hive and warehouse

Marcel Dzama, from Berlin Years 

Marcel Dzama, from Berlin Years 

Marcel Dzama, from Berlin Years

Marcel Dzama, from Berlin Years

The adjunct stapler. (at New York City College of Technology)

The adjunct stapler. (at New York City College of Technology)

@ommieohmy doing her favorite thing. (at Old Stanley’s Bar)

@ommieohmy doing her favorite thing. (at Old Stanley’s Bar)

Miss Lovely Eyes 1930s

Miss Lovely Eyes 1930s

The Song of the Demented Priest


I put those things there.—See them burn.
The emerald the azure and the gold
Hiss and crack, the blues & greens of the world
As if I were tired. Someone interferes
Everywhere with me. The clouds, the clouds are torn
In ways I do not understand or love.

Licking my long lips, I looked upon God
And he flamed and he was friendlier
Than you were, and he was small. Showing me
Serpents and thin flowers; these were cold.
Dominion waved & glittered like the flare
From ice under a small sun. I wonder.

Afterward the violent and formal dancers
Came out, shaking their pithless heads.
I would instruct them but I cannot now,—
Because of the elements. They rise and move,
I nod a dance and they dance in the rain
In my red coat. I am the king of the dead.



by John Berryman

Is There a Way to Sleep This Season Off? by Rachel Milligan


He put salt water in. He put the

smallest sound inside my stomach in.

He put the mosquito netting in.

He smeared attar on

my neck. He put dalmatian

chrysanthemums in. He put

conversation with a widow in

the hour without stopping.

He put a hollowed out tree trunk

in the bookshelf in

the middle of the night.

He put the unintelligible drag

in a fistful of grass in

the purple river light in

the expat coffee shop.

The building we broke

into was in. He put the muddy handful

of pearls in the promise

of a house. He put a mulberry

in, a tiny worm. He put

the wall in the rain

walking home. He

did not put bedsheets in. He

never put the bottle in. He

did not, would not come to the house.

He did not mar me with rain.



from The Philadelphia Review of Books

‘Twas just this time, last year, I died.

—Emily Dickinson, from “[445]” (via proustitute)

Mayall, J.E., Doctor and suspended patient, 1877, Woodburytype George Eastman House Museum Collection

Mayall, J.E., Doctor and suspended patient, 1877, Woodburytype
George Eastman House Museum Collection