my friend cass mccombs has a new album – MANGY LOVE – coming out tomorrow : here. the new york times calls him beckett as a cranky singer-songwriter which is silly / endearing / accurate. cass has many more articulations of creative light than the world has seen yet. i’ll stay mum for now, but hope soon i can tell you about some more mediums his work will appear in. in the meantime, enjoy the album.
the poet max ritvo has passed after a long struggle with cancer. he was 26, and used his time brilliantly. i recommend taking some time to yourself with the body of work he’s left.
——by the artist george shaw
– from a geological atlas of the moon, 1965
in his blurb for my forthcoming book, Meet Me Here At Dawn, Terrance Hayes relates my work to this Edward Hopper painting, “Excursion Into Philosophy.” Stay tuned.
it happened just like that / i’ve realized my place / i’m feeling kind of slow or so i guess / it’s written on my face / they say / these days / i’m listenin’ to the songs / that tear me all apart / i’m sleeping in my clothes next to the books / that take care of my heart / my aching heart / but if i settle down / no it won’t be with the blues
it turns out that there are coupons online, for your medicine. it turns out that if you want, you can head to the mid-west at the end of may. you don’t need a trashcan. you don’t need a teapot. you can buy one fork, one knife, one lamp. you don’t need a bookshelf when there are cinder blocks and planks. you can take everything apart, put everything in boxes. keep the photocopies. chuck the shoes. sit in a tiny theatre beneath a building with red velvet curtains, pink velvet curtains, watch in the half-dark two men playing blackjack, two women dancing, one man sweeping the floor. it turns out that you can decide whether or not to let the cat sit in the window and torture the doves in the eaves. it turns out that you don’t have to leave if you don’t want to. it turns out the work is more difficult than you thought. it turns out that you win nothing, that you spend less. it turns out there are orange peels everywhere — next to your bed, in the car, withering beside the bowl of lipsticks and a dead hyacinth. it is april, and it turns out that everything is going to be okay.