for my contemplations.

I stand beside you in solidarity as a lighthouse. 

I am a lighthouse, not an anchor darling. I shine bright and perhaps warn of treacherous waters. I am the lighthouse keeper, a signal, a beacon; I watch the waters. 

On calm days the waters are glass. The surf banking into the cove and up the beach. In calm the surf is playful. A boat in the cove floats, waiting for a break in the current to re enter the sea, waiting for the signal that the tide has shifted and safe passage is possible.

This can take many many days. Off shore multiple currents converge and the sea roils. The cove in high weather drains the tides rush out being pulled by the vacuum of the fleeing current. Some boats get stuck on the rocks as the waves pull, others those nearest the sea some of those get sucked back in the eddies, others turned to harpoons and splinters; some fleet ships watch the lighthouse because they know the lighthouse's role is to shine a light in times of trouble so that safe passage may prevail. 

Soft calls the night

Yesterday, at the museum, you were the most important. 

It's been two years since the ticket was purchased. I was in the eye of the storm. Two years since his fingers closed around my throat and cut off my oxygen supply. I thought you liked it, he said the next day as he watched me shower.

I picked up the loose beads from the necklace he'd torn off me and thrown at the wall. Two of the rubies had broken into glinting splinters. I folded them into a tissue so he could repair the necklace he'd given me over the holidays.

Two years since he left me in an abandoned parking lot at one am in a small mountain town. Thank every god I had my wallet.

Two years it took me to understand why I let myself love one such devil.

The cracks are where the light gets in. 

Two to the Left

marked at birth
The grip on my free fall spins real lies across the surface of my trajectory standing close and closer to the light I move in and out of transparency. I push my heart and it has broken, my war paint complete I cross the threshold and emerge fully formed, Pallas Athena, into the world of men and dogs. I take a few minutes to appreciate my pursuit of expression and my drive to get a grip on theory, falsification, justification.

I understand art through philosophy and philosophy through science, I am a closed system

I Let Go

For a moment the guiding principals of production

I thrive and manage and read and reread all of the materials

I am for a moment without a rudder I am unbound and plied

My tears are hot and hot

--

I feel my pulls
those urges
And oh oh oh I can be unabashedly
Cocky

It is the massive amount of testosterone I was subject to envitro  g ft f f 

X
G f
F
G

G ft
 
   
 
 
G

I'd Kick Rocks, but Math

I want to pause

for three days

-

to wake with the sun

and warm skin, sweet with sweat

the glancing 

graze of loves hand across

the edge of slumber

****

Instead I am pent up exhaustion and borderline madness. I feel the creeping edge of the limit of my exertion, hoping that I have a fuck left to give. Part of it may be that I haven't had a half-competent lover in a year. I haven't really dated beyond physical informality in two.

-

I could be sick when I consider the chapters of text to work through this evening: environmental science which may be due in an hour, I must check; a few chapters of Ladyman; write a draft of my thesis; read the entire quarter's worth of art history articles; prepare my bibliography for artech and biomedia.

***

I want to pause

three more minutes

-

inhale sharply and imagine my

waist secured, nearly encircled

in a firm ten fingered grasp

**

I am chilled, my skin pulling close under my tights demands a portion of my attention. I know I would be more comfortable if I would simply stand, retrieve the items I came here for, and return to my task at hand.

-

Until a moment can be stolen from time, wrestled from the narrow pass between untouched lips, the same that pulls breath from chest, firm press of knee to knee, I come undone

*

I Eat Soil

I: remember reading about the soil eaters-- women, somewhere who compulsively consume red earth. Though I do not eat dirt,  I understand compulsion. It stems from multiple channels of input layering into a single stream. I seek to separate them long enough to have an idea separate from its thought.


II: My skin pimples against the cold as I remove my outer layers of clothing. It takes a moment to adjust to the new ambient atmosphere. Looking into the dish of crystalizing salts, the resinous mass seems to be supportive. The experiment in natural design is a simple experiment based on the flaws of radionics. In seeking to simplify the durability of the definition of life, living matter became matter animated. I am seeking to animate nonliving temporal matter using the building blocks of method and misappropriated theory.

III: The pounds have been dissolving into my bloodstream. Designer denim was build for my current frame. Hints of curves join planar surfaces. I am half way through the modification on my right arm. The brand will be a circlet of neighboring points. I have nine or ten dots beginning above the elbow of my right arm, they march toward my forearm. These small burns heal in sync with the date of their induction onto my flesh from still pierced purple to near white and slightly raised from my previous casing. They adorn my beautiful arm.

IV: e been at such a loss for touch as well as a loss for sleep. The many projects that I maintain, love, and nourish are costly. We never know the cost until we are asked to pay.

Into the Mist

It is chill this morning and I recovered from two hard days of consumption. It catches up quickly for me these days: the accumulation and following release of pressure. In the good: I am officially the Bar Manager of the best bar between SF and PDX. I am the boss. It has to do with systems, approach, and a disdain for mediocrity.  I am also the shop manager and a TA. I am an artist and I am unraveling, slightly, the complex territory of my self-limiting belief systems.

Kicking into overdrive beast mode all I have left is the desire to be fucked good and hard against a wall. I am surrounded by flaccid dick. That's the thing about being an incorporated two legged human who inhabits more grey than black or white. I am terrifying to encounter on a human level.

I am learning that I don't feel as easily or well as many other people. Feelings are put into the unsafe zone-- from a cognitive behavior standpoint it's logical. Managing my emotions is a constant agreement with myself to be safe, secure, stable.

I love you, know that I am touching the resin of my being to build a starburst constellation

Not an Onion rather a post-programm Mx^3

If ever I have been self-expressed it is in
motorcycle jeans,
boots with studs, and a sparkle pink tutu 

I am shifting on the pillows of my bed. I have a coffee near me, I am rested and also on edge. On edge is a catch-all phrase for the state of my life. I am juggling half-a-dozen eggs, dancing on a wet floor, mascara smeared, lips arched in a flash of red symmetry.

I count, as I inhale, to eight; hold for seven; exhale on a four-count; repeat until I feel my limbs, fall asleep, snap out of my response phase cycle.

I have been distant here. I've been distant most places. I use time as an excuse to keep people at the edge of my finger tips. It's a tactic I employ to keep my relationships standard, superficial, professional. I fuck based on need. I am beginning to see that my needs remain consistent if I am single. Physically, I freak out and need physical contact every few months. Typically, I find this in a willing man. This has nothing to do with attraction, rather convenience and normalcy. It's easy and far from criminal.

My heart and cunt remain distant. To be very clear, I am realizing slowly that I may not actually like men. I don't like their breath, their belly scratching while they sleep. I don't know where this puts me. It puts me off. I feel too damn old to be figuring this out. I am at a complete loss as I feel like I should know all of this already, that I shouldn't be so damn scared.

I put all of that on hold and stay over-scheduled so that I don't have time to be alone, much less with another person. I tell myself I will meet someone when I am in a city with more queers. I tell myself it's not that I am asexual it's only that I am non-identified and dually incorporated. I am pulling at my lips as I bind my tits.