what 2009 might bring. read
Showing posts with label aftercities. Show all posts
Showing posts with label aftercities. Show all posts
30.12.08
19.9.08
receptacle
_ _ _ _ _ _ _
this morning i woke up. i rose and shone. i put on a pair of flannel pants. i went to the kitchen and made scottish breakfeast tea. i poured the tea and drank it. i took a shower. the drain was clogged. a gooey velvety whiteness remained. i dried myself well, especially between the legs and between the toes. i rubbed my armpits with an unscented deodorant stick. i sprayed my wrists with man perfume, rubbed them against my arms and neck. i put on a pair of underwear, baggy black pants and a gray t-shirt with skinny horizontal yellow stripes running across it. i chose a pair of sneakers. i brushed my teeth with tooth-whitening paste, proceeded to floss and mouthwash. i called my boyfriend and caught him lying. i pulled the laundry off the rack and threw it into a pile somewhere. i locked the door and took the elevator. i said hi to the doorman and walked the usual fifteen minutes to the metro, spotting the usual construction workers swallowing their usual foot-long subs wrapped in tinfoil for breakfast. i smoked two cigarettes and listened to country music on the way. i thought about the beautiful persons that died over the weekend, and about the downfall of the american empire and about mexico burning with narco-anxiety attacks. everything was terribly familiar, and yet terribly different. i realized how cities are the perfect imperfect receptacle.
this morning i woke up. i rose and shone. i put on a pair of flannel pants. i went to the kitchen and made scottish breakfeast tea. i poured the tea and drank it. i took a shower. the drain was clogged. a gooey velvety whiteness remained. i dried myself well, especially between the legs and between the toes. i rubbed my armpits with an unscented deodorant stick. i sprayed my wrists with man perfume, rubbed them against my arms and neck. i put on a pair of underwear, baggy black pants and a gray t-shirt with skinny horizontal yellow stripes running across it. i chose a pair of sneakers. i brushed my teeth with tooth-whitening paste, proceeded to floss and mouthwash. i called my boyfriend and caught him lying. i pulled the laundry off the rack and threw it into a pile somewhere. i locked the door and took the elevator. i said hi to the doorman and walked the usual fifteen minutes to the metro, spotting the usual construction workers swallowing their usual foot-long subs wrapped in tinfoil for breakfast. i smoked two cigarettes and listened to country music on the way. i thought about the beautiful persons that died over the weekend, and about the downfall of the american empire and about mexico burning with narco-anxiety attacks. everything was terribly familiar, and yet terribly different. i realized how cities are the perfect imperfect receptacle.
12.9.08
piles
cities as piles, composed of:
abetments
abstractions
addresses
altars
aspirations
backdoors
backlots
bad metaphors
binaries
brandings
breakouts
breaks
burning sensations
calls
categories
carcinogens
characters
climates
conflicts
crusts
days
degradations
deprivations
deviations
diapers
doubts
drivers
drives
duties
empty containers
encounters
epicenters
episodes
erotic transfer
erosions
exchanges
expansions
failures
falsifications
fetishes
frames of reference
generations
gradients
group dynamics
half-finished structures
hidden alternatives
hierarchies
hues
inflections
inequalities
inscriptions
itineraries
latencies
layers
lingerings
malfunctions
(processed) materials
(raw) materials
names
networks
parasites
peaks and valleys
pointless systematizations
power struggles
procedures
products
(chinese) products
questions
radiofrequencies
reactions
rebirths
refractions
regressions
regurgitations
reproductions
sadness
scars
scenes
scores
searches
secretions
smells
songs
squares
strategies
symbolisms
things dead
things living
things we’ve lost
things we’ve forgotten
threads
threats
totems
trials
variations on themes
visual impressions
wants
waste
plus whatever else you might want to add.
10.6.08
bipolar living
the aftercity is bipolar, neurotically split. compare recent reports on contemporary urban living, here or here with here. tijuana spilling over to san diego, mumbai tearing itself into bits (healthy and diseased, although it remains unclear which is which), and london just tearing itself apart from the rest of us, dazed and glazed it its preciousness. which one hints at things to come? they all do.
Blogged with the Flock Browser
30.4.08
word 20 : after _ _ _ _
afterthought
n.
1. a later or second thought; reconsideration.
2. reflection after an act; an appropriate explanation, answer, expedient, or the like, conceived of too late for the occasion.
3. something added, as a part or feature, that was not included in the original plan or design.
aftertaste
n.
1. a taste remaining after the substance causing it is no longer in the mouth.
2. the remaining sensation following an unpleasant experience, incident, etc.
aftershock
n.
1. a small earthquake or tremor that follows a major earthquake.
2. the effect, result, or repercussion of an event; aftermath; consequence.
aftercast
n.
1. a casting made from a mold that was itself made from an original casting.
afterword
n.
1. a concluding section, commentary, etc., as of a book, treatise, or the like; closing statement.
n.
1. a later or second thought; reconsideration.
2. reflection after an act; an appropriate explanation, answer, expedient, or the like, conceived of too late for the occasion.
3. something added, as a part or feature, that was not included in the original plan or design.
aftertaste
n.
1. a taste remaining after the substance causing it is no longer in the mouth.
2. the remaining sensation following an unpleasant experience, incident, etc.
aftershock
n.
1. a small earthquake or tremor that follows a major earthquake.
2. the effect, result, or repercussion of an event; aftermath; consequence.
aftercast
n.
1. a casting made from a mold that was itself made from an original casting.
afterword
n.
1. a concluding section, commentary, etc., as of a book, treatise, or the like; closing statement.
29.4.08
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
