Shove a tree into a paper shredder.

1. Find a tree, any size.
2. Buy a paper shredder.
3. Try and stick the roots of the tree
first into the mouth of the shredder.
4. Keep doing this until the whole tree has been shredded.
5. Open the shredder and take out whatever bits of the tree is left.
6. Make an image of a tree out of these scraps.
7. Project it against the exterior building of Kinkos.

So what's the Use of this Hour

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Curtains are drawn, literally, to conceal a black and white repartee of what could otherwise
be material for charades when putting them on mute, a portable theatre built for two. Though
there is only so much makeup and body to fight with silence, keep us interested unless placing
a laugh on repeat, the sound of it pulling downward to the floor. So I lie down to see if its
true, if the seam between laugh and image has anything to do with getting to the bottom
of repetition. There is nothing down there but a darkness gaining popularity the more the back
of a head presses against it or what velcro could possibly sound like if it gave up any attachment
to understand or refusing to count all that sheep walking across a stage.

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Refrain it here: when distance is subsumed into its own icon, as if in mid-air an object
gaining volume, making the wooden desk another echo of an online forest I can barely
conceive of. Its not that I don't like nature, but that its not convincing enough to
try and touch. Does it become another chat-room to log on to, making birds more
conceptual and flat than a forest has ever been, if their chirping presses against itself
so that I can't hear it.


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The ampersand is an erogenous thing, a body with one arm ceaselessly touching itself
under the table. Or a telephone cord loosening between two mouths, snapping a morpheme
in half, how a relation-ship can also go divided and never sustain. At first, a knot was tied.
At second, it sailed away. What if I told you we were sailors this whole time, perusing the
water like googling out of habit, latching onto the many options of how to live when its
all built out of air. I can feel you googling me, she said, don't stop.


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tv ink: another one

Check out this video: tv ink 2



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Tv Ink: mouse

Check out this video: tv ink

tv static ink

Drawing on the tv with all that static on it. It feels really nice. The closest I'll get to jumping inside the tv perhaps.

parts from Soft Objects

Reciting poems along with pieces of a japanese tv show of a lady who takes care of pandas.

parts from A Media of the Seasons

Not like any kind of professional editing, a chain of stars chained to their
windows, irreducible the soft gender does reflect from American Apparel syntax:
consider a light-bulb in the TV, knocking back, knocking at a thought full
of pollen in the neighborhood. A static reception of coughs, sore throats,
a spoonful of honey coating the light; the light not knocking, not on the TV,
there was only a possibility of montage rearranging itself somewhere in the
plexus without any use for it but to make the flu derivative.

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Pigeons exited a building, sure, that's what I'd want you to think. That's what
I convince myself too: X amount of lbs. of impulse, each carrying a word on
its back, scattering the conclusion though its not that simple. More like a habit
to click them all at once or shove them into a folder because you just can't.


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In the summer it takes longer for a video to upload, the heat in constant motion
where you touch it to stop. In real time, we escape from a neon-theory of hide and seek,
delete all the furniture and figure a way to be people with limbs again. The video skips,
mouth-less seconds bite at the frame where you laugh around the edges; a laugh so
consistent it gives reason to fast-forwarding outdoor escalators and some invention of wind.
But slow enough to notice each step without having to pound a fist onto the stop-button,
cover up the affection accumulating and hollow out the grass we're standing on with thousands
of stop-buttons to make it less obvious.

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The weight of a crowd suggests a few things: improvisation, structure, how necessary
some tickets to watch the film projection in a cemetery. What more for a picnic atop an epitaph,
spread a sheet over your Myspace page to keep the profile from shifting. A hyphen as long
breath or wishing through a tunnel between two points, not a point, just an appropriation
of friends to keep the clause from wandering.

I Need $600

for Hair

It wasn't the spring, that emblem
particular nothing of square boxes
on a calendar, turning the
pages sure there's more trees
out there to make you outdated,
hollow lights surrounding
when flicking cigarette buttes
to push down a thought further
it goes, your thought takes a whole
lot of other people to articulate itself
when all it wants is another cigarette
that buy two get one free Parliament Light
blue dictum at a gas station taking them home
giving posture to the fact of money,
how much of it you need to get a car
to get me out of some Literary Arts
department I'll just tell you to keep driving
not how "Bob" says it but how I want it
to begin again with a different name, another
"John", a new syntax with more internet
tangled at our feet while you speak to me,
beg me to drop out of Providence for once
and g-Chat with some boxing manager
who might be interested in chipping in
for a 1986 Toyota Tercel I ask you what color.