The mouse is an agent
The wheat is agentic
The movie is an ancient ageist
Ken Burns is an effect
Bacon is a carcinogen
I am not attracted to "affect"
iiii am in a courtyard.
The trees are moving
As I walk past.
The building is gray
The building is a backdrop
The building is moving
The sky is still
while the leaves are moving
The mouse is dead
The flag is freaking
The sky is moving
The historian is effective
Somebody edited this
The likes are waiting
Na na na na
Family
A Boy
Pulling
Do Not Lean Sticker
Off
The Door
Of The Train
He Coddles A Black Trashbag
Putting
The Pieces
In
His Pocket
His Dad
Wears
A Hello Kitty
Backpack
And Mismatched
Camo
Pants
And Vest
Five Don't Sit Together
He Faces Away
Pulling
Do Not Lean Sticker
Off
The Door
Of The Train
He Coddles A Black Trashbag
Putting
The Pieces
In
His Pocket
His Dad
Wears
A Hello Kitty
Backpack
And Mismatched
Camo
Pants
And Vest
Five Don't Sit Together
He Faces Away
Symbols
A man in the bodega asked if I was Russian
No
The guy at the counter is de-facto part of the conversation
He thought I looked like someone he knew
No, friendly
I'm wearing Russian pins, I say. So maybe unconsciously you thought,
No, he just thought maybe I was someone's sister
But,
probably
No
The guy at the counter is de-facto part of the conversation
He thought I looked like someone he knew
No, friendly
I'm wearing Russian pins, I say. So maybe unconsciously you thought,
No, he just thought maybe I was someone's sister
But,
probably
Transportation
I stopped a girl on the train in her tracks to ask about her personal style
We got to talking
She said when she noticed me she thought I looked like an FIT girl, "put together" in some way
I had no idea. I have no idea what I look like
She said she thought I was a New Yorker, based on how I look
Yes!
She is from the Bronx
I was once drawn to a boy at a party who lived in Washington Heights
Both of these people were Spanish and had vintage-y style in a way that stands out, and I found myself talking to them
My maternal grandmother grew up in what is now Spanish Harlem, dark Italian
When she was five one day, no one showed up to walk her home, so she found her way back along the river, walking alone, all the many blocks.
We got to talking
She said when she noticed me she thought I looked like an FIT girl, "put together" in some way
I had no idea. I have no idea what I look like
She said she thought I was a New Yorker, based on how I look
Yes!
She is from the Bronx
I was once drawn to a boy at a party who lived in Washington Heights
Both of these people were Spanish and had vintage-y style in a way that stands out, and I found myself talking to them
My maternal grandmother grew up in what is now Spanish Harlem, dark Italian
When she was five one day, no one showed up to walk her home, so she found her way back along the river, walking alone, all the many blocks.
Halloween Poem
We are sitting in a circle around a fire and it's July,
My sister had a secret room. A secret room inside. Inside the house. The house of my parents.
We're not close,
The way the dresser rests against the wall suggests a missing boundary,
scrambled—
moved alone,
a limit, undiscovered
until after
she'd gone.
We grew up together,
We're sitting in a circle, on the beach, and it's night and it's July,
My twelve-year-old cousin drunkenly
relates
the recent history
of the first time
he fingered
a girl.
She found a way through a wall
With knowledge of space
on the other side.
A crawlspace
over the garage,
with access
from her bedroom.
She created a door
And no one knew
Not even me,
now.
A house is a sovereign,
Not meant to have extra space,
Not known for unknown doors,
Not meant to belong
to a girl.
She sells pressed sandwiches
from the back of her van.
She follows Dead concerts,
she braids hair
for money.
It's all fantasy when it comes out.
As soon as it comes out it's fantasy.
We're not close, we grew up together,
My sister, a secret.
A secret door. Inside. Inside the house. The house of my parents.
My sister had a secret room. A secret room inside. Inside the house. The house of my parents.
We're not close,
The way the dresser rests against the wall suggests a missing boundary,
scrambled—
moved alone,
a limit, undiscovered
until after
she'd gone.
We grew up together,
We're sitting in a circle, on the beach, and it's night and it's July,
My twelve-year-old cousin drunkenly
relates
the recent history
of the first time
he fingered
a girl.
She found a way through a wall
With knowledge of space
on the other side.
A crawlspace
over the garage,
with access
from her bedroom.
She created a door
And no one knew
Not even me,
now.
A house is a sovereign,
Not meant to have extra space,
Not known for unknown doors,
Not meant to belong
to a girl.
She sells pressed sandwiches
from the back of her van.
She follows Dead concerts,
she braids hair
for money.
It's all fantasy when it comes out.
As soon as it comes out it's fantasy.
We're not close, we grew up together,
My sister, a secret.
A secret door. Inside. Inside the house. The house of my parents.
An Encounter
I encountered Neptune at a party on the last warm weekend of the year.
The roof, like a vacant parking lot.
Dim stars at flat night.
Deep lights from the street.
Clusters of us here
and there
and there
.
Small trees growing out of elevated edges so you can't confirm the ground.
WE were on the dance floor when the music got house-y.
The party became a mass.
WE condensed. Pulsing, Body, Body, Body, Body. Two's and all of us.
And those who didn't know how to move
or couldn't find it filtered to the edge.
A fist. Closing
over sand underwater.
Bod(y)bod(y)bod(y)body(y).
WE became a mass, moving.
His earring. Jewels. And necklace. Crystal. Painted. Dipping. Purple, orange, green.
Two of them, spun.
WE cleared a space,
a circle around. All the world and back in time.
Right here. Go, now , Go , go , Go , go.
The time and space of us emerged. Out of the mass,
and our studies
of a history that is partially ours,
now
but a distant present, up in Harlem, far away.
And I know people from Ireland are here. Dancing.
And the looks on his face were
pure, Glee, Fluid, Glow.
[Ba , Ba , Ba , Ba.]
I'm standing behind a budget disco queen.
The magic mostly works when more people are in on it,
making a career out of it,
a life.
And many of the people here are just kids. All that could change in an instant.
An other party.
We know what we are supposed to do,
but it isn't any less fun,
but the stakes are lower.
Back on the roof, I asked Neptune about her dancing style.
I thought it was a kind,
with a name, expecting a response.
She told me how she studies movement in her walks. Practice. Syncing all motions, to music and back to themselves. The other motions.
I tell her about face dancing, micro dancing, expressions moving as you walk. We both do it, we don't have a name for it, but we do now.
Neptune has undergone a great change, in the past three years or so.
She was contacted by a stranger on Facebook who had a dream about him.
I see a rainbow, in light, in a square on white and blue.
The stranger and Neptune formed a connection over time.
The original contact shared readings and spiritual guidance,
and through his own programming of his own movements,
a c
a
s
c
a
d
e, until a new way of being
became.
I ask if it is a religious practice.
Neptune knows there are others,
but his connection with the stranger is a personal spiritual relationship
that is only about themselves.
Other people get there in their own way,
sync in
on
their own time.
Neptune reprogrammed himself to be open,
so he can sync and build an energy
that in the moment becomes a dance (with purple, orange, green).
And we swirl around. It wasn't planned,
in history, city, mass and body beat.
Programming is Neptune's own language, not adopted from the stranger or the books.
I ask if he is a device on the internet,
He found self-knowledge through a stranger's dream, and it makes it so he knows how to dance.
He is,
and I am too. And on it, off-on it
off and on it
on it, here
People ask
Who are you?
What are you into?
Neptune says he isn't anywhere. He can't answer that question
He's just in the flow,
synced,
to the all
Which is how he dances like that.
Open hand, over sand underwater
And why the trees are magic to the edge
And why the level
Body, Body, Body, Body, not the ground
The roof, like a vacant parking lot.
Dim stars at flat night.
Deep lights from the street.
Clusters of us here
and there
and there
.
Small trees growing out of elevated edges so you can't confirm the ground.
WE were on the dance floor when the music got house-y.
The party became a mass.
WE condensed. Pulsing, Body, Body, Body, Body. Two's and all of us.
And those who didn't know how to move
or couldn't find it filtered to the edge.
A fist. Closing
over sand underwater.
Bod(y)bod(y)bod(y)body(y).
WE became a mass, moving.
His earring. Jewels. And necklace. Crystal. Painted. Dipping. Purple, orange, green.
Two of them, spun.
WE cleared a space,
a circle around. All the world and back in time.
Right here. Go, now , Go , go , Go , go.
The time and space of us emerged. Out of the mass,
and our studies
of a history that is partially ours,
now
but a distant present, up in Harlem, far away.
And I know people from Ireland are here. Dancing.
And the looks on his face were
pure, Glee, Fluid, Glow.
[Ba , Ba , Ba , Ba.]
I'm standing behind a budget disco queen.
The magic mostly works when more people are in on it,
making a career out of it,
a life.
And many of the people here are just kids. All that could change in an instant.
An other party.
We know what we are supposed to do,
but it isn't any less fun,
but the stakes are lower.
Back on the roof, I asked Neptune about her dancing style.
I thought it was a kind,
with a name, expecting a response.
She told me how she studies movement in her walks. Practice. Syncing all motions, to music and back to themselves. The other motions.
I tell her about face dancing, micro dancing, expressions moving as you walk. We both do it, we don't have a name for it, but we do now.
Neptune has undergone a great change, in the past three years or so.
She was contacted by a stranger on Facebook who had a dream about him.
I see a rainbow, in light, in a square on white and blue.
The stranger and Neptune formed a connection over time.
The original contact shared readings and spiritual guidance,
and through his own programming of his own movements,
a c
a
s
c
a
d
e, until a new way of being
became.
I ask if it is a religious practice.
Neptune knows there are others,
but his connection with the stranger is a personal spiritual relationship
that is only about themselves.
Other people get there in their own way,
sync in
on
their own time.
Neptune reprogrammed himself to be open,
so he can sync and build an energy
that in the moment becomes a dance (with purple, orange, green).
And we swirl around. It wasn't planned,
in history, city, mass and body beat.
Programming is Neptune's own language, not adopted from the stranger or the books.
I ask if he is a device on the internet,
He found self-knowledge through a stranger's dream, and it makes it so he knows how to dance.
He is,
and I am too. And on it, off-on it
off and on it
on it, here
People ask
Who are you?
What are you into?
Neptune says he isn't anywhere. He can't answer that question
He's just in the flow,
synced,
to the all
Which is how he dances like that.
Open hand, over sand underwater
And why the trees are magic to the edge
And why the level
Body, Body, Body, Body, not the ground
Young, Wild And Feral
A found poem
The boy seemed unable to relate in any way
to other human beings
and tended to totally ignore their presence.
All his moments of pleasure
derived from an enjoyment of nature.
Unlike people in society, vision was not his most important
sense.
He possessed an awareness of smells, which would pass
undetected by others.
He appeared
to make no distinction
to make no distinction
between pleasant smells
and foul ones.
He was unable to recognize his own reflection.
Nor could he differentiate between a picture and the real
object.
He appeared completely impervious to temperatures.
He would put his hand in boiling water to grasp a potato,
without apparently feeling the scalding heat.
He gave the impression of deafness.
An unexpected loud noise produced no effect.
The boy could hear perfectly,
but his reactions were selective.
Kim's Voice
Familiar
Assured
Friendly, but still above you
It only talks about its immediate sphere
It speaks to that which it knows, intimately.
I'm hiding
Hiding in the unpopular
Infrequently visited
Lanes and fissures.
Here, though.
the internet is the infinite other, actualized.
Assured
Friendly, but still above you
It only talks about its immediate sphere
It speaks to that which it knows, intimately.
I'm hiding
Hiding in the unpopular
Infrequently visited
Lanes and fissures.
Here, though.
the internet is the infinite other, actualized.
List Of Subcultures Via Wikipedia
Alcoholics Anonymous
Anarcho-punk
BDSM
Beat Generation, Beatnik
Biker, Motorcycle clubs, Outlaw motorcycle clubs
Bills
Biopunk
Bodybuilding
Bohemianism
Bosozuko
Bro
Bronies
Cacophony Society
Casuals
Chavs
Chongas
Cosplayers
Crusties
Cybergoth
Cyberpunk
Dark culture
Dead Heads
Deaf culture
Demoscene
Dieselpunk
Emo
Fandom
Freak scene
Furry fandom
Glam rock, glam metal
Goth
Gothic Lolita
Greaser
Grunge
Gutter punk
Hacker
Ham
Hardcore punk
Hardline
Heavy metal
Hip hop, B-boy, Graffiti
Hippie
Hipster (1940s subculture)
Hipster (contemporary subculture)
Industrial, Rivethead
Juggalo
Juggling
Jock (athlete)
Junglist
Lad Culture
La Sape
Leather subculture
Maker culture
Mangas
Mod, Mod revival
Metalcore
Military brat
New Romanticism
Neo-Victorian
Nudism/Naturism
Northern Soul
Otaku
Otherkin, Vampire lifestyle, Therianthropy
Pachuco
Parrothead
Pokemon
Preppy
Psychedelia, Psychonauts
Punk
Queer culture
Raggare
Rave
Riot Grrrl
Rivethead
Rockabiliy
Rocker
Role-playing gamers
Rude boy
Science fiction fandom
Scooterboy
Scouting
Skater
Skinhead, Gay skinhead, Redskin, Trojan skinhead, White power skinhead, Suedehead
Soulboy
Steampunk
Stilyaga
Straight edge
Swing Kids
Swinging
Tagger
Teenybopper
Teddy Boy
Trekkie
Vampire lifestyle
Video Game culture
Warez scene
Zazou
Anarcho-punk
BDSM
Beat Generation, Beatnik
Biker, Motorcycle clubs, Outlaw motorcycle clubs
Bills
Biopunk
Bodybuilding
Bohemianism
Bosozuko
Bro
Bronies
Cacophony Society
Casuals
Chavs
Chongas
Cosplayers
Crusties
Cybergoth
Cyberpunk
Dark culture
Dead Heads
Deaf culture
Demoscene
Dieselpunk
Emo
Fandom
Freak scene
Furry fandom
Glam rock, glam metal
Goth
Gothic Lolita
Greaser
Grunge
Gutter punk
Hacker
Ham
Hardcore punk
Hardline
Heavy metal
Hip hop, B-boy, Graffiti
Hippie
Hipster (1940s subculture)
Hipster (contemporary subculture)
Industrial, Rivethead
Juggalo
Juggling
Jock (athlete)
Junglist
Lad Culture
La Sape
Leather subculture
Maker culture
Mangas
Mod, Mod revival
Metalcore
Military brat
New Romanticism
Neo-Victorian
Nudism/Naturism
Northern Soul
Otaku
Otherkin, Vampire lifestyle, Therianthropy
Pachuco
Parrothead
Pokemon
Preppy
Psychedelia, Psychonauts
Punk
Queer culture
Raggare
Rave
Riot Grrrl
Rivethead
Rockabiliy
Rocker
Role-playing gamers
Rude boy
Science fiction fandom
Scooterboy
Scouting
Skater
Skinhead, Gay skinhead, Redskin, Trojan skinhead, White power skinhead, Suedehead
Soulboy
Steampunk
Stilyaga
Straight edge
Swing Kids
Swinging
Tagger
Teenybopper
Teddy Boy
Trekkie
Vampire lifestyle
Video Game culture
Warez scene
Zazou
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