andhouse

[andhouse]

The sun, my father : Nils-Aslak Valkeapaa : Free Download, Borrow, and Streaming : Internet Archive

[andhouse]

moss chandelier

you went to sleep handling sleep and a platter 

deep piled sweet mouthfuls to bring a honey bee

you went washing your hair in blue sand through

a clueless bank of snow whispering winter 

she has a touch for you just for you

curl into it as you dream it true 

and i wonder about your furnaces 

constantly driving crops into high cloudbanks

through a dream of crying birds and 

our conversation slack as wrist forgotten in wakefulness

my necklaces on the wall are working in the future 

so there you have it - an expensive month

a sleep meant to blush in your clipped day

i prepare a ceiling for you 

so you can wake up to a refreshed screen

with spiderwebs glistening, loamy hunks of soft soil

letting dust to your open mouth

may it say moss

and moss moss moss moss

[andhouse]

https://www.harvardartmuseums.org/art/226857

THE DEATH OF ADONIS

[andhouse]

short story

I asked some male if he was still a photographer

He looked deamonized- No! God, no. & how could I have missed out

On the major crease in his future - Architecture, duh, or the Urban Plan. I forget now... He had the eyes of a goldfish, that I know,

But I insisted, his photography was good. It was! The bases of

Things- people’s feet, where a table hits the ground, tree roots,

Army bases, yeah anything basic, lol. Ok maybe the photos weren’t great

But the IDEA was. He ran around looking at what holds things

To the earth. I get that, or got it. I don’t stay up late enough for stars anymore

So the earth it is. By the time my neighbor gets her cat in,

I’m in bed from exhaustion, sleep is a floating membrane right above

Earth, and the bedposts hit the floor, which is earthbound, so,

Sleeping at angle to the earth is a parallel repose. I so get it. I could have taken

Those photos he took, maybe I will? Today’s wilted iris is oddly sticky

Around the petals, the neck of it broken sort of lolling from the stem.

I take another look at the menu and go for grapefruit something something,

He gets another Singha & calms down considerably in the belly of

His phone. This restaurant is a pork dumpling chain with a cute food thing

In the form of a baby in a diaper as the mascot. Weird, there are goldfish

In the tank, sparkle on the ceiling. I’m on the edge of my self, asking this guy questions

And don’t listen to the answers. He’s on the phone, not really involved

In what comes out of his mouth. Rehearsal for life, right? I remember

Moss and wish there was some around here, just to touch a little shred of moss...

That would be nice! Instead I go for the water and engage with the ice. An elemental

Chemical process, Ice. What is your opinion on planner’s roles in shaping the

City of the future, in terms of the climate catastrophe? I narrowly miss his alarmed

Expression, oh, but he’s got this one covered. Like it is an answer someone can know.

The dumplings are here, little piggies wrapped in fried dough. Hype on a plate. Here’s some

Spicy mustard. I’m vegan, actually, just here for the atmosphere. Ha, ha!

We both laugh for no reason. A couple of kids sitting in red chairs wait for their parent

To parent them. They have silver eyes, staring at the goldfish, who swims.

[andhouse]

--damnmelody--

How do you translate

Thoughts into vital signs

A turn in bed could be the twist

Of a vine

As i surrender in the mud

You bleed your mentor for fun

Here’s a wild hope from the street

As purchased as a surgery

Watch her convey

Quality

The courage to make anything

Start little blanket to curl

See the pond and be the inner

Wild as seafoam in the storm

End up on the beach

As a guest for dinner

Cue wandering round the town

Pick pockets sleepwalking

Or falling down

In market stalls your parties and friends

I wonder about being them

I wonder about being they

In their mirror

At the end of the day

[andhouse]

In the car the corner of self stacked horizon

We can eat each other’s food and handle

Math in the middle of school burning calories

And lamps still as the hot death we should pronounce

Quiet morning behind the bed with the skin off

And the clamp still working at the windowsill

I am a vegetarian and communist red next Wednesday

[andhouse]

Circus 1

his acrobatics came to his voice

they slipped the nets that fell on the song

he knew the cue below

tears go to the right

not the wrong person

as you've heard

[andhouse]

[andhouse]

le vent qui tord les astres

[andhouse]

in this room of chairs 

this broom with blue hairs

in this shed of wood

this copper handle hums 

sings to me 

all sing a crackling bit of melody

tabs wring with the age of varied hands

mountainstop blasted off gives water a yellow length

to the depth of the ship watch the gulls follow it

down the drainage to the lot backing up against the plot where we laid 

furrows down

bolting seeds into the ground

here’s our shed pulled apart little edge to the fence

my little house bound to grass deep against the old ash tree

my gosh a funny sound escapes me

i’m looking at the place we used to smoke

tears welling up to me

my alder ash and oak tree single wide in the dust brown barrels crumbling 

in the lyceum where i woke up unprepared for 2003

[andhouse]

Face Protection Is Soft Ware

I turn my eyes to Anna in a far flung attempt to see manifested our shared volume of time. What is it? A curtain, a node, a shard? The curl of waste from a snail? 

Is this how we appear to each other, a blurring? Holding stable a version of the moment. I am a limb and abundant. Anna is a wind. 

Visiting in the backyard, cold water in the glasses under a bleaching tree-

We are valences of each other, building to an edge; and dropping until the next visitation. Lights from the next meadow at sundown.

What is at the center of a border between people? What even is a person? Stop, be the viable branch of genealogy enhanced theatrically by atmosphere in a driftwood decorated Brooklyn bar where the fact of physical being can be absolutely realized. 

Anna through the doorframe. Me, just outside of the door, a moment before, separate, the next moment, not so much. Timelines, cross-stitched under the green track. ERGOT in all caps beneath.

Easily as humans fill a corner with sacks of trash in this zip code, I adapt to the persistence of her being. 

And here I am! And so the gulf becomes less severe. I look for another channel, however, regarding the intimacy of women as the ultimate peak of value, I park my ass next to Emily and watch Seabiscuit, because Riddles of the Sphinx, a film by Laura Mulvey and Peter Wollen, well, we’re living it. 

[andhouse]

make a painting with:

decomposed parts of a house

shoelaces

flowers caught in stuff

paint

glass shards

garden soil

grass stains

sewing

[andhouse]

a total lack of story

inserting a wide element between

feet at all - its a joke you can tell me 

by walking into a point of exposure

and breaking into shards

hey: what is your small drama today?

to inhabit a shift of light is the goal 

maintaining a dynamic with the 

selective pressures of earth

can we believe in the autonomy of desire

without taking a whole spectrum of the space

required to put a hand on a cheek

to cup a chin in a palm

a past beyond our solar system smokes

sex in a corner in a neon environment

it uncurls in my variant of a hand and

the supreme blue that glows between flags

because of the ocean 

is a vacancy-to-be

i raise a small fire behind the house

for appearances smolder and burn 

through doubt 

[andhouse]

Watch someone listen intently

[andhouse]

Here is my mother with her pet crow which she had rescued.

This picture was taken by my grandfather at their house in Greenville, South Carolina in November 1969.

[andhouse]

my possessions

this ring is part of a rap song about courtesy under fire

i am spinning a pinto in a parking lot - neither mine- 

beyond this fixture of anthropological mechanics 

a face engaged in acute devilishness 

amid drams of folic acid!

i ate a new pebble that became mine upon insertion

riding my tongue it cussed a small grey fathom

and i bought myself a flourless cookie to retrain my tastebuds

thenceforth

how do we ever make friends without bracelets, anymore?

i have a friendship bracelet that is a woolly gag

we made it go around and used it on the ankles, too

nothing scary, just a little bit wet

my ring is on my right hand and i forget which hand is the wedding one

because i am not married and my emotional support comes

from a stuffed dog, which i could feasibly own, but rarely consider

an object

instead he is a valued apprentice

learning much from my sleeping state

he applies it during the day while lingering in bed

a long stretch that makes up his whole life

why i wonder did i declare at the time this stuffed dog would be a boy?

there are no indicators 

at all times i am monitoring 

and responding to 

registers that hit my system like ping pong balls

these things are other people

i respond warmly,

i offer my hand