Post reblogged from ䷚ MOTION IN STASIS ䷚ with 7 notes
I IMAGINE A WORLD WHERE EVERYONE LIVES IN “BRUTALIST” CASTLES.
Photo reblogged from an hungry ghost with 32 notes
Benjamin Phelan
Orgone Accumulator Wellness Device
2009
Wood, aluminum, wire loom, styrofoam, epoxy putty, laser, acrylic lens
Source: installationarts
If you wanna kill me, and I know you do, stick my head in a cube of concrete four-foot square with two tiny airholes, just enough to breathe, and dump me out a chartered 707 seven miles above Lake Huron: sploosh! Or slice me with a guillotine the long way, from the scalp down, just in front of the ears, alongside the eyes, so I bleed 360 degrees with my face intact on sidewalk, lips kissing cement — I love cement (love it!) almost as much as asphalt. But if you can’t find a professional model imported from France, try this: cold kiss of concrete scraping fuck out of my nose, eyes, cheeks, teeth, and don’t forget the chin. Drag me with an anvil on my head as skin, cartilage and stubble from my beard become food for roaches, y’know the large kind, or here’s an idea: drown me in Elmer’s Glue. Elmer’s in my nostrils, eye sockets, throat, or just shoot me in the face, whole face, close range, couple feet at most. A shotgun — make sure it’s loaded — would be fine, okay. Okay with me if it’s okay with you.

The stranger and the moon are good buddies.
The stranger is a puddle
and the moon is the moon’s reflection in the puddle.
This is as close as we poets can come to life.
I depend upon your mercy as a goose upon a cigar.
Close this book I scream and come look me up so we can fuck as long
as I don’t have to talk.
I’m not about to pay any of my debts ever.
Gored by Beethoven, you should know what it’s like to be built
inside a little bottle out of wood.
The stranger has a cigar and is observing geese
pass across the moon like an intricate model ship
or symphonic violins, and all I can do is dream of mud, oh mud, mud.
richard hell & tom verlaine as “theresa stern”

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