21/02/2021
19/02/2021
18/02/2021
“I CAN’T WAIT FOR MEXICO TO CONQUER AMERICA FOR THE FRENCH OF CANADA TO BUILD A RAFT ON LAKE CHAMPLAIN I CAN’T WAIT FOR LASER SURGERY I CAN’T WAIT TO VOMIT WHAT I JUST ATE AND SCALD THE PLACE WITH THE CUM ON IT I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE SINGING IN THE BLOOD, MY SIX WIVES AND SEVEN HUSBANDS, MY BROWN PIANO MY BLACK GUITAR MY ASHEN SKIRT AND HEAVY KNEES I CAN’T WAIT TO QUIT THIS BROKEN HOME I CAN’T WAIT TO QUIT THIS BROKEN HOME I CAN’T WAIT TO QUIT THIS BROKEN HOME I CAN’T WAIT FOR HAITI TO TAKE FLORIDA AND RAISE GUINEN LIKE ATLANTIS OUT OF THE WATER I CAN’T WAIT FOR BOSTON TO FALL INTO THE HARBOR I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE HANGING GARDENS I CAN’T WAIT FOR SILKEN FICTIONS I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE MARKET TO CLOSE I CAN’T WAIT TO GROW THE DECAPITATED FLOWER I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE BLOOD OF UPENDED PIGEONS REVERSED RAINBOWS AND SNAKE-EATING LIQUID GOLD I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE DEW TO FALL, TOMORROW, TODAY I CAN’T WAIT FOR MY TITS AND ABS I CAN’T WAIT FOR THEY WON’T GO WHEN I GO I CAN’T WAIT FOR MY HIGH ASS AND MAC MOUTH I CAN’T WAIT FOR A THICKER COCK I CAN’T WAIT FOR A MODEST APARTMENT UNDER THE HOLE IN THE ROOF OF THE PANTHEON A GOLD CHAIN A WISHBONE I CAN’T WAIT FOR MY BIGGEST SCAR TO OPEN ITS BLEEDING MOUTH I CAN’T WAIT FOR A LOAN I CAN’T WAIT FOR JOHN BROWN, SHAY’S REBELLION I CAN’T WAIT FOR EMMA GOLDMAN, I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE TIME TO BE RIPE I CAN’T WAIT TO DROP OUT OF SCHOOL, GET A PERM, NICODERM I CAN’T WAIT TO DEVELOP A HABIT, TO KICK IT, I CAN’T WAIT TO DENY IT I CAN’T WAIT TO KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE I CAN’T WAIT TO LIE ABOUT MY AGE, TO LIE ABOUT MY PAST, I CAN’T WAIT TO LIE ABOUT WHAT I WANT I CAN’T WAIT TO PRETEND TO LIKE THIS I CAN’T WAIT TO GET REALLY FUCKING GOOD I CAN’T WAIT TO REALLY UNDERSTAND I CAN’T WAIT TO STEAL THE SMOKING CENSERS, THE MITRE, THE STAFF, THE ALTAR, THE CHRYSANTHEMUM NECKLACE, THE WHITE STRING, THE VEIL, THE SEVEN VEILS, THE HOLY WATER, THE BLACK ROCK, THE WHITE WALL, THE METAL FENCE, THE COILING RAZORWIRE ATOP THE METAL FENCE, I CAN’T WAIT TO STEAL THE BAD UNDERSHORTS, THE SHIRTSLEEVES, THE CASSOCKS, THE MAGIC APRONS, THE CAKES BAKED WITH URINE, THE PINK ROSEWATERS, THE FLORIDA WATERS, THE SMOKE AND MIRRORS, THE ALABASTER JARS, THE TUSKS, THE KILTS, THE FINE MASONIC SWORDS, I CAN’T WAIT TO STEAL THE ARC AND THE WOOD THAT WAS BENT TO MAKE IT WITH, THE ILLEGIBLE SCROLL, THE WAINSCOT BY THE FOOT OF THE ANGELIC YOUNG RABBI, THE STOCKINGED FOOT IN ITS OPEN-TOED SANDAL, THE HEAVY STONE TABLET, THE SILENCE IN THE PLACES, THE SMALL CLAY URN WITH A BOOK STUFFED IN IT I CAN’T WAIT TO HURT YOU I CAN’T WAIT TO HURT YOU I CAN’T WAIT TO HAVE BEEN WRONG, TO HAVE BEEN RIGHT RIGHT ALL ALONG I CAN’T WAIT TO HAVE KNOWN HOW TO WALK UGLY IN THIS PURPLE LIGHT I CAN’T WAIT TO BE RICH IN TUMBLED STONE, LEOPARD AND COBALT AND WEAR A SILKEN SHIRT MADE OF SHAKEN MARE’S HAIR I CAN’T WAIT TO BURN ALL MY BRIDGES I CAN’T WAIT TO BURN THEM ALL DOWN I CAN’T WAIT FOR A PAIR OF RED FOXES AND A PAIR OF RED DEER TO STARE ME DOWN IN THE CEMETERY SQUARE I CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOUR FACE AGAIN I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE FIRST TEAR TO FALL I CAN’T WAIT TO GO FROM BAD TO WORSE FOR THE HOLE IN MY HEAD TO ADMIT ITS OWNMOST PELICAN I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE RAPES TO CONFINE THEMSELVES TO AN EGG GREY AND BUDGING ON A CHALK SCREEN IN A DARK VAULT WHERE NOBODY EVER GOES I CAN’T WAIT TO BE SILENT TO BE A DIRTY OLD MAN FOR THE SAKE OF THE PROMISE OF MY YOUTH I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE CONDENSATE TO FREAK MY EDGES I CAN’T WAIT TO KILL OR BE KILLED I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE FRUIT TO HANG LOW ON THE VINE I CAN’T WAIT FOR DOMREMY I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE SIXTIES OR THE NINETIES OR THE THIRTIES OR THE FIFTIES OR THE TWENTIES OR THE EIGHTIES I CAN’T FUCKING WAIT TO OPEN THE MOUTH OF MY MACBOOK AND FEED IT I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE DOE TO RATE A SECOND LOOK I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE DOE TO STAND THERE STARING AT ME THESE ELEVEN THOUSAND MINUTES I CAN’T WAIT TO WRITE ANOTHER BOOK I CAN’T WAIT TO HIDE ANOTHER BOOK IN MY MIDDLE AND SMILE OVER IT, LIAR, TRIPPING MERRILY DOWN THE STREET I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE PEOPLE WHO DESCRIBE THEMSELVES AS ‘FUN’ FOR THE PEOPLE WHO ‘LOVE TO LAUGH’ FOR THE BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE DESIGN PROTOTYPES, THE SHOES, THE CARS, THE WOMEN, THE RECOLLECTION I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE FEVERED DEBATES AROUND ‘THE SUN AS ALTERNATIVE ENERGY SOURCE’ I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE DEAD HAIRS AND THE SCARS OF THE FACES OF THE LIVING DEAD I CAN’T WAIT FOR CHILDREN MOON AND STARS I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE HEAD OF THE PEONY TO DROOP IN ACCLAIM OF THE SUN I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE ELASTIC METAPHORS TO DISTINGUISH THE BEAUTIFUL UGLINESS FROM EVIL DEATH I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE RIGHTEOUS TO THROB AGAINST THE KNIFE I CAN’T WAIT FOR ALL OF THE GASES AND GRIDS OF THE ETHER SWEET STULTIFYING MUSIC LIKE A HEADACHE PRESERVED IN PERFUME I CAN’T WAIT FOR TEMPTATION IN THE HERMITAGE GETTING KNOCKED OVER LIKE GAUDÍ OR FRANK O’HARA I CAN’T WAIT TO BE THROWN OVER I CAN’T WAIT NEVER TO COME HERE AGAIN I CAN’T WAIT TO NEVER SEE YOU AGAIN I CAN’T WAIT FOR IT TO BE OVER I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE WHITE LIGHT BARRELING BARRELING BARRELING I CAN’T WAIT TO GIVE UP THE GHOST I CAN’T WAIT TO LOVE THE DEAD BETTER I CAN’T WAIT TO HAVE BEEN HERE ALL ALONG TO LEAVE JUST IN TIME I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE GHOST DANCE I CAN’T WAIT TO LIVE OFF LICHEN, SEA MOSS, AND THIRD LEG I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE RED-WINGED BLACKBIRD I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE HARD THUNDERCLAP I CAN’T WAIT FOR YOUR SECRET PAIN I CAN’T WAIT FOR SIGNATURE EYEWEAR I CAN’T WAIT FOR A SHELL HUIPIL AND TEN FLAMES OF WHICH ONE CINDER FLEW INTO MY ONE GOOD EYE SATURDAY THE ELEVENTH OF NOVEMBER TWO THOUSAND AND TEN I CAN’T WAIT TO DRINK THE PINK MEAD AMID THE FLOWERY BREADS OF DAWN I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE HARD RED PEACE, FOR THE HARD BLUE PEACE, FOR THE HARD BLACK PEACE, FOR THE WHITE LIGHT, I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE BLACK DEATH, FOR THE WHITE DEATH, FOR THE RED DEATH, FOR THE BALLOONING RED BELLY OF DEATH, FOR DEATH IN LIQUID YELLOW PARCHMENT CRACKING OPEN UNDER THIN BLOOD”
— BARAKA - Ariana Reines, Mercury (via jpschf)
“Art keeps the universe in balance. Somehow it returns some of the treasures of existence back to the universe itself. I can’t explain all the reasons why or how, but we are given more than we know what to do with on Earth—bodies, trees, cultures, languages, mysteries, histories, ancient catastrophes. When we are born we are given so much we had absolutely nothing to do with. Somehow art returns this generosity and overwhelming superabundance to the world itself. Even with all the art and holiness and love we're wild to make, life on Earth is wildly out of balance. That’s the adventure we get to have. Somehow we are helping the beyond—whatever it is—to understand what it is, as we figure out what we are. It’s a continual reciprocity and I don’t know how far it really goes, because my little pea brain can’t fathom it. But I know it goes far, and even just into little me, it goes very far indeed.”
Ariana Reines
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