integrate - featured in krankbrother 'when you're watching me'

Music video featuring 3 dancers during rush hour on the mrt in Taipei. The video depicts people that use the metro on a daily basis. Mundane and diverse, the transportation system carries different kinds of people. It is a place full of movement and energy.

poem begins at 5:07

*please follow to the youtube description for more project information and credit

repetitions:

i.               future ghosts

mingle

with immediate provocations

 

ii.             audial voyeurism

tucks

beneath the sheath

of chosen sanctity

 

iii.           suppressing horror

as is done,

when snakeskin

is found

as leaf

 

iv.             tallied gashes

betray

in neon lights

across the cortex

 

v.              eyes imbalance

searching for light

from foreign shapes,

to varying peaks

meditation on a smile in adrienne rich

“’[t]he only real love [i] have ever felt

was for children and other women.

[e]verything else was lust, pity,

self-hatred, pity, lust.’“

the phenomenology of anger, part 9

 

***

 

there’s something: you should know,

there’s something i just found

in the bottom of my backpack

in worn-out maggot threads

sprinkled in harsher textures,

crinkled memories

faded deposits

to be shaken out

in a hurry

preflight

one day soon

 

maybe they’ll wash away

in a monsoon

while i’m gone

and my pack can feel light with the worry,

and you’re done; and i’m gone

 

—redemption is only the slime

barely discernible, hidden in smiles

how do you swim in a paradox?

keen for a floss with contempt?

 

not at all aboard—

you buoyant—

stop feeling absurd

get off the phone

try another finger

 

you’ve been in that pack a few thousand years

in the waterproof

hands we keep forcing

to sew

 

in the under

of a filth

on which she was first

slapped to air

 

now i see you in your dirty abode, my dirty abode

musty in yellow

deformed as only you could

 

and i know, i fucking finally know:

i ran out of the pity

set special aside

for the sounds you make

the vernacular you climb and slide along

not large enough to hide beneath

 

there’s no lust on chapped memories,

and a smile is all i can plug.

 

just as self-hatred realizes itself in the bloodstains

 

gauze and gaze, gauze and gaze

 

thinly decorate the cycle:

the mirror, the only,

we know.

skeltonic summer

she only greets

resounding beats;

grains, in the sheets,

emptied in streets;

some in totes—

baseless gloats

with powdered notes

—blackened, most;

the feeling’s toast;

returned, but roast

far from the coast,

can no longer post;

skin is itchy

scabbing to bitchy;

weekend laundry,

come back gauntly

jaundice, jauntily 

fresh from the sea

—sweat and algae.

mouth

unthinkingly parting

the colored skin,

same as her nipples,

still bordered with drugs-

tore twelve hour gloss

the small circle collecting tobacco

on the bottom: 

006 pin up red

 

dragon puffing last

night’s smoke

menthol flew away

with her dreams of pine

the throaty stench

of dry

tongue screeches on her buds

 

readjusted

physical form to taste upon entry

—down right normal

corporeal contact with taste

on this morning—can he

still,

tighten the grip