Slouching toward Pittsburgh

i need a payphone in my house so i have a proper place to wait.

Arroz doce!

warsanshire:

-

this is where love comes to die

i say, pointing to my body.

all my friends laugh

they think i’m joking.

the sun is a yellow sari hanging on my neighbours clothes line.

this is how easily electric turns ordinary

this is how miracle becomes mundane

this is how all our phone conversations end with your tired voice begging

please, just stop crying.

(I wrote a poem called “Meeting the Day Andy Warhol Died” for my first boyfriend. He was a recovering crazy and I was a crazy just discovering my wings. It was serendipitously easy to find in my “Box o’ Letters” today. Thanks Andy. Hope there’s lots of chocolate up there.)

We met the day Andy Warhol died

of blood poisoning

(struck down by his own body)

My blood chilled

still pure

your blood restless and rancid.

A moment frozen in air.

Hung deliberately

like a Disaster in Leo Castelli.

A moment where we both may concentrate

Here we rest our heads on memory

From that day forward

we felt each plate shift.

Yours quaking with affronted ambition

Tremors with the realization

that your world

could never be plastic pop

It had to be you

Singing the Ballad of the Neon Sign

from Greyhound station to Greyhound station.

By the time you had turned around and were driving home

I was on the road

dancing a tarantella

with a red-eyed stranger

hitchhiking to Rome

to feast with Caligula

circulation numbers rising.

Leopard-skin princess

O pope of Pop!

Bless me from the sky

If only I had lost my keys

Everything would be different

Andy’s been gone for years

and with no hesitation

I’ll peel off the leopard-skin

to show you my scars.

Black on grey, just like his

Avedon turned Andy’s loose

on the world.

I want you to keep mine.

(photo by Susana Vera)

(Source: aconversationoncool)

(Source: brookejonay, via thenautica)

A Man in Port

shot NYE 2011

When I have my lighthouse restaurant, I’ll call it A Sardinha Salgada

(Source: nopainindream)

nevver:

“We had breakfast in the township of Soda, pop. 1001”

Winner of the G. Wandrous Design Award 2011.

callmebalthazar:

(via Blog - Balthazar | Photographer | Letter Writer)

We arm-wrestled for a whiskey.
I held her like a sneeze.
My cartoon cowboy lasso tied
my heart to her vacant chair.

She’s her own sad blues bar
wearing the dress
of a traveling band.

I’m my own empty rail car
wrapped in the ocean
of endless summer.

Text by SM Kubica

(via impetuousheadlongrush)