A list:

1. Elderberry tea is good for colds

Two. Giving Up by Ingrid Michealson is a stunning song.

thr33. I have been editing beautiful photos for a special new series and you get a sneak peak.

4our: This christmas is red bows tied around palm trees.

According to Best American Erotica

Full

is me with an ache and you with a rod
is her with a cunt and him with a cock
is him with whimpering ass and her with solid strap-on

A word is defined by the world it exists in.
Full is spite inside respite.
Full is carey inside precarious.
Forgive me if that’s not a good example its just

Carey, I love you and here you are
drooling on an amtrak pillow-
a ball on the broken chair
I read erotic stories and lick your ear

make me full. No,
you sleep like streetlights in a power outage.
There is no turning you on.

Out the window, Salt Lake City is lit up.
Are those young mormon girls with untouched breasts
and urgent swellings staring out,
like me, aching to feel something inside?

Holy Holy Holy Holy Holy they pray

This is my prayer
I have ten fingers toes a nice soft mouth
Two eyeballs one pair of glasses enough food for three
Sandwiches a bottle of wine two parents one grandma who loves me
A way with words and lots of luck and I am thank god not

From a god-fearing family who hates that I lick pussy
Or who filled me up with dirty things before I even knew
I had a space inside
Or missing any limbs

I have so many limbs in fact that I want to jump up and kiss
All these sleeping strangers, the girl drinking water, the old man moaning,
The baby who finally stopped crying,

I don’t.
I run my fingers through your travel-greasy Mohawk, wondering if you have wet dreams. Wondering if this need is shallow.

Wondering if all that I have that isn’t you hard in my hole
Is enough to be the whole.

Full is hole inside whole.

steampunk coveting:

And I'm absolutely excited about the prospect of this SF based Dickens Festival:

roasted chestnuts,
victorian attire,
scrooge and fagin,
hot toddies,
meat pies,
vintage printing presses

WIN.

last night, i traveled to france

under my eyelids. It was green

all those rich shades of it

that makes cities seem poor

and there was a pool

with swim lanes

separated by mini-pirate ships

I wanted to go anywhere. I jumped

and realized I was naked. AH!

These are part of me-

(like my runny nose ands eyeballs)

shame, self-consciousness,

forgetting what's expected of me,

and wanting to shed everything and jump

headfirst into a beauty

that doesn't exist.

Two things

you made two things

a mess

and broccoli leek soup

you can't afford art supplies

so you use food stamps

you can't write poems

so you make monster creations

and cook them up

you fingers want to type so they chop

you eyes want to frame a picture

so they watch the pot.

Follow recipes like the rules of a sonnet

pinch syllable or two.

You shove your free verse

pecan biscuits at me:

you don't say

"eat my art"

but it would be true.

Romance is on a diet

no longer the large belly full of private dinners

tipsy from the cocktails

heavy makeup to impress

and flesh full of lovebites

She eats a salad at work

washes your dishes

picks up your pens and paper

holds you, nude, for the few moments

before your eyes clothes

Every now and then,

she looks at old pictures of herself,

letters and gifts you'd given

before she can tear up

(romance shouldn't snivel,

she should weep gloriously-

or not at all)

she lights a candle

dims the lights

and waits.

She dreams of

gorging on you

till her heart explodes

but she can't find her appetite.

and besides

there's no time.

We rode our bikes

you me dad mom

to a festival for honey

who knew there were so many hills

in iowa, your dad

laughed at me

when the fresh honey poured out

of that big black machine

i was tempted to stick my face in it

so i stuck my finger

the sweet taste in your mouth

is always your secret

I kissed you with tongue to get

courage to take a picture

really really close

of the man with bees

on his face, totally covered

and there were bees crawling on me

but I was so far from my mom, the east coast,

your home, and that bad sting in 7th grade

I didn't run or scream

and you laughed at me

and I thought, fuck it

and laughed too.

Optical Illusion: Hitler/Lesbian

img004edited
Originally uploaded by Iamsurrealism

You better believe it was a workout getting this gem of a shot.

MFA Degree Vs. Fantasy

Some may argue that's just the same:

an MFA in poetry is a fantasy degree made of legitimizing an art form so that with lots of money and school you are a "Master"- but you can't teach talent. (PS. MFA is a terminal degree, there's no PHD in creative writing)

It's true. But regardless, that isn't my dilemma.

Going to an MFA program is probably the most solid option I've got for a "future".

I'd have to get a pretty substantial scholarship to afford this socially approved institution- the odds of getting into well-funded program are, well... it's more difficult than Harvard Law.

Worst of all,

My super-secret dream goal that's not so secret and maybe not a dream

is to rent a storefront, live in it (*ahem* nap in it), and create a community art space.

Sometimes

when I hear my smart friends talk about genetics and the body

or my business friends talk about their $26 dollar an hour internships

(with free transportation)

And I'm burping in front of a film camera for petty cash

while working on penny-stipends at non-profits

I wonder if maybe I shoulda done something practical with my life.

Do you ever think that way?

It's No Oregon Trail

But here are some pictures from the journey west:

Chicago, IL [Photo by A. Fries]

Iowa City, Iowa

Cedar Rapids, Iowa

Highway 80, Iowa

John Wayne's Birthplace, Iowa

Earlham, Iowa

Grand Junction, Colorado

Grand Junction, Colorado

Cedar Rapids, Iowa

(Bridges of) Madison County, Iowa

Understanding.

I recently (joined with my partner in crime) started a candida cleanse which means no:
1. sugar
2.starchy veggies
3.hydrogenated oils
4.yeast (so no bread, carbs, etc)
5. perservaties
6. and more

This means I've taken to cooking lots of fresh meals like:
1. fried eggplant w/ almond flour + kale chips
2. chicken fajita, sans taco
3. quinoa with lentil and salad (homemade dressing)
4. Kabob (coming soon)

In this mindset, I volunteered time for fresh veggie juice at the farmer's market.
Lo and behold, I found myself cleaning cilantro for an hour.

In Iran, women would always spend hours cleaning herbs when they came back from shopping.
My grandma still does.

I always watched, fascinated and confused by this process, this woman's work, this task I snubbed my nose at.

And here I am, seeking a life where I do it daily.

Birthday Suit

Happy Birthday to me from San Fransicko!

Sorry for the lack of Iowa/San Fran updates. I'm running around trying to get a home/job/life started here.

More later!

So take the photographs and still frames in your mind.

Or, better yet- actually take the photographs and post them up!

A treat due to an abundance of time in the midwest.

My (semblance of a legitimate) Portfolio!

Move. Moving. Traveling Blues.

Move:

Moving:
Distance as a form of hunger.
On the road you see things-
EAR PWR (Baltimore)
Lockeroom Talk (Chicago)
Neo-Futurists (All Over)

You feed the empty spaces of lost cities and absent lovers
with new plays and dance music.

It is so beautiful to miss something.
It reminds you of your desires.
It reminds you of how to be alive.




Traveling Blues:
Healthcare Reform
Iranian Protests
State- the united ones (in general)
State- of my wallet (in particular)

. I helped print patches for artist's right to free speech in Chicago.
There is only so much space for conversation.
Is this one?

Riis Beach. Newtown, CT. Roosevelt Island. Queer adventures.

"There is no such thing as autobiography, there is only art and lies."

"'I think therefore I am,' does that mean, 'I feel therefore I'm not?'"

Art and Lies [Jeanette Winterson]

How long does goodbye last?
Does it begin the moment you are aware you are leaving?
Then around 12 years old, when our brains begin to give fruit-
we are waking up saying hello, goodbye

Biology teachers are fond of saying
"you are all dying"
because it's always always always true

My entire life has been a series of goodbye cups of coffee
goodbye fucks
goodbye travels
for-the-heck-of-it-I'm-almost-out drinks
this-is-it days of cut class

Remember that dress?
Wasn't it a what-if-I-die-tomorrow purchase?

And here I am New York-
I'm leaving.

I've Biked 37 miles in one day to your gay topless beach.
It was my goodbye-brooklyn ride.

I had a Because-I-may-never-get-the-chance-again orgy.
I cried about The Pain, the one that seems like The End.

I watched the one last free summer movie on the island
that isn't Manhattan
but part of it. Sat at the tip, body wanting
to jump in the East River- brain knowing better.

goodbye grand central,
ended up needing one last metro north train ride.
one last jaunt into into a state
I'd never visited before.

Goodbye gay Connecticut
with all your mango vodka smoothies, mansions,
and chain smoking. Goodbye backwoods with no sidewalks. Goodbye
lake I swam in even though the sign said not to.

Goodbye room without light. Goodbye Ikea shelves.
Goodbye 24 hour mexican bakery.
Goodbye no gathering on the sidewalk without a permit.

I'm leaving all the rats and sulfur and subway rides

New York, you're the Mount Everest of homes.

Your air is thinner
but the ground
is hardly ever as exciting.

It's time for me to breathe.
I'm dying too fast up here.
------------------------------------------------

Pictures are proof:

Lowbrow Art.

More specifically, my lowbrow art. From the lowbrow show.

Here's a piece called "Photos I took and wish I had taken"



I paper-clipped my Polaroids to a window screen, and carey drew scenes I described to her on ones that had accidentally gone off in my bag.








This piece is called "Vanity"



PS. Us Lowbrow denizens have some rather fancy plans up our sleeves. Stay tuned.

PEX. Philadelphia Experiment Summer Festival.

Hell, if it's an apocalypse, I'm killing myself right now she said. I believed her.

Maybe it was the mushrooms or that it was the fourth of july but it seemed possible. It must have been the apocalypse. Or a firecracker gone awry.

But it wasn't. It was magic. I mean, isn't every comet like god's small magic trick. All oohs and ahhhs? When he was 5 years old he'd seen a comet, tail fizzing out and sky all lit up. Every shooting star since was a letdown.

Here we are, three misfits in glitter and neon. In the middle of the woods. Running towards a pool and away from the fire spinners and this beauty comes out and we catch it.

I felt like the karate kid catching the goddamn fly with the chopsticks on the first try. Beginners luck. If you only live once, it's a good thing to have.
------------------------------

Fourth of July outfits and eyes that aren't properly focused.

Sometimes, you and the DJ (Nigel Richards) feel like dance partners that don't touch.

You know you are beautiful when your face matches the dawn.

There are some pictures that have no explanation.
*See above.

The person who blew bubbles on the dance floor while the sun was rising deserves to have some sort of authority in this country.

This little girl is a far more serious music junkie than you can ever aspire to be.

If I don't hold onto it I might lose it.

If this isn't wierdo love, I don't know what is.

If this isn't wierdo love, I don't know what is.