My name is Gabrielle.21. New York City ||| San Diego. Working towards a dialogic art theory. [ ] ] ] ] ]] ] ~Scroll over images to see descriptions~
Yvonne Rainer, Journeys From Berlin 1971, 1980.
Bas Jan Ader’s I’m Too Sad to Tell You, 1971.
What is the smallest sound you could make?
I wish I could art
This is a tea party and I was not invited,
But what is the best thing I could do when I knew
I couldn’t do what I thought I could do
I hope I never offend someone and yet I hope someday I have the power to offend someone through critiquing
blank and blank and blank.
I am not sure what I mean by that, but poetry does that and you learn what you meant or craft it
Myself and I are winking,
Getting high alone too often but I guess this is a playmate
My body vibrates out turpentine like that artist with the gravelly voice I transcribed
I want to move as a man and not realize I am a man or think of that power as an anything gendered
Making poems I feel heavy I bet someone could see me droop time-lapse
I wonder what Derrida felt like when he changed worlds
This is a heart owl and she woots goodnight
Losing it I pop!
She wanted to weep all over someone
I verbally abused a sandwich and told it that it was the worst sandwich I had ever had and then I felt guilty and I started to think about what makes a subject and what an object
Also searched on yahoo answers “why do some men hate women” and felt smart and sad
They theorized the acts of writing a paper
She theorized turning Lacan into art, postpartum magic
I theorize theorized theorizing myself and myselves and themselves today.
I am a dumb cunt feminazi
I need to calm my tits
so angry it must be my period oh wait it’s not my period i’m a woman who is angry who gets periods
Like, I’m overreacting
I am a stupid dumb cunt whore women
with stupid dumb cunt whore women-logic
Women-logic deserves to be raped
All the stupid women’s shut up your on your period
I am a feminist-slut who needs to crawl back to tumblr
Sound the feminist alarm!!!!!!!!!
I am fucking crazy as fuck, whoa
I really should calm those titties
going overboard like a little slut womyn
equal rights and equal lefts—beat a bitch, yall
I am an idiot who needs to shut up oh god please I sound like an idiot
I don’t even know what sexual harrassmant means cause I’m a stupid woman
I am gonna go up to some guy and tell him he has a nice ass cause womens don’t; if he wants a complement it’s a compliment cause he dresses like a little beach slut at the beach
I need to get my facts right before I go on a dumb-cunt rampage
Honestly it doesn’t even matter cause she doesn’t even have a nice ass so it’s not even sexual harassment it’s a joke stupid shit
i am an OverReacting +Sensitivity Bea”t”ch pig whore
i am objecting myself by giving into fashion norms and dressing like proactively, such a silly feminazi
It’s so hard for me to wear something that I feel good being complimented by a man in :/
where is my logic? I thought womyns didn’t have logics only women-logics
I guess I should stay at home or not dress like such a stupid whore skank to the beach why would I wear shorts if I didn’t want a compliment duh
Wow, that is so offensive lots of people get under my feminazi skin and into my feminazi cunt
I don’t even get this offendid when someone calls me a retard dumbass faggot
It’s a free country and I need to get over my dumb whore self
I am a bitch who cannot be serious haha rape culture speak English whore
Put that hoe in a hijab lol
I hate this I hate that I hate feminazis I hate women who try to beat guys ha I hate u I hate men
my dumb cunt is so sensitive
Chill the fuck up you are a bitch and so are all the women
I can’t even deal he sound like a male feminist
bitch can’t take a compliment bitches looking for trouble
i’m just a dumb cunt bitch whore women feminazi bitch with a feminist alarm
I begin when the day stops:
thinking of ceramic bowls and cups
waiting to be born in a dreamt Seattle
Of our bed which mother warns not to
Of lovely of kisses wet
Today’s sighs on the telephone:
speculations about how
much we should save.
Saving I love you
I don’t abuse it,
or I do.
How we stayed in bed for hours
dwindling our time away
“more love hours than could ever be repaid”
returning to inherency.
Deciding that we love furiously because
time is a captive of distance.
Being your ghost still, other:
haunting, but terrified
flying from coast to coast
into the ears of the Empire State
coloring my pillow in this dark,
moaning into it more than yours,
more than into what I knew before.
Knowing you are not of my before
You are of the golden hours
of after of winter of child
My self child. How she continues to grow
in your throat this autumn.
How she wants to be cradled,
but also to be a towering grown-up
who cries once every six months or so
who stays up past her bed time
and does not call for mama.
I turn towards abortion last before the sleep
I should terminate this child I am for you
I should have never been, possibly
I need to choke on this self and swallow to grow.
I end into—in two— Where did I go?
I ask this more than where I am going.