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2018

evergreen – leaves – mountain ripple – moss – freshcut – fade

rain dripping through the iron ceiling. I pull the root from the tree. Your chest- water dripping from the bark. On the mezzanine, telling me about your mother.

blood seeping from a hollow stone. the curve of lips. im sorry (oh) not sure where to put this love, spread eagle, face burrowd into pussy, spit all over the bathroom floor, tiled cold. handshake

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100% sleep

Ive let the data-giants into my private-life and now I track my dreams through electricity

im not sure how it works, how it knows when or how I am sleeping, whether I should be scared of the device on my pillow next to my head that produces graphs & sends them to the cloud where they accumulate for years- What would anyone do with my sleep cycles? Isnt sleep the only thing that cant really be monetized? Even though I just gave a company £1.49 to tell me how im sleeping. because of course, Im sleeping wrong. Once sleep is monetized our dreams arent even safe.

sic. (The Third Reich Of Dreams is a book by Charlotte Berandt that maps the psychosocial affect of fascism on the dreams of people during the height of the 2nd world war. )

 

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MAINTENANCE

Screen Shot 2019-03-14 at 13.55.39So, fuck it, we are constantly working on this thing called life. How to sustain an art practice in the midst of the dirge. Its all quite a drag isnt it- the brexit and the bullshit , threatening our freedoms. I have taken to not even looking at the news so much anymore – And we’re all worried that were not feeling okay, we’re kind of anxious or pretty much consumed. & constantly working on the work. Going to work, working on keeping a roof above our heads and sustainable eco-friendly vegan food on the table. I think a lot of the time how did my mother do it with all of us kids, five of us? I know i’m barely keeping it together with only myself to care for. And i’m tiptoeing across precarity the same as anyone else I suppose. altho this is also supposed to be THE PRIME OF MY LIFE, and I should be living it up! Which is of course another thing to worry about.   My heads all over the place most of the time. Im worried a lot about working too much or not working enough and not seeing my friends enough and HOW TO SUSTAIN MY PRACTICE AND STAY SANE.  Im waiting for the burst of energy that comes sometimes & when it does it feels amazing and I can actually get a lot of stuff done as opposed to the daily struggle to get ur head off your pillow. it fuckin sucks.  Ive started doing yoga videos off the internet and trying to get outside more and breathe in the sweet sea air. Im lucky enough to live by the sea its great  its free and pretty healing, but got to keep working on the work– I know that its hot topic for arts institutions and funders to try to ‘diversify’ the opportunities- but finding that time and headspace to do a good enough application in the first place is goddamn hard. clean your clothes call ur estate agent about the mice go to therapy wurk on the applications the emails the life admin pay ur bills and sweep the floors make your bed wash behind your ears go to work cut up the vegetables keep your boss happy keep it tidy dont be late never be late sorry im late.

 

 

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ACCUMULATION (debt)

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something like time begins to crumble under the bludred moon. it illuminates the blackness. its own shadow shimmering shrunk. it shrank the desert with its gape – the gaping crescent in the blanket of night – it shrank seas, to the deepest depths its pull pooled, spooling, releasing itself, breathing, as it sleeps the tides move upon it’s chest. the dawn-kiss of total stillness. this morning my flesh sat still around my bones, i can feel the hairs extending out of my pores, coarse hairs matt my flesh & broken nails splinter, folds of skin overlap one another & dust gathers in the corner of rooms.

balls of hair neatly ordered by size & colour underneath floorboards creaking and the murmur of male tones through too-thin-walls. creaks that linger like ghosts.

  • UNDER A BLUD RED MOON.
  • Blood.

(ist) (hanging flesh like strewn up over curtain rails like bulbous bags of brine soaked rags a great grey cavernous thing a pool of grey water, an aerial view of a pool of grey water with pink socks floating amongst tired fishes)))

(debt) this stuff just hangs off of me I dont remember putting it there and my body doesnt feel connected anymore, and the internet therapists say connection is the reason for living and that I need to expose my vulnerability to get to the ‘me’ in the ‘me’ the inside space thats warm & glowy,

I go to work and I do all the processes like a machine I tick off the list for maximum efficiency & this is killing my creativity. & the dust gathers & the debt is accumulating tick tick apply yourself keep your area clean and tidy like this not that, – (please, try to fracture the boring dystopia)—  

—fracture the dystopia—

(fawn) inside theres pearls of passionfruit dripping mango sweet on pink lips in bloody skies, fractured rocks glowing gauntlet in endless grey,—– these expansive oceans- the light comes thru my window reflected on stainless steel my warm bed the curtains hang the dust is visible in the sunlight. bits of you and me all entwined together. im trying to get out of my head to the bigger things bigger then me all of this, its half the fight (for the dawnlight)

 

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Declarations Of Love

 

All forms of friendship, kindness and love are political and radical acts in our current state of being >>  >>. this love, extending to all life-forms, everywhere >>

Men constructing buildings to the right of me— An expansive space ((sparse)). The curvature of a town is reflected in glass gaussian clouds over me – grey and glowing like ancient dreams filtered through steamed up glasses — the reflections are sexy, they remind us of the surfaces which mediate our lives — the images are desirable, aesthetically pleasing, send shivers down your spine, make you horny. Everything is pressed against this window, this shopfront, this reflective pool; tits splayed on glass, nipples larger than real life, the hues of not quite morning. Out on the street you are dancing, with eyes resting on the curve of your breasts through cotton – your nipples are visible, its hot, a man tells you to put a bra on- hes been looking at you- your jeans are tight now too everything is too tight– close//near//squeezing//touching//gliding//glimpsing —

Im walking down the street and a man shouts at me to put a bra on, I suppose he can see right through me. I suppose he can seethru me I suppose I am seethru I suppose I am seethru I am seethrough

a marketing executive used his mobile phone to spy on a woman as she undressed because he could not handle the stress of his job.

Afterhours, Nocturnal animals communicate through echoes in this chamber – the nightlife skulks , the depths, the caves, the ocean floor, silky translucent skin showing thin-like-bone-structure. The night is full of opportunities, and a great way to avoid the perils of daytime living.

To navigate in a straight line and escape from their competitors, these nocturnal animals follow the faint path of light of the milky way in the sky above.

All sorts of things come to the surface, under the shadow of darkness, wriggling around like worms in soil.

We are leaking, sticky fluids formed from figs, fragrant like pearls stuck in your teeth. daddy I dance on your shoes, Daddy crawls the night-drunk-partyscene-thebigdog——i am your little sister, i am your sister;;;;;;

my tits are transformed into two halves of a fig bitten down the middle, i am transformed into two halves of a fag bitten down the middle. I’m thinking recently that maybe always feeling a little odd isnt the new normal. Im thinking recently that always feeling a bit out of place isnt just blase’, its the way, like 90s garage  picking up my soles, my soul bouncing up and down on the sticky dancefloor tiles, sick, dick, fingered and moulded.

From the gut, the rot, the deep, the core, the camo. The camoflague. make clicks and squeeks that bounce off trees. Hide in the cracks. Echolocating- sending signals to my sisters through the cover of darkness. Folds of skin that look like elegant silk wrapped around u, your body a lightshow, Floating in thick air I find myself enveloped in darkness, a sensory deprivation tank, Taking away my senses

Oily black water lapping ice cold over sordid skin

Somehow, theres a seperation here between the I and the I, the flesh and the core, pacified, I want to touch your eyes I want to see right through you.

—- She protests, exhausted, she wears these outrageous costumes

i am worried because the night is long and all the men are aimless

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cave speech

11 secrets of unsuccessful people, please click here for more info
Contradictory consciousness-management has superseded social anxiety about Bad Faith.
It’s difficult to place your finger on it, at times, its rather unbearable. The sinking in the core of your stomach

The      unplaceable      guilt

that shackles bones and stops you dead

A warm stuttering, a membrane stretching over your head, keeping you safe,pure. translucent, glass shimmer, frosted pane. Pushing walls made of stone, breezeblocks murmuring in corridors, in alleyways, tired tired and half drunk. A drank, stank. Dank. A body, a wave, a spatter, slice, a section of flesh, a fucking for freedom. A pushing. An integer / integral component

An orifice, pink and fleshy, pulsating. Groundwork. Concrete. Crumbling. As limbs intervene with spatial certainties. A ghost. Phantom, organ. Purple shades glistening in midnight shadows. growl

0 hour contract 50 hour workweek

Please grind these rocks into sand and bury yourself deep within the caverns below. Please inject these silicon tits with your pain, projected. Keep Calm and Carry On Keep Calm and Carry On The Planes Are Circling Overhead . Seeking dynamic, driven and enthusiastic individual to attend their own funeral 40 hrs a week, 10-15k, apply within. Seeking proactive, flexible human w. encyclopaedic knowledge & tenacity for driving UP-SALES to dig own grave on casual basis -10k pro-rata. Dependent on experience. Please exploit me wholly, I pray
We don’t agree with the manual I know it doesnt work but we just have to do it this way okay? . My body is riling pulsating, crumbling

The promised land is within . heaven and hell are in the same place. Youve got to be in it to win it ! Youve got to work your way up! the qwueens got an offshore tax haven n i gotta pay hmrc 55p a minute to call them about over-taxing my minimum wage 0 hr contract jobs . Mothers become motion blur on my periphery, children stuffed with cheap meat scream profanities, the grey sky is painted on your face. The streets are strewn with trash, parts of your pain to  be ravaged by night foxes and alley cats. Your pain wrapped in cellophane. Lucky to be working to be moving your body to the beat of the rota – 1. 2. 3 . minimum wage if you’d be so lucky. The grey sky is painted on your face. Dry damp caves. Everything over here is corrupt and messy.

Planes overhead circle. Planes circle overhead.

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